Thirty Days: Part Three (A SwipeDate Novella) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Day Nineteen

  Day Twenty

  Day Twenty-One

  Day Twenty-Two

  Day Twenty-Three

  Day Twenty-Four

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Day Twenty-Eight

  Day Thirty

  One Day After

  One Week After

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Copyright © 2017 BT URRUELA

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Designer: Pink Ink Designs

  Editor: All About the Edits

  Formatter: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Day Nineteen

  Day Twenty

  Day Twenty-One

  Day Twenty-Two

  Day Twenty-Three

  Day Twenty-Four

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Day Twenty-Eight

  Day Thirty

  One Day After

  One Week After

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books

  To those suffering… you will always have a friend in me. Be steadfast in your fight against mental illness. You are courageous. You are strong. Never forget that. Never forget who you are and what you stand for. Thank you for being uniquely you.

  There’s a gut-churning silence that sits between us as Jessie lowers her phone to the table. I can feel my jaw gaping, but can’t for the life of me pick my chin up off the floor. It’s funny that in this city of eight million plus people, somehow this would happen to me. Me…the guy who trips over imaginary cracks in the sidewalk and blurts out shit before giving it any real thought. It’s only natural I’d unknowingly commit this obvious online dating folly. It makes sense I’d end up taking out the friend of another woman I dated throughout this entire challenge. But of all the damn women so far, why did it have to be Sami?

  “It’s not what you think,” I stutter, finally able to shake off my shock a little.

  “Oh, this oughta be rich,” she shoots, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. The snarl on her face makes her frown lines that much thicker. With her caked on makeup, arching eyebrows drawn on, and fake tits too big for her body, Jessie is everything I hate about the opposite sex. People seem to be straying in droves toward the inauthentic these days. I want no part in it.

  “I’d really just rather talk to Sami.”

  She shakes her head, curling her lip back at me. “You don’t get it. She doesn’t want to talk to you,” she hisses, her tone thick with attitude. “You think she doesn’t know I’m here? You think she didn’t send me? I recognized your ass the minute we matched. I’d seen your pictures before.”

  In everything she’s unveiling, it’s the fact that Sami thought that much about us to show her friends my picture that catches my attention. My heart leaps in my chest and I can feel the smile stretch across my face, though I never intended for it to do so.

  “What are you smiling about? This isn’t fucking funny. Not one bit.”

  The waiter approaches, hesitating for a moment before I quickly wave him off.

  “No, I’m sorry. Listen, I just want to talk to Sami. I’ll explain everything to her. This is just one big screw up.” Digging for my phone, I catch her dropping her hands to the table and leaning toward me in my peripheral.

  “You don’t fucking get it. We set you up!”

  The way she says it, the arrogance in her tone, makes my blood boil. She’s not here for Sami’s sake. She’s here to stir up the drama. She’s obviously the type who gets off on it. I pull out my phone and search for Sami’s name in my contacts when Jessie lets out an exaggerated scoff.

  “She’s not going to respond. I promise.” She smiles, a stupid little smile that draws my eyes to her, and she crosses her arms again, leaning back into the chair.

  “You get off on this shit, don’t you? You don’t give a fuck about Sami.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t give a fuck about Sami,” I repeat. “It’s a game to you. But I do care about her. A lot. And I don’t give a shit what you say. I’m going to text her, pay this bill, and get the fuck out of here.”

  “That’s really great, Romeo. It still doesn’t mean she’s going to answer. In fact, I happen to know that she won’t. She doesn’t mess around with players. She’s a good girl. She’s been burned way too many times in the past.”

  “And I’m a good guy, who would never even think of hurting her,” I blurt out, though I wish I could take it back. I couldn’t give two shits about proving anything to this Jessie chick. It’s Sami I need to talk to.

  Flustered, my eyes flit around the bar for the waiter.

  “A good guy doesn’t tell a girl what you told Sami while still trying to date other people. I figured you were just bored and swiping. That, I could understand. But, what was it,”—she puts her palms up and shrugs—“a minute before you started hitting me up.”

  She drops her hands, shaking her head with a look of judgment as I wave the universal ‘check please’ sign for our waiter across the room.

  “You just don’t get it,” I say, finishing my beer before digging out my wallet.

  As I fish for cash, she asks, “What’s there to get? You guys aren’t an item or anything like that. She doesn’t expect anything out of you. She’s just not into the shit you’re trying to pull.”

  “What shit?”

  “You’re a liar. She’s not into liars. And she’s been through a whole lot in her life. More than you could ever even understand. She doesn’t have time for people like you,” she responds, curling her lip back and narrowing her eyes on me.

  “I’m no fucking liar and you don’t know a thing about me.” I toss two twenties to the table, more than enough to cover our drinks, and I stand from my chair. Her eyes follow me as she looks completely blown away I’m about to leave her by herself in the restaurant. “That ought to be enough. You have a good night.”

