He's got it coming: Love is the best revenge Page 8

I inhale slowly to fight the urge to move away from him as I focus on the question. “My relationship with my parents?”

  Just as straining as sitting alone close to you now that I’m lying to them, and avoiding them.

  “Yes. Are you close?” His tone grows smoother, making me want to slap him.

  I copy the way he speaks, recalling reading about how mirroring a person makes them trust you more. “They live in Portugal where they run a bed and breakfast. We talk on the phone.”

  “Same as me.” Henrik turns towards me, leaning closer.

  My pulse increases, and I stutter. “S…sorry?”

  He grabs the bag of nuts next to me, then sits back. “They’re hours away.”

  I exhale. Having Henrik too close is setting my body in panic mode, ready to flee.

  “I guess.” But unlike you, my parents beg me to visit. Your father doesn’t seem to care. Perhaps you learned your expressive behavior from him too.

  “You look different than your photos,” he says.

  I’m not staying for your evaluation of me.

  Keeping my voice sensual, I stand and walk two steps towards the cliff to let him have one last full look at my body. “Our hour is up,” I say.

  I’m not ready to talk about my family, or anything really. It’s been fun planning with Cecilia, but having to talk about people I love is heart-wrenching, knowing that I’ll never see them again.

  He jumps up and packs away the nuts and leftover juice. I follow him back up the trail, frustrated at myself for not being able to read him. He’s like a desert dune where every grain of sand buried underneath is embedded with deep mystery. One thing’s for sure. He’s attracted to me.

  “I’ll drive you home.” I unlock the car.

  He sits in the passenger seat. “Thanks. I hoped you wouldn’t leave me stranded here.”

  I laugh. “Now that’s an amusing thought.”

  Driving home, Henrik watches me through the corner of his eye the entire time. When I stop outside his apartment, he licks his lips.

  I can’t do this.

  I prepare myself to decline a kiss, to change it into a hug, as he leans over. But instead of going in for a kiss, he stops, turns around, and exits the car.

  “Thank you for driving me home.” He leans on the open door.

  Now I’m the one leaning in his direction. “Of course.”

  Why didn’t you kiss me? You said you would, and you were planning to, but must have changed your mind. This is a man who dates new women every weekend, and you apparently love sex. Did I mess this up?

  “Safe drive home,” he says, a slight lift to his lips.

  “Um…thanks.”

  He closes the door and walks to his apartment. I drive away as fast as I can while trying to seem casual about it if he turns.

  Hopefully, he’ll want to see me again, and the sooner I get back home to see what he tells his friends, I’ll know for sure.

  10

  Turning the corner at the end of his street, I call Cecilia.

  “How did it go?” Her voice is filled with anticipation.

  My grip tightens around the wheel. “I’m not sure. Henrik doesn’t say what he’s thinking, and I can’t read him.”

  She’s quiet as if contemplating this. “Maybe he acted differently around me. We’ll research body language then,” Cecilia says.

  She’s right. Besides, we can’t trust information Henrik has given her since he’s been lying to her the whole time, and he is a generally dishonest person. “You work with people, though. Wouldn’t you know how to read him if I explain what he did?”

  “I can read grief, sadness, and frustration on a person who has lost someone they love. To that, I relate, but with Henrik, it’s different. He fooled me, so I’m no viable source here.”

  At home, I’m frustrated to find that he hasn’t mentioned our date to any of his friends. I do a quick search and download a couple of books on body language. After reading about how eyebrows pushed together indicate both relief and anxiety, how folded arms suggest that a person is closed off, and other body details, I get a headache from trying to categorize and memorize all of it. A grin forms on my face when I move on and read about feet.

  Since we’ve already talked about what color socks he’s wearing, he’ll never think twice if I glance at his feet.

  I read the text out loud. “Even experienced manipulators tend to forget their feet, which will always point in the direction of a person’s desire.”

  My feet point out my office door, and towards my bedroom—a yawn escapes me. I didn’t even notice them move, but clearly, my body knew before me that I’m ready for sleep.

  My phone pings with a message from Henrik. I pack up and follow my feet out of the office, take a detour to the bathroom, then crawl under the covers to read it.

  This was seriously the first date I can recall getting tense.

  Tense? That wasn’t the effect I wanted.

  Why? Did I make you nervous?

  I snuggle into my pillow to read his reply.

  You’re sweet and you have a charm that you hide behind your strictness. It’s lovely when it shows, and watching you those few moments made me tense because I want to find out more. And just to let you know, I’m beating you in a ski race one day.

  I’ve got you hooked. But there’s no way we’ll ever ski together. And if we do, I’m not letting you win.

  Three dots appear, showing me that he’s typing more, but it stops as if he’s changed his mind about it. Then they reappear with a message following.

