Cinderella Screwed Me Over (7 page)

Jake raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smile on his lips. “So, you didn’t really slap a guy in the middle of someone’s wedding?”

I bit my lip. “Technically, it was at the reception, and I know it sounds bad out of context, but I swear he deserved it.”

Jake looked down at me and I noticed again how blue his eyes were. My gaze moved to his lips.

Mayday, mayday, mayday.

I dropped my hand from his arm and swallowed.

“And what did I do to deserve the brush-off?” he asked.

The elevator doors opened and I let out a sigh of relief. Saved by the
bing
! I moved for the doors, but Jake beat me to them. Only he put a hand out to hold them open and turned to face me, eyebrows raised. So much for escaping the question.

I could feel every beat of my heart, and the walls of the elevator seemed to be closing in on me. “It’s nothing against you personally. You seem nice—you’re very charming, actually, which I’m sure you know. But you live in my building, and I’ve got certain rules about that kind of thing. Before I stuck to the rules, my life was much messier.” I ducked under his arm—damn he smelled good—and started for my car.

Jake stayed by my side, our footsteps echoing through the garage. “I live in the wrong place and just like that, I’ve got no chance with you?”

I kept my eyes on my car, afraid that if I looked at him, I might give in. And yes, last night I’d considered trying one little date. But he noticed too much, and he pushed against boundaries I wasn’t ready to let go of. It was time I pushed back. “Why have you chosen to pursue me? I’m not playing hard to get. It’s not some game you’ve got to win.” I pointed my remote at my silver Dodge Durango and pushed the unlock button.

Jake stepped ahead of me and opened the car door for me. “I’m sure plenty of guys hit on you. Obviously you’re beautiful. But there’s something different about you that makes me not want to give up.”

“You don’t even know me,” I said.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Cinderella’s.”

Two creases formed between Jake’s eyebrows. “Cinderella’s?”

“Yeah, Cinderella screwed me over.” Without any more explanation, I got into my car, pulled the door closed, and fired up the engine.

…

My seventh birthday was one that stuck out among the rest of my birthdays. Mom and Dad had been fighting a lot, but on that day they’d come together and thrown me a princess party at the local McDonald’s. I wore my Cinderella dress; the other girls were decked out in various other princess costumes. (Mine was the most authentic—Mom had gone all out.)

Another party was going on at the same time. A group of boys dressed as superheroes sat across the room. Their fighting and yelling drifted over, interrupting our party. The girls and I frowned, shook our heads, and wrinkled our noses at them.
Ugh. Boys.

Mom took a picture of all my friends and me in our dresses, which remained remarkably clean. In the photo, you can see the boys in the background. They have ketchup on their clothes, and for some reason, Batman has a sword—basically, it’s an unorganized mess.

I could’ve saved a lot of stress over the years if I’d just realized then that boys didn’t want to be princes from fairy tales. They wanted to act cool, talk cool, and get into fights.

I made the mistake of thinking they’d grow out of it someday.

Cinderella
Case Study: Charlie/Prince Charming

My Age: 23

I met Charlie at a dance club. It wasn’t exactly a ball, but my dress was sparkly, my shoes covered in rhinestones—so practically glass slippers. I’d been to enough dance clubs to know that you didn’t meet guys at dance clubs—not good guys, anyway. Stephanie had just broken up with Jimmy Delfino, this jerk she’d dated for way too long. To celebrate, she’d wanted to go dancing.

Charlie, a cute guy with light brown skin and huge brown eyes, asked me to dance shortly after we’d arrived. We danced another song after that. Then another and another, until we’d spent more of the night together than apart. As the club was closing down, he told me he’d love to see me again.

Stephanie gave me that look. The one that said,
We have rules about dance-club guys
.

I sighed. “You know, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Charlie leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I hope that someday we’ll cross paths again.” He gave me a sad smile, hung his head, and then slowly turned away from me.

“Wait,” I said. “I’d rather not leave it up to fate. Sometimes fate needs a little help.”

A huge grin spread across his face. He whipped out his cell and programmed my number into it. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? You’re not going to play it cool for a few days? Isn’t that what guys like you do?”

