Our father calls us both heartbreakers, but Chrissy and I are practically opposites. My style is natural. I let my hair grow long, prefer glasses to contacts, wear very little makeup, and work out only enough to define my soft curves.
My sister is punk. She has tats, half a dozen piercings, lives in eyeliner, and dyes her pixie haircut black and blond.
And when it comes to me, she has always been uncannily perceptive.
"New guy? There is no new guy," I said. "Can you turn this shit down? Or at least find a song that doesn't make my ears bleed?"
"Girl, you better get used to it." Chrissy grooved in her seat, lifting her arms. Bracelets clanked down her wrists. "It's what we'll be listening to when I teach you how to twerk."
"Excuse me?"
"I've seen you dance, Han. You need a little help. And then you can show your new guy, it'll drive him nuts. Is he in Colorado?"
Yes. Yes he is.
"What? No! I mean, no there is no guy. You're ridiculous."
"H'okay," Chrissy laughed. "All I know is, you would never have ditched your job and boyfriend without some motivation. Sorry Han, your balls just aren't that big."
I swallowed and focused on the yellow lines rolling ahead of me in the night. I wanted so badly to talk about Matt. I thought about him nonstop while we packed and drove.
Spread your legs. Help me come. God, my heart is pounding.
But what could I tell Chrissy? You're right sis, I met this guy named Matt. Online. I know exactly three things about him. He lives in Colorado, he's an awesome writer, and he gets off talking to scantily clad strangers on the internet. Love at first Skype.
Yeah, that would go over well. Lots of laughing and eye rolling would ensue, and of course the inevitable question: do you know what he looks like?
God, no, I didn't know what Matt looked like.
I knew what Cal looked like—tall, blond, handsome, lean—but Matt could be a three-hundred-pound basement dweller. Ugh, he probably was. Stereotypes exist for a reason and Matt happened to be an internet-trawling male of an indeterminate age who came inside of five minutes when I told him I had big breasts (and who also had a convenient no pictures rule).
What a depressing line of thought.
I gave my sister a flat look.
"Be useful," I mumbled, "help me look for a hotel."
We stopped at 3:00 a.m. in the Cascades. My sister flung herself onto the motel bed and passed out. I sat in the bathroom and checked my email for the one-hundredth time.
Finally! Two emails from Matt. One was a reply to my post. The other had no subject.
Subject: (no subject)
Sender: Matthew S.
Date: Saturday, June 29, 2013
Time: 2:46 AM
Hi Hannah,
I just sent you a post. How's the move going? You're a brave little bird. And hey, you're invading my state. Small world, right?
I want to say that I hope you don't think less of me after what happened (the bathrobe incident, as I like to call it). I know it was seedy as fuck. I wouldn't be surprised if you did think less of me. I don't know what to think of myself.
Sorry I was a dick about the picture.
I haven't seen you on Skype so I assume you're on the road. I'm going to break another one of my rules. If you want to call, my number is 303-774-5761.
Matt
* * *
Subject: Seedy as fuck
Sender: Hannah Catalano
Date: Saturday, June 29, 2013
Time: 3:20 AM
Hey, are you still awake?
* * *
Subject: Re: Seedy as fuck
Sender: Matthew S.
Date: Saturday, June 29, 2013
Time: 3:21 AM
Yeah. I'm waiting.
Matt
* * *
My breath grew shallow as I read Matt's reply. I'm waiting. How could a guy seem so sexy and confident when he was only words on a screen?
He was waiting. Waiting for me to call. He didn't need to say it; I knew it.
My hands shook as I added Matt to my contacts and called the number.
Panic set in as I listened to the ring.
I'm about to talk to Matt.
I'm about to hear his voice.
I don't even know this guy.
What the hell am I doing?
He could be a psycho stalker.
We shouldn't cross this line.
I can hang up.
I can hang up now.
Yeah, I'm going to h—
"Hannah?"