  You had the rotting pleasure of tasting the worst juice I’ve ever made.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. Fishing for compliments? What do you want me to say, huh? No, I loved it, you’re such an amazing juice maker? That it’s the thought that counts? Well. You’re asking the wrong girl.

  Glad to know you have a flaw.

  He replies:

  Oh, I’m full of them.

  I know.

  Now, how do I make him realize that it takes more to win me over than beet juice and nuts? Ah…making him think I want to improve my Tinder profile for other men to come. Sprinkling in a bit of competition might do the trick.

  Question: do I really look different from the pictures on my profile? Which ones resemble me the most? I’ll change out the others.

  Answer: you look better in reality, which is a bonus worth keeping.

  This is good.

  His next text makes me laugh.

  You shouldn’t btw ask me for advice to tweak your profile. I thought I was good enough ;)

  Check.

  I’m sure we both are ;) Good night.

  Good night sweetness.

  Blah. You call every woman you’re talking to ‘sweetness’.

  On Wednesday the following day, Cecilia stops by during her lunch break to catch up on our progress. “He’s uploaded a new picture to his profile images.” She holds her phone up.

  I frown as her Tinder profile hovers in her hand in front of me. “You’re still on Tinder, and matched with him?”

  She shrugs. “Don’t judge. The man of my dreams won’t come knocking on my door out of nowhere to ask me out. I have to find him somewhere. I’m also watching to see if he’s deleted his profile yet.”

  “He clearly hasn’t.” I text him what I hope no one else has asked him, ever.

  Have you lost weight since yesterday?

  His response is immediate.

  Hahahahaha!!!

  I take the time to explain.

  Know it might sound rude, but your face looks thinner in your recent photo. Sorry. No worries. I have a big face :) I like your honesty.

  You have no idea how honest I’ll be.

  I knew you weren’t the type of guy to fall for the usual flattering in dating.

  Rechecking Henrik’s online activity, he is searching porn sites. Judging from Cecilia’s dropped jaw, she can’t quite fit the pieces together that he’s not searching on a random site but has his o
wn account. “He’s got at least a hundred videos saved in a playlist? What does he think this is, Spotify?”

  I turn off the screen.

  Cecilia rakes her hair back, rests both hands on her head, and stares at the ceiling. “We didn’t add it as a goal…but what will you do if he wants sex?”

  I’ll kick him in the balls.

  My eyes close at the thought. “I don’t want to think about that. Besides, it takes two to tango, and…I’m not going to…ugh, nope, not thinking about it.”

  “I heard him tell Simen that if a woman doesn’t let him kiss her on date two, he dumps her. Has he asked you out again?”

  “No. And, let’s not believe everything this guy tells people,” I say.

  “He kissed me on our first date.” She puckers her glossy lips. “Actually, I kissed him.” She laughs. “Couldn’t help myself. Did I tell you he brought my favorite snacks? He was so charming. Nothing like that pervert we just witnessed.”

  I turn on the screen again. Henrik has opened a video that resembles something homemade with both people ordinary looking, a TV on in the background. She’s wearing white lace underwear, a preference that repeats itself through his playlist.

  I think back to the evening when Isac and I found porn we both enjoyed, when we were getting to know our preferences. It was a vulnerable moment for both of us, sharing our deepest urges.

  Cecilia turns the screen off. “At least we know he likes white lace underwear.” She shudders. “This is insane, you know that. We know every detail about Henrik.”

  “Even how he enjoys watching TV.” I show her a photo he has sent to Simen. The TV shows Californication. Henrik’s feet and a whiskey bottle branded Salt are on the table in front of him. “Gives us an upper hand, don’t you think?”

  She laughs. “Not just a hand, but according to the videos Henrik’s been watching, a leg, breasts, and the rest of the body. He’ll probably ask you out again this weekend.”

  “No, he’s traveling to Bodø and Unstad for Katelyn’s surprise party.” I show Cecilia the previous message Katelyn sent to Henrik on August sixteenth.

  Can’t wait to meet your friends. We can stop by to see your family too while we’re there if you’d like?

  Cecilia frowns. “Do you think his friends know what he’s like?”

  “Sure. Can’t be fun for them, pretending she’s special.”

  We both roll our eyes at Henrik’s evading answer to her question regarding meeting his family.

  I don’t want to waste the precious time I have with you.

  “Where exactly is Unstad?” Cecilia pulls up Google Maps, which shows it’s a three-hour ferry ride outside of Bodø, then an hour drive from there. She adds Værøy to the route. “The ferry stops on the family’s island, but he won’t visit? I bet he’ll spend the entire weekend scared that you’ll text him, or worse, call to blow his cover.” She nudges my arm as if encouraging me to ruin his weekend.

  I pull away. “I won’t win Henrik over by getting in his way.”

