What A Girl Wants (21 page)

A few hoots, hollers, and some laughter floated down from the bleacher seats. More confident now, Steve added, “You have a one-night stand with a girl and you don't call, it's 'cause you don't want to call her, not 'cause you're sorry.”

The professor nodded sagely. “Mmm . . .”

“Why don't you want to call her?” Hayley asked.

He shrugged. “Because there's nothing to talk about.”

“But there was lots to talk about on Friday.”

“That was before we had sex.”

“Well, yeah. How about if I called you? Would you be impressed by that?”

“Don't call me.” He held both palms up in warning.

“Why not?”

“Because it's lame.”

Hayley gaped at him. “It's ‘lame'? It's not ‘lame.' It's . . . courageous.”

“It's embarrassing.” He looked at her as if she were crazy. “It's major humiliation waiting to happen. You some kind of, like, sadist?”

“Masochist.”
Idiot.

“Yeah. One of those.”

Hayley wasn't ready to give up. “So I shouldn't call you?”

“No way. . . well, maybe if you called me again I'd take you out, but only to have sex with you again.”

“That's disgusting.”

“Men are disgusting.” He said this as if it were a point of pride.

Hayley shook her head. “You're all a bunch of idiots.”

“Not really. If I keep calling to have you keep coming over to have sex and you do, that's pretty fucking smart of me. Heh-heh, heh-heh.”

“Language,” the professor warned.

Steve and Hayley both ignored him. Hayley was horrified. “Are there any clues as to whether you intend for the next date after the one-night stand to be an actual date or an excuse for sex?”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“Nope. You wouldn't be able to tell right away. You'd just have to take your chances.”

“
What?
”

“You're gonna have to take your chances.”

“My
chances
? I'm supposed to just take my
chances
?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Were those pot brownies you ate for breakfast? Did you slip a little hallucinogen into your coffee before class this morning?”

“Uh—” He looked extremely puzzled.

“Yeah, buddy, you heard me right. Or maybe it's just that you're
completely insane
.”

Steve looked over at the professor who seemed equally nonplussed by the situation as he clutched nervously at his trout necktie.

But Hayley wasn't finished. She grabbed the professor's sleeve. “He's got it all wrong. You don't just walk away and leave things to chance. That's not going to work. Not to mention, these things are all relative. You have to take into account the particular circumstances of the encounter. I mean, we have a history of sorts. We have a corpse together. I don't
want
to walk away. And that's what you have to ask yourself—what do you
really want
?”

She turned to the audience. “Specifically, what do you want? Figure it out and then don't just sit there, avoiding. Do something about it. Don't just accept. Step out in the world.”

And as she stared out at that sea of faces, suddenly Hayley realized she wasn't worried. The economy might be tanking and the dating landscape might be looking pretty bad, but for the first time in a long while, she wasn't worried.

She took a deep breath, raised her fist triumphantly in the air a la Bruno, and yelled, “Ask yourself what you want . . . and
go for it
!” Then Hayley raced up the aisle like some sort of possessed television evangelist and blasted through the exit doors as the class burst into explosive applause behind her.

When she finally got back home, Hayley dumped her purse on the bed and took off her stilettos. She studied the shoes, noting the worn patches on the toes and heels, the areas where the black leather had scraped off the sides, and how the stiletto tips were dull and uneven. She smiled to herself. It looked like she'd managed to fully amortize them, after all.

She put the shoes in her closet and dragged out her storage box into the bedroom. Rummaging through it for a while, she finally
found what she'd been looking for. It was the crane mobile Fred Leary had given her as a holiday present last December.

Some of the cranes were smashed up, so she smoothed them out as best she could, then retrieved a hammer and nail from her kitchen utility drawer. She returned to her bedroom, stood on the bed, and hammered the crane mobile into the ceiling above where she slept.

Immensely satisfied, she brushed the chips of plaster off the bedcovers and lay down on the bed with her arms behind her head, staring upward as the cranes swayed in an invisible breeze.

What did you try to tell those kids, Hayley? You have to ask yourself, what do you really want? Specifically, what do you want? Don't just sit there, avoiding. Do something about it. And don't pretend you're doing something; really do it. Step out in the world. No gimmicks. Don't waste any more time.

Okay, then. Here goes.

H
ayley's heart was pounding. This was a recipe for disaster. A reasonable woman did not just go confront a guy over a one-night stand. It made a person look like a psycho. Or a stalker.

And it wasn't as if Hayley could blame Grant, exactly. Who had sex with a guy on the first date and expected to ever see him again? What was she thinking? Why had that seemed like a good idea?

On the other hand, it wasn't really a first date, was it? And it wasn't like she'd picked him up in a bar. After all, they'd had quite a bit of conversation prior to the sex. One could even consider the corpse incident “datelike,” since it had included conversation, a little Q-and-A, and some lead-up groping.

