Page 3 of The Trolley Kiss
I’m not sure if it’s because I’m drunk, but this man is hella attractive. Like fuck, why am I actually nervous all of a sudden? It’s just a kiss. It will make my friends happy. Maybe it’ll even be the first step I need to push myself to move on from Chris.
I don’t know if this guy could tell I changed my mind or if he just couldn’t hold on to the bar much longer, but he leans forward, grabbing my arm and pulling me to his chest. He lets go of the bar, grabbing my head and wrapping his arm around my back as his lips come crashing down to mine.
I have a moment of panic as I realize if he lets go of me, he’s going to fall off this moving vehicle, but fuck, that is so damn hot to me. I wrap my arms around his back just to be safe as his lips move over mine. It certainly has nothing to do with wanting to smoosh my titties all over his strong, muscular chest.
I gasp for air when our lips part, and he hops back to the ground as the trolley slows for a corner. He continues to jog behind us as it starts moving down the road. I lean on my hands on the railing, grinning like an idiot as he gets further and further away.
“What’s your number?” he calls out as the trolley speeds up, increasing the distance between us.
I don’t have time to think if I want to give him my number or not before he’s out of earshot. I end up erring on the side of no regrets, shouting my number out to him in just enough time before we can’t hear each other anymore. Neither one of us looks away until the trolley turns another corner, removing him from my view.
Tiff nudges my shoulder with hers. “Chris who?”
I laugh as I roll my eyes at her. “C’mon, the night is still young. No more boy talk.” I grab a hard seltzer from the ice chest and raise it to Tiff and Samantha. “May the rest of this night be filled with only badass ladies and copious amounts of alcohol.” I pause for a moment with drunk brain fog. “Oh, and snacks!” I fall down onto one of the bench seats. “Actually, how much longer do we have to stay out? I think I might need pizza now.”
The trolley pulls to a stop at a country western bar with mechanical bull and all. The girls all squeal their delight, and Tiff grabs my hand and yanks me up from the seat. “Don’t forget cowboys!” She squeezes her eyes shut tight. “Please, please fill my night with cowboys,” she wishes jokingly.
“Fine!” I sigh. “But I’m only talking to the ones that can outlast me on the bull.”
“Woman, you’re trashed. You’ll last two seconds.”
We giggle as we rush to the exit. “I know! I’m weak! I can’t resist them either!” I dramatically throw my head back, sighing. “I hate myself.”
Chapter 2
Aweek.
It’s been a fucking week and still no text from my mystery trolley smoocher. I slam the refrigerator door shut as I check my phone for the millionth time tonight. Still nothing. If I stay in tonight, I’m going to end up contacting Chris again, especially because that bottle of wine in the fridge is calling to me, and I have a hard enough time resisting texting him when I’m stone sober. I’m half tempted to download a dating app again just so I have a distraction from myself.
That stupid motherfucker.
Why do guys have to ask for your number if they’re never going to call you? Do they get off knowing that you’ll be waiting around for them when they have no intentions of ever contacting you? Like it’s really not hard to just not ask.
When he didn’t text the next day, I thought maybe he was hungover or busy, and then the excuses in my mind just kept building. He’s probably working now. Maybe he doesn’t want to come off too eager. Maybe he is waiting for the weekend.
Why do I do that to myself?
I guess the excuses help ease the embarrassment of knowing I’ve been thinking about this jackass all week when he clearly hasn’t had a single thought about me. I hate myself for feeling disappointed. It’s not like I even know the man, and he doesn’t know a single thing about me. We technically didn’t even share a conversation. I shouldn’t even be upset over this. I know that.
But fuck, I really needed something else to think about this weekend. I needed a distraction, and now there’s nothing that will stop my mind from wandering there. I can’t stop the thoughts from coming. Chris and her. Him on dates with her. Him living in her house with her. Sleeping in her bed with her. Touching her. Kissing her. Loving her.
Fuck!
I pause, inhaling a deep breath and marching over to my bedroom to change into workout clothes as I wipe a new set of tears from my face. I need to expel some of this pent up anger. I grab my phone and call Tiff.
“Hello?” she answers.
“Are you home?”
“Yeah, what are you up to tonight?”
“Can I come over?” I ask.
“Yeah, Ken is here, but we were just going to order take-out tonight.”
“Third-wheeling it is. I’m leaving in a minute. Be there in forty-five?”
She gives a confused laugh. “Why would it take you forty-fiv-...You’re running here, aren’t you?”