Life sucks when you're alone. Especially for me, because most people have friends to call who can help fix the problem, but I don't.
When I dropped out of school and moved, I didn't take any friends with me, not that I had very many.
And I guess I don't look like friend material because not one person has asked me to hang out since I left.
Well except Maloney, who always asks if I want to go to the strip club with her. But I just smile and say I have plans.
So when I get home from Alex's house, I just sit. There is literally nothing I can do to pass the time.
Wait, I could text him, so he has my number.
No, it's been like an hour, I don't want to seem needy, I have to give it a little bit.
I decide to change out of my work clothes from last night, and put on some white wash skinny jeans, and a long sleeve mint green shirt.
I sit, watching The Walking Dead reruns, snacking on a bag of Doritos.
I'm sure living the life.
I wonder if Alex ever has time to do things like this.
You know, when he isn't playing hockey, or partying, or going to fancy events, I wonder if he ever sits, watches tv and opens a bag of chips.
I'll have to ask him sometime.
I decide to finally open my paycheck, and see how much Lisa thought to pay me this week.
She always pays me more than everyone else, because she knows I know it's a crappy job and want to move on as soon as I can.
No matter how many times Lisa has asked me to stay and work for her, and that she'll make me the assistant manager, I always tell her that as soon I find another job, I'm high tailing it out of that nasty place.
My fingers dig into the side of the envelope and I rip until it's fully opened.
$300. That's $50 more than I got last week.
It'll only cost me like $150 to pay for food and stuff next week, so I have a lot of left over money to spend.
Before I even think anything through, my fingers grab my aviator sun glasses, my car keys, my checkered printed wallet and I'm out the door.
Whelp, guess I'm going shopping.
I usually go to pretty cheap stores, so even after I stop at just a few places, I still have money left over.
But today, I decide to go inside Black and White.
I've only been in here a few times. Everything is so expensive. I saw a plain white shirt one time that was $50! And I also don't like coming in here because the workers start following me around.
I guess I don't look like friend material, AND I look like I look like I could rob a store.
Immediately I walk over to the dresses. The highest price I see is $300, so my eyes start scanning for the things around $100.
Then I see it.
A beautiful skin tight black dress with red flowers painted over it and a sweetheart neck line.
What I like most about it, is that it's form fitting, and shows off a lot of thigh.
It's been a while since I've felt, sexy. And even without seeing the dress on me, I know when I finally get to wear it, I will look, feel, be sexy.
It's simply gorgeous, and only $125.
I use "only," very lightly, usually the dresses I buy are half of half of half of $125.
Without even trying it on, I buy it.
Leaving the store with this beautiful thing, makes me feel for the first time in a long time, like I can do something for myself and only myself.
The boring jail cell that is my house surrounds me again, but now, instead of sitting doing nothing, I decide it would be a good time to text Alex.
"Ovechkin," is all I say. I want to see if he'll know it's me or not, and if he does, I want to see how he'll reply.
About ten minutes later, my phone buzzes and I sprint across the room to see who it is,
"If only I knew your last name,"
I smile and start to bite my finger nails. He is so cute, ugh, I can't stand it.
"It's a shame, I only tell people my last name in person,"
Is what I text back.
I know it's a stupid response, but it'll show him that I want to see him again tonight.
"That just gives me another excuse to see you,"
He says.
Before I can reply though, he continues,
"Would you like to come to a party with me tonight?"
Quickly, but not too quickly (I don't want to seem desperate) I reply,
"Sure, what's the address?"
I ask him, even though I really don't want to drive myself. I want us to arrive together. Well that is if there isn't going to be any cameras, or people there that will tell the world that I'm just another one of Alex Ovechkin's bitches.
"No, I pick you up,"
He texts back. I blush and send him my address.
Alex tells me he'll be here at 7:00.
I'm legitimately excited for this. As shocking as it is, I wasn't the most popular person in highschool, or middle school, or elementary school, well actually I take that back, in elementary if you were the kid with a 160 pack of crayons, then you were cool, and you sure as hell know I was the girl who everyone came up to for colors.
Anyway, I was never invited to parties, actually, I was never invited anywhere.
I was always the outcast who played field hockey, and at my school, everything was a sport, EXCEPT for field hockey.
All the girls on my team would get dirty looks when we walked down the locker room hallway, or when we wore out jerseys to school.
It was like we were being shamed by the entire school.
But I really liked being in field hockey, and I guess it showed, because I was the only freshman on varsity, and I made the newspaper for being the best right forward in our county. That's one of the things I'm most proud of.
At 5:30 I start getting ready. By 6:00, my hair is in curls and my eyes are darkened with black eyeliner and eyeshadow. By 6:30, my dress is on, my shoes are on, and perfume is being applied.
It actually isn't perfume though, it's called "body spray." If a bottle says "perfume" on it, I'm walking in the other direction. I feel like perfume ruins the whole, Tom boy attitude I've got going. But then again I'm currently wearing a tight dress and high heels, which probably ruins the Tom boy thing, but oh well.
At 6:54, I hear a knock at my apartment door, and when I open it he's standing there, dressed in a sport coat and khakis.
"Wow," he says looking my body up and down.
I clutch my little....clutch or hand purse maybe, (I don't know what it's called) close to my chest.
"Do you like it?" I ask smiling.
He nods his head hard,
"Hell yeah, it's, I mean you're, gorgeous."
My cheeks flare up with color, "thank you."
And then we walk down the stairs arm and arm to the parking lot, and into Alex's fancy black car.