  I proceed toward the front door when she calls out, “She’s not going to respond!”

  I fight the urge to tell her to choke on her weave, and instead make my way out the door. My focus is on the phone, my thumb hovering over the call button.

  The hollow ring through the receiver and the long, painstaking seconds of silence between them cuts through me like the cold wind that whips my pea coat, the fabric dancing around my waist. Another ring, and then another, before her soft voice comes over the line in the automated message.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Sami. Sorry I couldn’t get to my phone right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  BEEP.

  For a moment, only nervous breaths escape my mouth, and words do not form. Logic flies right out the window.

  “Sami,” I finally say, hoping somehow I can pass along my sincerity through my words. “Sami, you gotta talk to me. It’s not what you think. I can explain everything if you just give me the chance.” I hesitate, letting out a deep breath as I speed walk down the sidewalk. “Just call me… please.”

  I reluctantly hit the ‘end’ button and stare at the screen mindlessly as if it’ll somehow make the phone ring, and I’l
l hear Sami saying hello on the other end. But it doesn’t, and I make the long walk home, my body numb to the cold as I work up a text.

  I’ve completed, reread, and deleted a novel’s worth of text messages in the time it takes for me to get home. Everything sounds so ridiculous. Nothing sounds right. I finally settle on, Sami, seriously, this is all one big misunderstanding. Please let me explain.

  I shake my head in frustration, slipping my cell into my jeans pocket, and heading straight for the back door where a fresh joint is waiting. To my surprise, my pocket vibrates and I snatch the phone from it quickly.

  Sami: It is what it is. I’ve heard all the excuses before. I don’t even know why I mess with these stupid apps. I really liked you, Gavin. I thought very highly of you. But I’ve seen your kind before. I’ve been through it more times than I can count. I’m done coming second. Thought you were different. Listen, we weren’t together or anything. You don’t owe me a thing. Take care of yourself.

  It hurts.

  A ruthless fucking grind on the nervous system.

  A need to say something, anything, to change her mind—to show her the truth—but knowing deep down I’m as helpless as I ever was.

  Me: Hear me out, Sami. It’s going to sound ridiculous, but God’s honest truth, my buddy proposed this challenge, thirty dates in thirty days from that stupid app. I took him up on it because I needed the money. It sounds crazy, but I’m serious. You gotta believe me.

  There’s a long delay as I watch the little dots come and go, telling me she keeps writing and then deleting her text messages. I fight the urge to text her again. I light the joint instead, taking a long, drawn-out inhale with my eyes still pasted on the phone screen.

  Sami: I’m not an idiot. Take care.

  Me: I swear to you. What do I have to lie about?

  I wait for a response, but it never comes. No matter how hard I wish it to, the little dots don’t show. I think about messaging her again, but talk myself out of it. I knew I’d talk myself out of it.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Maybe not.

  “Fuck her,” I say, tossing a balled-up napkin to my empty plate and nudging it forward.

  Bobby eyes me doubtingly. “You’re kidding yourself. There was something about this one. I think if you stay persistent, you can convince her.”

  I wave him off, leaning back into the chair as if to prove my resignation, though I’m certain he can see right through me.

  “Nah, it’s just not in the cards.” I shrug. “It is what it is, Bobby. I don’t have the patience or the energy to go chasing anyone. Or trying to defend my actions. She’s made up her mind.” I sound so confident, so self-assured, but I’m not certain who I’m trying to convince more, Bobby or myself.

  “Dude, come on. She’s just taken aback by all this, like I said she would be if you weren’t upfront with her. I told you long ago you needed to tell her… you didn’t listen. It’s just gonna take some effort on your part… and a little patience.”

  “Neither of which I currently possess,” I assure him, but he simply rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms.

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me. You’re a full-time writer. Yeah, you take care of your grandma, but that’s about it. You got the time to put in the effort.”

  I go to refute him, but stop myself as I know full well he’s right. I shrug and take a swig of my Sprite.

  “You’ve gotta be willing to dive in head first for something at some point in your life, Gavin,” he continues.

  “Hey,” I say, wagging a finger at him, “I took a gigantic fucking leap when I released my first book. I know your first book was a lot for you too, but speaking bluntly, because you’re my best friend, you didn’t have the initiation into this world I had. My blurb helped you quite a bit. And I’m not saying that to make you feel bad or anything.”

  He looks offended, his lip curled back. “So why are you saying it then?”

  “It’s just, when I got into this business, I knew no one. I had no link to the industry whatsoever.”

  “I never asked you for that blurb,” he huffs.

  “I know, I know. I wanted to write it for you. Your book was incredible and everything else I said it was. You’re missing my point.”

