It's In The Stars. Buffy Andrews

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СКАЧАТЬ a hammer toe on my left foot and ever since a guy in high school mocked me in front of a group, I’ll never ever show my toes in public again.

      While eating breakfast I thought about my horoscope. What am I looking for in a guy? I grabbed a pen and paper off the desk.

      Definitely a sense of humor. Oh, and someone who is kind and generous. Definitely don’t want a cheapskate. Been there, done that. One guy I dated never ordered anything but water to drink when we went out to dinner.

      “Do you realize,” he said one night, “That if you spend a dollar fifty on a soda twice a week that would be three dollars a week or one hundred and fifty-six dollars a year. In ten years, you’ll have spent $1,560. Now, if you put that money in the bank and leave it alone, it would accrue interest and you’d end up with a nice sum.”

      “Seriously?” I’d said. “You’re not having a coke because you want to save a buck fifty?”

      We didn’t go out again! So, yeah, no cheapskates allowed.

      Honest and trustworthy are high on the list. And reliable. If a guy says he’s going to go with me to a function I know will be as boring as hell but I don’t have a choice, it’s not cool to back out an hour before the event. Yeah, Ryan. You’re the reason this made my list. And the reason I drank too much at the gallery opening and made an ass out of myself when I puked in the lobby. And the reason I stopped taking your calls. So there!

      Sensitive. I want a guy who isn’t afraid to share what’s in his heart. Who doesn’t care if tears pool in his eyes when he’s touched by a story or movie or book. Who isn’t too manly to cry. In other words, I’m looking for a guy who feels and isn’t afraid to show it.

      Clean, as in good hygiene. I hate even having to put this on my list, but some guys fall short in this department. Like this one guy I dated. He didn’t like flossing. Said it was unnecessary. Think again, tighty-whitie (yes, I’m serious. He wore little boy underwear that made his junk look a lot bigger than it was). I swear once during a kiss a piece of food that was stuck in his teeth fell into my mouth. It was so gross I thought I was going to puke. That was our last date. And then there was Kurt, who constantly dug for ear wax with his glasses arm. Neither would get to the sleepover level in my book.

      I also don’t want a clingy guy. I can’t stand clingy. It’s not that I’m not romantic. I am. But I don’t want a guy who smothers me and calls me five times a day. I need some space and in return I’ll give the guy space. I don’t mind if he does things with his friends or isn’t available to hang out every night. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy spending time with him. I just recognize the importance of family and friends and having alone time.

      I almost forgot smart. Smart is very important. Maybe even a deal breaker. I’m no Einstein, but I do need a guy who is intellectually stimulating. I’ve dated some in the past who weren’t and it bothered me. One guy actually told me once he wanted to go to Paris but not France. His dick might have been big but his brain was the size of a pea!

      Romantic is nice. And manly and decisive, but not pushy. If I say something’s off limits, it’s off limits. For those guys who are obsessed with the back door, this one’s for them.

      I think I pretty much hit the main ones. I’m can’t bear to sit next to someone eating liver (it truly nauseates me) but I always let a guy know this if it’s on the menu. I’m not as bad as Victoria who won’t date a guy if he puts an artificial sweetener in his coffee (too girly) or is under 5’10” (she’s 5’ 11”) or has the dry cleaner crease in his shirt (I can’t figure out why this bothers her so much).

      I read over my finished list. God, I sounded like such a bitch. And I really don’t want to come across as a bitch. Maybe I should revise and soften it a bit.

      Three cups of coffee later I scrambled out the door and headed for the office. Our newsroom is only a few blocks away, sandwiched between a health clinic and a donut shop, near the city square. It’s an easy walk, but I need my car for reporting assignments so I have to drive.

      One of the benefits of being a general assignment reporter is the variety of assignments I’m given. Unlike Frankie, who has the health beat and rarely covers anything not health related, I cover a bit of everything. One day I might interview a woman who started her own soap company and the next a soldier returning from war. I love that my job is never boring and I’m always learning new stuff.

      After stashing my lunch in the break room refrigerator, I headed to my desk. The newsroom was a huge open space filled with individual workspaces. The cubicle walls were low so you could sit at your desk and look across the room. Televisions hung from the ceiling. While the openness aided in communications, it was a pain in the ass when Matt or someone else talked so loudly you couldn’t concentrate. I keep a pair of earplugs in my drawer for just this reason, but even the expensive pair I bought don’t deafen the noise completely.

      I’d just settled into my seat when the freakin’ fire alarm went off. At first I was really annoyed, but then I remembered Hottie Advertising Guy and I had to use the same door to exit the building. The same door, people! So I waited until I saw him head over and I timed my exit so if it all went according to my plan we’d reach the door at about the same time.

      But just as I was about to close the distance, I tripped and flew forward. I stretched out my arms to break my fall and Hottie turned around to see me kissing the carpet.

      He extended his hand. “All you okay?”

      My face felt hot. I was sure it had to be the color of his red power tie. “Aside from being totally embarrassed, you mean?”

      He smiled. “Well, at least you weren’t holding a cup of coffee. That would’ve been worse.”

      I wrinkled my nose. “Do you always look on the bright side of things?”

      Hottie shrugged. “I try to. Don’t you?”

      I was about to answer but the publisher, who was holding the door, yelled for us to get out of the building.

      So we did end up going out the door together; it just wasn’t in the way I’d hoped. When we exited, Hottie’s advertising friends waved him over to their huddle near the lamp post and I joined Victoria and some others near a parking meter painted to resemble a huge bubble gum machine.

      Victoria leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Smooth one.”

      “Believe me, I didn’t try to trip.”

      She smiled. “Well, at least you got his attention.”

      I sighed. “But that’s not the way I wanted to get it.”

      Several minutes later, we were allowed back in the building. It turned out to be just a drill.

      Hottie was among the first ones through the door and I mentally smacked my head for blowing my chance to at least introduce myself.

      An hour later, I left to check out the cat house. When I arrived, authorities had just finished removing dozens of cats from the home. They cited a mother and daughter for cruelty to animals. They’d been accused of hoarding more than fifty cats inside their home under unsanitary conditions. The home was found to be “unfit for human occupancy” and condemned. I’m not a cat person. I prefer dogs, but I felt really sorry for the cats.

Chapter Three

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