What She's Looking For by Trent Evans Page A

those who
went because it was ‘the thing to do’. Had no clue what I wanted to do, or what
I was any good at.”
    Ashley leveled her gaze at him,
trying to keep her head from swaying. “And, what did you find out?”
    He shook his head. “I still don’t
know. I’m not sure it’s for me. I keep sitting in class asking myself ‘What the
fuck am I doing here?’”
    She laughed, knowing exactly what
he meant. She’d received her degree in communications, and on that sunny, windy
day of commencement, as she walked across the stage for that precious piece of
paper, she hadn’t a clue what she’d do with it. So, she started selling houses.
Wow, what a great return on her parents’ investment.
    “Comm major here,” she said, holding
a wavering hand up. “And look where it got me. That brass ring is just around
the corner.”
    Erik laughed, tilting his head to
the side. “So how come there’s no Mr. Ashley? You’re entirely too good looking
to be single.”
    She blushed to the roots of her hair.
“Young man, how dare you!” She winked at him. “I’m old enough to be your
mother.”
    If she wasn’t already drunk she
knew this subject would’ve had her up and out the door. Ashley marveled anew at
the self-observation phenomenon one experienced when they were shit-faced. It
was as if you were watching a play that you yourself were starring in.
    “Bullshit,” he said, a wide grin on
his face. “How old are you?”
    “You tell me.”
    Erik scratched his chin. “Hmm,
twenty nine?”
    She beamed. “Sweet boy. Higher.”
    “Thirty?”
    Her thumb went up. “Higher.”
    “Thirty five?”
    “Nope. More.”
    “ Really? Holy shit.”
    She affected a frown at him,
pushing out her lower lip.
    “Aw hell.” Erik’s eyes widened, and
he held up a hand. “Not what I meant, sorry.”
    She stuck her tongue out at him and
giggled, letting him off the hook. “I’m thirty eight.”
    He tilted his head, a smile
slanting his lips. “You don’t look it. Just saying.”
    “Thanks, Erik.”
    For a young guy he’d navigated that
feminine minefield rather well, all things considered.
    “How’s our guest? A little tipsy?”
Parker walked in, beer in hand. He sat down next to Ashley on the couch. She
felt both irritated and glad that he didn’t seem to have the same sort of
personal space consideration that Erik apparently did. Parker sat so close
their hips nearly touched, the clean smell of him apparent even over the smell
of beer she could sense wafting off of her.
    Lovely, Ash. They’re gonna think
you’re a fucking lush.
    “I think she probably should lay
down. Let it wear off,” Erik said, tipping his bottle toward her as he spoke.
    Parker shook his head. “I’ll get
her back to her place.”
    “Wait, I’m not three years old,
guys. I can make it myself. I’ll just walk.”
    Parker grunted. “In those shoes?
You’ll either break a heel or an ankle — or both. Sorry, I’m taking you home.
End of story.”
    Ashley sat forward, and a wave of
lightheadedness washed over her. “You guys slip me some GHB or something? I’m
dizzy as hell now.” She put her head in her hands.
    “Oh no,” Parker said, quiet mirth
in his voice. “We wouldn’t do something like that. Too easy. Where’s the
challenge?”
    She was too drunk to examine the
meaning of those words, but if she remembered them in the morning, she would
sure be asking Parker what the hell he meant.
    “Drink this,” Drake said, walking
in and holding out a cold glass of ice water to her. “Best thing for you now.”
    Glancing up at Drake, she took the
water. “Oh, thanks.” She felt the butterflies again when he flashed her his
quick grin, then walked over to sit at the kitchen table.
    She took two huge gulps of water,
hoping the spins wouldn’t get worse.
    “Drink the rest, Ashley. You’re
gonna need it tonight,” Parker said.
    “How many beers did you give her,
dude?” Erik pointed at Parker.
    Parker shrugged, a bright grin on
his