Charlie reached out and squeezed my hand. “I’m the kind of guy who doesn’t wait around when I run into a girl like you. I’m not stupid.”

I had to hand it to him, he had the sweet-talk thing down. I’d heard plenty of lines before, but there was something about the way he delivered that one that made me think he might just be different.

The next day, I told myself over and over that if he didn’t call, it wouldn’t be a big deal. But when an unfamiliar number lit up my display, I shrieked and jumped around for a few seconds before answering it.

“Hello,” I said in my best, I’m-casual-sexy-cool voice.

“Darby?”

His voice sent my blood rushing through my body. It was him! He called! “Yeah?”

He exhaled. “Oh, thank goodness. My boys bet me you didn’t give me your real number. I’m glad they’re wrong.”

I smiled. “You had a certain something that made me break my rule about giving my number out to guys at a club.” But then reality hit. My last serious relationship had been Allen, and that made me gun-shy to dig in. “Hey, Charlie, you’re not married are you?”

“Hell no! And why would I hit on you if I was married?”

I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. “I just like to check.” I cringed, thinking I’d blown it—that he’d hang up and never talk to me again.

But then he said, “So how do you feel about my coming and picking you up tomorrow night? I don’t want to have to wait longer than that.”

I was officially swept off my feet.

For the first month, Charlie and I had nothing but fun. We hit dance clubs and went to party after party together. One of his friends was always having a get-together, and they were usually big, extravagant things—money was obviously not an object. It was a blur of fun, loud, good times.

By then my apprenticeship at Metamorphosis was almost up, and I was working like crazy to make sure I got a coveted designer position. I spent a few weeks mixing and matching color swatches for an upcoming pitch while downing muffins and energy drinks.

Since Charlie was what Steph and I referred to as a “trust-fund baby,” he didn’t have a job. I think he occasionally went to the one college class he was taking, and though he didn’t have much purpose in life besides having a good time, he was very good at it.

One night when I was putting the finishing touches on my pitch, he took my laptop away and held it out of reach. “If you don’t get busy living, you’re going to look back at your life and find it empty.”

When I reached for it, he kissed me, keeping my computer out of reach. “Come on, baby,” he said. “Let’s go out. You deserve a break.” He kissed my neck, then moved his lips to my jawline. “Wherever you want to go. Whatever you want to do.”

So we went out and hit the party scene, the way we had before my life had gotten so busy. And I liked that he made me take time for myself so I didn’t get too burned out.

Then I got my full-time job at Metamorphosis, life slowed down a bit, and Charlie and I started spending a little quiet time together. We didn’t do that well with quiet time. Remember how in
Cinderella
Prince Charming has, like, three or four lines? My relationship with Charlie would’ve been better had we stuck to four lines.

A few big fights later, I knew we weren’t going to work. But because I had so much fun when we went out, I hesitated to end it.

I was sitting in his apartment with him and his friends when things took a turn for the worse. They were watching sports, like they did every minute they could.

“Can you believe those chicks at the club last night?” Joe, one of Charlie’s roommates, said.

“There should be a weight limit on girls dancing in the cages,” Charlie said.

“And at Hooters.”

Charlie tossed a handful of chips in his mouth. “Unless their boobs are what tips them over the scale,” he said through the crunching.

I sat there for a moment, not believing what I’d just heard. “Seriously?”

Eyes still locked on the screen, Charlie kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re not even close to that weight.”

I injected my words with sarcasm. “Yes, that’s what I’m worried about. Not that my boyfriend is a chauvinistic pig.”

“When did you get so serious about everything?” he asked.

I shoved the magazine I’d been looking at into my purse and sighed. “Good-bye, Charlie. You and I aren’t going to work out.”

Charlie’s gaze actually left the screen this time. “Come on, baby. It will work if you just loosen up.”

“Well, this is who I am.”

“No, you used to be cool.”

“No, you don’t really know me.” I’d never been very good at the break-up part, but I didn’t wan to end on a completely horrible note. “So, good luck with everything and all that. It was fun while it lasted.”

