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I couldn’t find the right words to express what I was feeling, while at the same time, keeping it PG-rated, so I just nodded as Rich led me to his car parked at the front curb.

“What can I get you to drink, Brooke,” Rich asked as we bellied up to the bar.

“I’ll take my usual, please.”

He chuckled before answering, “Babe, unfortunately, after all of these years apart, I’m not sure I know your ‘usual.’” He replied, actually air-quoting me.

“My bad, I suppose you’re right,” I answered, blushing. “I’ll have a mango margarita – my usual, you know for future reference.”
Crap, did I just admit to Rich that I wanted to go out for drinks often with him?

“Margarita, huh? Finally learned how to handle your tequila?”

“What can I say? I had a good teacher,” I said with a shrug. “

“Yes, yes you did. I bet that instructor of yours could continue to teach you a thing or two,” he added, with heated eyes before signaling for the bartender and ordering our drinks.

After our initial flirting at the bar, the evening seemed to be going quite well. Rich had kept his hands to himself as we shared an appetizer of loaded potato skins, deep-fried pickles and chili poppers. I let Rich eat all of the deep-fried pickles and he agreed to hand over all of the chili poppers. We really did work well together as a couple. I don’t like pickles and he doesn’t like chili poppers. It would always make ordering an appetizer easy. We’d never fight over who gets the last one.
Stop, Brooke. I reminded myself, before I let my imagination run wild about our couple-dom because of some fried foods.

I threw back a few margaritas while Rich drank a few house draft specials. I laughed, chatted and enjoyed getting to know some of my fellow co-workers, too. Rich seemed to get along very well with most of them and it was great to see his jovial attitude around them. I must admit, after knowing what Rich was like when we first met at Western, I was a little worried that he might be a dick to work for, but his interaction with my fellow reporters put all of those worries to rest.

I was just about to tell Rich I was going to take a cab home, when an attractive man who I had noticed eyeing me from across the bar for most of the evening, approached our group. Rich was chatting with our co-worker, Brent, at least I think that was his name, when the stranger, dressed in tight jeans, a white T-shirt and cowboy hat, came up behind me, putting his hand on the small of my back. I’ll admit, I found him attractive and a little intriguing. I didn’t expect to see Mr. Tall-and-I-Look-Good-in-Wranglers at a city bar.
I giggled at my nickname for my mysterious stranger … Maybe I’d had one-to-many margaritas.
In a way, he reminded me of my favorite country bar back home.

“Excuse me, but are you new around here?” he inquired, flirtatiously.

“Uhh, yes I am, but how did you know that, Cowboy?” I answered with a wink.

“This is a fairly small place and I’ve seen this group in here before, but you weren’t a part of it. And, trust me, I would remember a beautiful woman like yourself,” he said, as his hand drew circle patterns on my back. “May I buy you a drink, Gorgeous?”

I fidgeted on my bar stool at his touch and that’s when Rich’s attention turned back to me. I noticed his eyes widen and the veins in his neck throb when he looked over and saw the cowboy’s hands on me.

Rich’s mannerisms told me everything I needed to know. He was not happy that I was flirting with this stranger.

Already pretty tipsy, I figured one more drink probably wouldn’t hurt anything. “Sure, that would be perfect. Another mango margarita, please,” I responded.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Brooke?” Rich hissed in my ear.

I turned to Rich and answered so only he would hear, “Thank you for your concern, Rich, but I’m a big girl and I know what I am doing. I’m not yours to worry about.”

Rich winced as if my words had stung him.
I probably just bruised his big ego, I’m sure he’ll get over it.

The cowboy called the bartender over and ordered us another round, luckily not paying any attention to Rich. Before grabbing the stool next to me, he sauntered over to the jukebox and dropped in a few quarters. I wasn’t surprised when I recognized a country song begin to play.

“Do you have a name, Cowboy?” I asked as he sat down next to me.

“Jared – and your name, Pretty Lady?”

“Brooke,” I responded, noticing Rich’s eyes turned in my direction.

“Nice to meet you, Brooke, care to dance while we wait for our drinks?” he asked, extending his hand, as I heard Luke Bryan’s new single “Drunk On You” play through the speakers.

“Su--.”

Rich interrupted before I was able to finish my thought.

“Get your hands off her,” Rich hissed.

“And, what’s it to you? The lady doesn’t look like she needs a bodyguard, Pretty Boy.”

“She’s with me. That’s what it’s to me, Cowboy.” Rich was practically growling; I could feel the anger radiating from his skin. I looked around hoping no one else was a witness to his sudden outburst. Thankfully, everyone was too caught up in their own conversation to notice Rich’s sudden show of temper.

“Rich, stop it. Let’s get out of here,” I pleaded, in hopes of diffusing the situation before it fully erupted.

“Come on, Beautiful. You know you don’t want to leave with him. He was paying you no attention, just five minutes ago. Suddenly, he wants to play Mr. Possessive. I don’t see a ring on your finger, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re fair game, babe.”

“I’m sorry, Jared, but I think I should be going. I have an early day tomorrow and it’s getting late. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

I turned to Rich, adding, “Don’t you dare follow me.”

I didn’t want Rich to give me a ride, I just wanted to walk the few blocks home and clear my head.

“Where are you going, Brooke?” I heard Rich growl, his breath heating the back of my neck, as I began walking away from the bar.

I turned and began walking backwards away from him, all while trying to blink back the tears that were pooling in my eyes. “I told you not to follow me,” I yelled. “What the fuck did you just do in there, Rich?”

“He had his hands all over you. You’re mine.”