  “Obviously,” he says as the waitress approaches, hesitating awkwardly at the sight of our little argument. She whispers a “sorry” as she collects up our dishes.

  “Can I get you all anything else, or should I grab the check?” she asks, reluctantly.

  “Check, please,” Bobby says, hardly letting her finish her sentence.

  “Would you like that together, or split?” she asks, and I motion to myself.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I say, but Bobby waves me off.

  “No, we’ll split it, please. Thank you,” he counters.

  She looks at me and then back at him, confusion on her face.

  “You paid last time,” I argue, but he shakes his head, his eyes catching hers.

  “Split, please. Thank you.”

  She looks at me once more and I nod. As she departs, I lean in toward him. “Come on, bro. I don’t want to do this again with you. You’re my best friend. You know I mean no harm.”

  “I get it, but you gotta start thinking about the shit you say. Maybe it makes sense in your head, but you have to think about how people will interpret that shit too. I know what you’re saying here, but I still had to write the damn thing, and I never studied a lick of writing like you did. You helped me tremendously… with your blurb and everything you did for me along the way, but I won’t let you take away from what I’ve accomplished.”

  I put a hand up, nodding, as I lean back in the chair. “Okay, okay, sorry, man. You’re right. I’m not the best at communicating my feelings. You know that. I’m just—I’m bent out of shape. You say things were different when I was with her, right?”

  He nods, the frustration finally dissipating from his face, and a look of understanding replacing it. “You need to talk to her,” he says, frankly.

  “I’ve tried. I texted her again this morning. I’m not going to be that guy and call her nonstop. She won’t answer anyway.”

  “You don’t know unless you try,” he responds as the waitress approaches and presents us with our checks, then departs.

  As she leaves, I joke, “You’re an ass for not letting me pay.”

  He narrows his eyes on me as he digs his wallet out of his pocket. “And you’re a dick for your constant word vomit,” he says, tossing some bills and the receipt onto the table. “Just try calling her sometime this week. See if she’ll answer. She probably just needs some time. But she’ll come around.”

  “Honestly…”—my eyes shift to the tabletop and I rub my temples, a habit of mine when I’m nervous or stressed; of which, I am currently both—“I don’t think I have it in me. She’s read my messages. Thank you Apple for allowing me to know that much. And she hasn’t responded. We weren’t dating, or whatever you’d wanna call it, for that long. And I’ve been known to fall quickly in my life only to be let down. I’m used to it.”

  “Fall? As in, fallen? As in, you’ve thought about that?”

  “No. Not seriously, at least. I mean, it was different with her, no doubt about that, but I can’t say whether I feel that way or not at this point. I think I’d have to get to know her better, and that’s obviously not gonna happen now, so,”—I shrug—“it is what it is.”

  He squints his eyes as a look of doubt passes over his face. “We’ll see. I happen to think you’ll be singing a different tune once it really hits you.”

  “You do know how fucking stubborn I am, right? Even if I did see myself talking to her again, I’d avoid it simply to ensure you end up being wrong.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug, shooting him a facetious grin. “Maybe not. It’s worth it for me to be right, though.”

  “You’re an idiot,” he chides, a grin forming on his face
.

  “And I’m your best friend. What does that make you?”

  He laughs, thinking on my question for a moment before he shrugs. “Charitable?”

  Scooting my chair back and standing, I say, “Listen… I’ll be alright, man. I just wasn’t meant to fall in love, or to be loved. Old and lonely, here I come.”

  I shoot him the dual thumbs up as he joins me standing. He huffs, passing me a look of judgment. “I can’t even deal with you today,” he complains, slipping past me and out the door.

  During the quiet walk home, after parting ways with Bobby, I can’t help but laugh at myself. It’s one of those sad, pitiful laughs you let out when you just don’t know what else to do. Bobby isn’t wrong here, and as much as I’d like to wish he was, and as much bullshit that comes out of my mouth in defiance, he’s right. This one’ll hurt.

  There are hundreds of little things one can control in regard to themselves. We determine what goes in our gullet, whether rabbit food or a wagyu feast. We decide what music plays through our headphones, which programs play on the tube, and what we educate ourselves on. But the one thing out of our control, no matter how much we fight it, are matters of the heart. You can’t choose who you love. You can’t control how you feel. And how I feel right now is empty. Genuinely empty.

  I miss her.

  And who am I to miss anyone, really? Do I even have the right?

  This road has been paved by a hundred different mistakes.

  Reaching the house, I don’t even bother taking my coat off. I hit the freezer first for my pint of Jameson, and slip through the loft to the back door. Spotting the rolled joint on the frosty table top, and against my better judgment, I grab it, bring it to my lips, and I light it. With each puff, I know I should be doing something else… anything else, but I puff at it anyway. And eventually, I stop caring. I stop ruminating about the feelings I’m numbing with THC. I stop worrying about how right Bobby really is.