So the sex they'd had last Friday maybe wasn't really sex on the first date; it was more like sex on the second date, which sounded much, much better. . . .

But the bottom line was that she'd slept with him early on in the relationship, and he did not call afterward. That did not bode well for this impending confrontation.

The poor guy might have no choice but to embarrass both parties by explaining that he was really sorry but not interested—and he thought he'd managed to communicate that point by not calling.

Hayley figured that since seventy-five percent of the scenarios she'd played out in her head on the way over had some form of humiliation involved, the best thing to do would be to make the whole exchange as private as possible . . . and get it all over with as fast as possible.

Walking into the police station was a little strange. Hayley felt inexplicably guilty, like her past transgressions, however small, would load on the check-in computer screen the minute she said her name. She leaned over the desk and craned her neck to see.

“Hi.”

Hayley whirled around.

Grant leaned his hip against the desk, arms crossed.

“Hi,” Hayley echoed. At least her voice didn't crack. That was something. She studied his face. He didn't look annoyed. He didn't look much of anything . . . he was essentially unreadable. Not very helpful.

No pain, no gain
. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Okay, Grant, here's the thing.” She prodded his chest with her index finger. “I've got something to say to you.”

He looked down at her finger, which Hayley had to admit seemed a little pathetic, poking somewhat ineffectually at the broad expanse of his chest.

Then he looked around the busy room and said, “Why don't we go in back?” She thought she saw the flicker of a smile, but it could have been a flicker of something else entirely.

As she followed him back into the depths of the building, Hayley quickly said, “I'm not going psycho on you, I promise. I just
want to understand the logic here. This is a growth opportunity for me.”

“What logic?” he asked as he opened the door and ushered her into the holding cell area.

Hayley grabbed on to the cell bars with one hand and pretended to study the metal with great interest while she prepared for the big moment.

Hanging casually off one of the bars in an effort to look nonchalant, she took a deep breath and looked right in his eyes. “Why didn't you call me? It's obviously not because you were hit by a bus.”

He looked genuinely surprised. Or else it was a well-honed, well-practiced reaction. Hayley chose to remain suspicious. She put up her palm and said, “Hold on; before you answer, let me first say that I'm going to put myself in your shoes. I'm not an unreasonable person, so I'm going to try and—”

“Can I talk now? That was a simple question and I have a simple answer.”

“Uh, sure.”

“I go into the bathroom, you get on the phone with somebody. I offer you a ride home, you take a cab instead.” He shrugged, suggesting it was all quite obvious, self-explanatory even.

She tilted her head. “A simple answer. Okay. I'm in your shoes. I'm in your shoes and girl and guy have one-night stand. Well, it's not obvious that it's a one-night stand at that point . . . in any case, girl makes phone call on the morning after and takes cab home in the morning
to save guy trouble
and not make it look like she's going to be expecting too much from him.”

His lips pursed in an encouraging way, sort of like her
interpretation hadn't occurred to him. A beat of silence passed between them, with the two of them just looking at each other.

“Sorry, it's not coming to me. And you figured what?” Hayley finally asked, embarrassed all over again that she had to press him for an answer. She didn't like the idea of seeming needy or pushy. She was definitely losing hope . . . and her nerve.

“I figured that was it. You weren't interested. You didn't want a next time.” He stood there, so matter-of-fact about it.

Hayley studied his face. It just wasn't true what women said about the male brain. About it somehow being illogical and dysfunctional. It wasn't that at all. Well, maybe it was dysfunctional, but it was more like it was hyperlogical to a fault.

If A equaled B and B equaled C, in the male world A equaled C, simple as that.

But every intelligent woman knew it wasn't that simple at all. A might very well equal B, and B equal C, but if A is, say, depressed, B can't find the car keys, and C just gained five pounds, well, obviously there are some variables in the equation that men apparently aren't equipped to deal with.

Hayley slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I was following instructions.” She sighed heavily. “If there is one thing I've learned it's that other people's protocol
cannot
be guaranteed to apply to anyone else. I really need to stop seeking so much outside advice. I should follow my instincts. I wasn't going to make that call to Suz at first, but then I kind of chickened out.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “I'm not sure I'm getting all this. What advice were you following?”

“Suz's advice about the Rule of Three,” Hayley answered sadly. “I protested that you didn't have to take me home three times and
you only insisted on taking me home twice. If you'd insisted one more time, we wouldn't be having this conversation.” Boy, it really
did
sound stupid when you took a step back and thought about it.

“Maybe you
should
stop taking so much advice,” he said.

Ouch
. At least he looked like he thought it was funny instead of looking like he wished she'd hurry up and go. But maybe it was just because he was so polite.

