My love life has become this sordid three ring circus, starring the apologetic ex, stable boyfriend, and the can'thavehimbutwanthim crush. You are probably judging me, I don't blame you--some nights I lay awake and judge myself.
Let me explain, my name is Delaney James..wanton love jinx. It started when I was a little girl in pre-school. I was sitting on the swings, whirling myself around on the tip of my toes--when it hit me, well he hit me. Derek..you know the guy that was even cool at age 5? He knocked me off the swing and went off running to help Princess Amber. As I lay there with my chin in the mud, it occurred to me that the damsel in distress will always win the Prince. Have you ever taken the time to look up the word damsel? Well it means a young, unmarried woman. A few months ago, that definition would have incited fear and images of several cats. But now, with more than one Prince in the story, the simple fairy tale I've counted on my entire life is suddenly...well complicated.
It's 11am and I'm still in bed. Tangled up uncomfortably in cold sheets--I can still smell him on my skin. It isn't a cologne per se but something more crisp. Jason smells like mountain scented detergent. I tucked my nose into the t-shirt he left crumpled on the side of the bed and took a deep breath. It occurred to me then that I missed him and his annoying chipper morning attitude. The first night he stayed over I knew it wouldn't work out--he rolled over, morning breath and all, planted a big kiss on me and breathed, "Good morning, beautiful." I wanted to smack him. It was circa 7am, I could smell the sleep escaping his mouth and was instantly resentful that I had to be an object worthy of adoration that early. A year and a half later, I am accepting that this rational man believes my bed-head, mismatched boyish pajamas, leftover makeup, and rank morning breath are adorable, somedays even lovable.
Jason came into my life in an oddly storybook way. I was dragging behind my oversized mutt in the park, when Puddles took off running after a stray football. Before I knew it, I was partaking in a game of chase with a labrador and my least favorite sports object. Sprinting clumsily in my flip flops, dodging small children and waving off disapproving mothers, it occurred to me that I was completely out of my league with this dog. I keeled over with my hands on my knees, eyeing Puddles in defeat. "You win, you're in charge. Just hand over the ball," I crooned, reaching slowly to pick up the leash. I had cornered Puddles against a big Oak tree, beckoning him forward repeating the word "treat" innocently, desperately. The drool oozed around the ball wedged in his teeth, and the low growl implied my tactics were a no go. Suddenly, a whistle and leg pat coming from behind me turned Puddles back into an obedient dog. Typical, as if nothing had happened. Jason smiled up at me smugly, holding Puddles in a playful chokehold as the ball dropped easily to the grass.
He extended his hand, "Looks like your dog just kicked my ass as wide receiver. I'm Jason Stech." Cute, very cute. His playful hazel eyes took me in, a hot mess. My hair had fallen from the loose ponytail and stuck to my conveniently make-up less face. Embarrassed, I shook it lightly, and attempted to wipe the dazzled look off my face,
"Marisa...and this thief is Puddles. I can't thank you enough. I definitely have my hands full with this guy," I trailed off and patted the dog.
His confidence caught me off guard, "Well, you could thank me by going out to dinner with me tomorrow."
I agreed to dinner, and coffee later that day. I broke the faux unavailable rule after 2 months of dateless weekends, and the iron will to mend my embittered heart.
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