I must admit, if only to myself and certainly not to Rich, at that moment, as turned on as I was by his possessiveness and protectiveness, I was also seething; I wasn’t his. I had explained that to him. He was my boss and he just embarrassed me. What if my co-workers – his employees – had heard any of what was said between us? How the fuck would I explain that one on Monday? I’d be the target of office gossip before I even stepped foot into the office. I would need to pack up my shit and crawl back home with my tail tucked between my legs.

“I’m. Not. Yours! How many times do I fucking have to tell you that, Rich? I can take care of my goddamn self. What if our co-workers had heard your little explosion? You just humiliated me. I can’t even stand the sight of you right now.”

“Fuck! … I’m sorry, Brooke. I just … I just couldn’t stand that guy touching you … I … I just lost it. No one else heard anything, I promise. Let’s just get into my car. Let me drive you back home. I can tell you’re freezing out here.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Rich. I’m perfectly capable of walking home. You’re lucky I’m not resigning right now, too. I’ll see you in the office on Monday … Boss.” I quickly turned in the other direction and began the descent toward my apartment. I could feel the heat from Rich’s breath almost immediately.

“Brooke! Don’t walk away! Let me, at least, get you a cab. It’s not safe to walk alone at night. I would die if anything happened to you. … I would die.” He was pleading with me. I could hear the torment in his voice.

I was livid right now, but I didn’t want to worry him, either. And, truth be told, he was right. It wasn’t safe to walk by myself at this hour. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head right now. … “Always keep your wits about you,” she would say.

“Fine, hail me a cab then,” I snapped. “But, I don’t want to hear another word from you until Monday and even then, it better be for professional reasons only.”

I felt a twinge of sadness as I left Rich on the sidewalk in front of the bar. But, what he did was not appropriate; I was not his and he had to get that through his thick skull.

Minutes later, the cab dropped me off at the front of the building. Without greeting the night security guard, I ran through the lobby and up the stairs to my apartment. I quickly unlocked my door and ran straight to my bedroom where I crawled into bed and buried my sobs in the pillow. I felt so alone for the first time in my life. Usually, I would run to Cass and consume a big bowl of “Chunky Monkey” on her couch, but she was over five hundred miles away. The last thing I could remember was crying out loud to my mom before sleep consumed me.

I woke up the following morning, with raccoon eyes and tear stains smearing my cheeks. My hair was disheveled, never completely drying from the previous night, and I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my clothes before going to bed. I was pretty certain my breath probably smelled like Pepé Le Pew on his death bed. Yep, I was the picture-perfect definition of a “hot mess.” I’m pretty sure if Merriam-Webster added the phrase as one of its entries, my picture would be right next to it.

I took a quick shower and threw on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt before grabbing my cell to call Cassidy. I was in desperate need of best-friend therapy at that moment. I plopped down on my chocolate-colored, microsuede couch and entered my phone’s security code. I noticed that I had four missed texts. I clicked on the message icon and saw Rich’s name with the number four in the corner.

Two messages were from last night:

Rich: I hope you made it home OK. I really am sorry about what happened tonight, Brooke. I really did enjoy spending time with you like that, before things got out of hand. I really hope you can forgive me and we can go back to being just friends. I promise I will try harder and not overstep my boundaries next time. Please text me to at least let me know that you arrived home safely.

Rich: Brooke, it’s getting late and I’m starting to worry. Please text me.

Before I had a chance to read the other messages from earlier in the morning, I heard a loud knock at my front door. I got up from the couch to see who it was. Thinking it was the doorman with a package or something, I opened it without even looking through the peephole.

“Brooke, thank God. I didn’t hear from you last night and then not at all this morning. I was really worried.”

“Rich, what the hell? I’m fine! I got home and went right to sleep. I woke up not that long ago and took a shower. I was just about to make a phone call and then take a walk to the farmers’ market downtown to pick up some fresh produce before I’m stuck eating frozen pizza for the rest of my life – not that it’s any of your business anyways,” I fumed. “And, most importantly, how did you get past the doorman downstairs? I thought this place was supposed to be secure from UNWANTED guests!”

I was being overdramatic, but Rich was really getting on my nerves. I was not his to worry about, or his to protect; I moved to Washington D.C. to become an independent woman, not to get rescued by my knight in shining armor.

“Besides, I told you that I would see you tomorrow at work and I meant it. I don’t think we should spend time together outside of work, for awhile anyways.”

“I’m sorry, Brooke. Your doorman let me in because he and I know each other,” he shrugged apologetically. “We ran a story about the contractor and owner of this complex, his boss, before it was built. I guess you could say he was doing me a favor. I can behave, though, I promise. Let me walk you to the market and then maybe we can stop for a quick bite to eat. Too bad I learned last night that you don’t like pickles, because I’d offer you mine – again. What are your feelings toward sausage?” he said with a wide grin.

I couldn’t help but blush at his suggestive nature.

“I don’t want your pickle – or your sausage, Rich. And, remind me to have a chat with security about allowing guests access to my door without my prior consent,” I huffed.

“Your rosy cheeks would suggest otherwise, Miss Anderson.”

“See Rich, you’re just proving my point that we can’t do this. I don’t even think that we can be friends, for now at least. I’ll just see you at work tomorrow,” I said, as I lightly closed the door in his face.

My heart broke for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Stopping in the kitchen first to pour myself a glass of wine, I headed straight back to my couch and dialed Cass. She answered on the second ring to the sound of my heavy sobs.

Cassidy provided me with the best-friend therapy that I needed so desperately. We talked and laughed for the next two hours. I told her about the events of the previous night and she referred to Rich with her standard “Douche Monkey Davis” on more than one occasion.

She also told me about the latest “Kaitlynisms” before we ended our conversation. I swear she could write a book using just the lines that her kid came up with. Just last week, they were at the grocery store checkout when the clerk asked Kaitlyn what her mommy was going to make for dinner to which she replied “vagina” instead of lasagna.