Okay, I'm going to say it. Be bold, Hayley. Expand your horizons
. “I never meant to give you the impression that I wasn't interested. In fact, I thought I was doing the right thing to try and show you that I did want a next time. Frankly, I don't have a tremendous amount of experience with these, er, one-night-stand situations.”

“You seemed experienced enough to me,” he said. “I had no complaints.”

Was he flirting with her now?
Go for the kill! Go for the kill!
Hayley's mind reeled, trying to analyze all the possible meanings and implications of his statement. Wildly self-conscious, she finally just cleared her throat and, fighting the urge to close the door first, said, “Well, then, just so you know, I'm interested.”

He smiled but he didn't say anything. Hayley got the impression he was making her pay a little bit for dashing out on him in the morning. It was actually quite flattering, if she was reading him right. If.

Well, the only thing worse than putting it out there that you were interested was being forced to ask about reciprocation with the possibility of getting it thrown back in your face. But she'd come this far, and so far he'd been receptive. He wasn't making it easy or anything, but he was teasing in a nice way.

Hayley looked down at her shoes for support. They looked like crap by now. They'd lost all of their designer glory, frankly, and
failed to supply any of the kick-ass confidence for which they'd originally been purchased.

If they weren't so damned symbolic she'd have thrown them away by now. But, shoes or no shoes, Hayley was feeling surprisingly kick-ass all of a sudden.

She cracked a sly smile. “Suppose I were to ask if
you
were still interested?”

He grinned and crossed his arms. “Suppose I said yes?”

Hayley's stomach fluttered. “Suppose I did something about it right now?”

“Suppose you did?”

She tugged nervously at the collar of her shirt and said, “I'm going to kiss you, you know. I hope you don't have a problem with that, seeing as how this is your place of work.”

“We didn't seem to have a problem in your place of work. But whatever you decide, you'd better get on with it. I think we've got a suspect to incarcerate.” He pointed over her shoulder to the open door.

It was a little disconcerting, what with a burly, uniformed policeman complete with giant beer gut and a seedy-looking guy in handcuffs staring at her. Hayley gave them a hand signal to get a couple of extra minutes. She took Grant's elbow and set him against the bars of one of the holding cells a little farther into the room, out of the sight line of the open door.

He let his arms rest at his sides, watching, waiting, a little more amused than Hayley would have liked.

“Okay. Here goes.” She grabbed the bars on either side of him and walked up to him, real close. Then she kissed him. He seemed to like it. A lot. So she moved closer, put her hands in his hair, and kissed him harder.

When it became clear that she was requiring more oxygen than seemed to be available, Hayley broke off the kiss. Somewhere along the line, Grant's arms and hands had gotten more involved in the situation, and Hayley was also happy to note that he seemed a little breathless himself.

“Uh, Hutchinson. Can we cage this guy, or what?” The burly policeman stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb looking bored.

Hayley blushed to her roots and cleared her throat.

Grant grinned. “Just one sec.” He looked down at Hayley. “I've got to get back to work.”

“Okay, I think it's safe to say you're definitely interested. In that case, I'm going to ask you out on a second date.”

Grant nodded, waiting.

“Just give me a moment. Okay, here I go. Right now. Right here. Here goes: I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me again sometime.”

“Yes, I would,” he said. “I think you're just crazy enough to be appealing.”

Hayley grinned and released the breath of air she'd been holding.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?” he asked.

“No. But we have to acknowledge that, by this point, it was kind of a shoo-in.”

“The kiss could have been a tease,” Grant said. “I could have said anything. I could have said no.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Because we've already been past third base. I'm a slam-dunk, a guarantee, the gold.”

He gave her a once-over. “Can't say I wouldn't enjoy a repeat.”

“I hope that's not the only reason you're interested.”

“Bit of a risk, isn't it?”

Hayley gaped in mock-disbelief. “So it's like that, is it? Well, don't get your hopes up, because I'm calling the shots this time, and we are going to do things a little differently.”

“Is that so?” he challenged.

“That is so. And for our next big destination date, we are going to, uh . . . we are going to . . . we're going to the San Francisco Zoo. That's right, we're going to the zoo.”

Grant blinked, looking substantially less than enthusiastic. “The zoo?”

“It will be the perfect opportunity to get to know each other a little better.”

“True.” He didn't look all that convinced.

“Besides, they've just upgraded the petting zoo and we can pet the goats and stuff. You know, buy food pellets out of the vending machine and feed them. It'll be fun.”

He pretended to have to give it some thought. “You did sit through a substantial portion of a baseball game,” he said.

“It was fun. I would've sat through the whole thing if I'd remained conscious. And believe me, it has nothing to do with the Baseball Trick.”

“I know,” Grant admitted, then laughed in disbelief. “Fine. The zoo it is. Sounds terrific. Clearly feeding goats is something no man should pass up.” Then he shook his head. “If this doesn't demonstrate my ‘interest,' I don't know what will.”

Precisely.