“I don’t need this!” he shouted. “Just go!” He then proceeded to act like he was dumping me, even though I’d already ended the relationship.

So I packed up my practically glass slippers and hit the road.

Cinderella was the first fairy tale I remember—the one I was most obsessed with because of the gowns and magic and pretty shoes. Yes, her home life was less than ideal—and considering the talking mice and birds, she probably needed serious therapy. But she gave me the most unrealistic expectations of all. Falling in love at first sight, becoming a princess with everything she’d ever need at her disposal, and a relationship that ended happily ever after, with never an argument or bad day in sight.

And worst of all, she made me think all I needed in life was a man to come and whisk me away.

Time Wasted:
Four months, but honestly, two of those were pretty fun.

Lessons Learned:

You have to actually talk to the person to get to know him.

You need to know how to work as well as play. It’s about balance, not having some guy come in and show you how to have fun. Or tell you what an uptight workaholic you are.

Make sure he at least has aspirations or ambitions of some kind.

Never date a guy who thinks you’re more an object than a human being capable of using a brain.

No sports fanatics.

NEVER give your number out at a dance club.

Chapter Seven

I punched the elevator button repeatedly, like that would make it come to pick me up faster. If I wasn’t wearing five-inch heels, I might’ve even considered running down the stairs. I hated being late, the stress when you had to rush to get somewhere. Which was why I was never late. Really, I wasn’t even
that
late. I’d probably get to the restaurant about ten minutes after my date did, but still, it drove me crazy. I didn’t even have Karl’s number to let him know.

The elevator finally arrived.

On the way down, I sent a text to Stephanie, stating I was running a few minutes behind for my date, hoping she’d pass on the information to Karl.

I stepped out of the elevator and hurried across the parking garage toward my car. When I went to put my phone in my purse, I dropped my keys. I bent to pick them up and the contents of my unzipped purse poured onto the ground.

“Argh!” Squatting down to get the items was no small feat, considering the binding black ruched skirt I was wearing.
The things I do for fashion.

I was gathering the last of it when a tube of lip gloss was thrust in front of my face. I looked up and saw Jake. I took the lip gloss from him, tossed it in my purse, and stood.

“You look nice,” he said. “Hot date?”

My skirt had inched up, exposing much more of my legs than I meant to. I tugged it back down. “I don’t know about hot, but I’ve got a date. It’s something my friend set up.”

“Let me guess.” Jake counted the list off on his fingers. “He doesn’t live in the building, doesn’t work at your favorite restaurant… What are your other requirements?”

I was sure he was mocking me, but I went ahead and rattled off more of the list, just so he’d see it wasn’t something I took lightly. “No oral surgeons—I’ll just generalize and say dentists of any kind. No lawyers. No liars. No dance-club guys, workaholics, or slackers.”

He arched an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

It almost sounded like a challenge. I met his gaze and raised an eyebrow of my own. “Pretty much. Until I find something else to add, which I’m sure I will.” I double-checked I’d zipped my purse, then slid it over my shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m running late. I’m sure I’ll see you around. You do seem to be everywhere.”

He flashed his signature drool-worthy grin. “Well, you didn’t say ‘no stalkers’ in your list, so I’m thinking of going with that.”

I shook my head, though I couldn’t help but smile. My heart was also doing a fluttering thing it shouldn’t be doing. “Good night, Jake.”

“Good night, Darby.”

…

Conversations on blind dates are a crapshoot. You start off with general, boring getting-to-know-you questions. Then you make a few stabs in the dark, testing the waters, trying to figure out the other person’s likes and dislikes before finding anything you can really talk about. Since Anthony and Stephanie had set us up, they were the common thread for Karl and me, making our mutual friends the safe topic.

“How long have you known Anthony?” I asked after our food arrived. I’ll give it to Steph—Karl was good-looking. Blond, with lean muscles, and the guy knew how to dress, too. Perhaps a night out with this guy would end up being just what I needed. Maybe Karl would even be my first venture into low-risk semi-dating. With mutual friends, it might even be convenient.