  “It’s incredible to me that he’s not chipping in more. Katelyn’s family is covering the food and drinks, and he’s only paying for himself. It’s a free food trip disguised as a surprise party.” Cecilia gets up. “I have to go back to work. But from my experience observing other people’s behavior during group sessions, most people view others from the perspective of their own actions. Since he’s dating several people at one time, he may assume you’re dating others as well. You can use that to your advantage. What are your plans for the weekend?”

  “Watch Henrik’s surprise party for Katelyn. His messages don’t say much. She wants him to move to Bergen, but he’s making excuses. That’s about it. Unpack boxes, read how the mind works, and about body language.”

  Cecilia leans on the door. “Unpack? I thought you said you were moving?”

  Shit.

  “I postponed it.” I show her a list of books Henrik has bought in the last two years to shift her attention. Most are about how to satisfy women in bed, or how to read and manipulate people. “I’ll spend time studying what he’s read. It’ll help me understand him better.” What I don’t tell her is that I bought my own books, as well, on how to please a man. Although I don’t want to think about sex with him, I’d hate to be unprepared with a man like this.

  “You’re invested in this,” she says.

  “I don’t do anything in life half-hearted.”

  After she leaves, I categorize the porn videos he’s saved to get a better idea of what he likes—natural beauties with fit butts, perky breasts, sweet faces, and a playful attitude, often with the woman on top and with a focus on women orgasming.

  You like your women sweet and free-spirited. I can play that role.

  While unpacking my clothes, I receive another message from Henrik.

  Next week Tuesday is a good day for a new date for us.

  It’s one o’clock in the morning by now, so I take my phone with me to the bathroom and respond between brushing my teeth and cleaning my face.

  With no work to go to, and no plans, what else do I have to do to kill time in six days? Still, I’m not going to be that easy to get.

  Busy next Tuesday.

  Massaging my oil-based cleanser into my skin, I consider ways to make myself even more attractive to him. Someone should invent an oil cleanser for my soul when this is finished.

  Of course you’re “busy” ;) Do you like talking to me?

  No, I don’t. But if it’s flattery you want, here you go.

  Yes, if not I wouldn’t bother. But you’re easier to talk to via text than in real life. You challenge me. I both like and dislike that. Do you enjoy talking to me?

  I wash off the oil and apply a cream cleanser while reading his response.

  Yes. You’re different, you have many layers that I’m curious about and under them, you have lots of charm that I like to see glimpses of. You’re smart (not many would have mentioned/observed my foot during a date), reticent while open, funny while you seem more serious than most people I know. You’re someone I don’t see right through, and I like that.

  Not only am I good at this, but you seem to love the challenge.

  The thought makes my adrenaline pump faster as my lips lift in a smirk reading Henrik’s next message.

  Wednesday. “Ballet” lesson?

  I picture myself ballet dancing and conclude that if I ever were to try it, I’d look as graceful as a cow on stilts.

  I dry my hands and type my response.

  Yes. Buying a tutu skirt on Monday.

  And circling the moon in my spaceship.

  He’s with Katelyn on Thursday, well on his way to her surprise party. Let’s see what excuse he comes up with.

  Available this Thursday though. What do you want to do? Have to know. If not it’s ballet on Thursday too ;)

  I smile to myself, happy with my little joke.

  Look at that. Smiling here...just so you know it.

  Shit, so am I.

  Stop that, it’s dangerous to smile while texting. You never know where it’ll lead.

  And I have to regain control here, so quit it.

  I only have Tuesday and Wednesday free.

  Nice dodging there. One point for you.

  Bad luck

  No. Calculated

  And one more for honesty. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

  I apply my serums, then a moisturizer, and get into bed.

  Okay, well, I’m busy both days.

  If I change my schedule for you, you’ll think I’m too keen and lose interest. You need the chase.

  Henrik writes:

  Would like to see you at Unstad.

  Yes, along with your girlfriend. Her mother and I can write a song. That would be great. Idiot.

  I’m about to reply that I’ll go there with him some time, but as far as he knows, I have no idea what Unstad is, so I do what generations of women have done before me: play ignorant and ask.

  What’s Unstad?<
br />
  A magical surf camp on an island outside of Bodø. Going there on Thursday to surf.

  Surf. Yeah, right.

  Thinking about it, the event is being held at a surfing school. Henrik’s telling me the truth? This takes me aback. I have read that keeping as close to facts when lying is the best way to never be caught, but he’s sharing where he’s going of his own volition. Why? He could risk me showing up. Maybe he subconsciously wants me to expose him? Or is he a better liar than I’ve given him credit for? By telling me this, he can describe his trip in great detail, only leaving out Katelyn and her family. Yes, no doubt, I’m underestimating him.