3. A.D.D.

three

Cam

I've known I was bisexual since I was nine years old. 3 Everyone makes their Barbies scissor; it doesn't mean you're gay. But naming your Barbies after yourself and your fourth-grade best friend…

Still, even with that rather young realization and my father's full support, I've never actually been with a woman. Well, not until last night.

When I finally put in my two weeks' notice for The Dog Shop, Dr. Burton was ecstatic. Adjustment Disorder makes things like that difficult, and as if that isn't bad enough on its own, I happened to get the trifecta.

"Adjustment Disorder with Depression and Anxiety," Dr. Burton called it. Changes can be scary for me, so he constantly encourages my friends and I to try new things together.

"Try these shrimp tacos, Cam! They're really good!"

"We should watch the extended edition of this instead."

"They were out of vanilla, so I got you caramel."

I think everyone was completely shocked when I actually accepted Avery's offer. Myself included. But even though I cried the entire therapy session afterward, I realized what a relief it was to move on from such a hostile environment. That got me thinking that maybe I was ready to move on from other hostile things.

Like Cody.

From the start, my friends hated him. And Hayden and Adrian don't just hate anybody. Even Avery told me he was a tool, but I always take his opinion with a microscopic grain of salt. Of course, by the time I realized they were right, I had already attached myself to Cody's hip, so it took four years and one traumatic walking-in-on-him-in-our-bed-with-another-woman for me to actually let him go. And last night, I was really ready to completely move on.

Move on and try something new.

Dr. Burton suggested a more casual approach to the situation. Because of the co-dependency in Cody and I's relationship (his words not mine), he thought it might be better that I look for a no-strings-attached type of situation. A one-night stand.

Obviously, that's not really an experience that you share with your friends, so Adrian and Hayden helped me devise a plan. The A.D.D. plan.

The A.D.D. plan consists of three obligatory criteria for my first one-night stand with a woman, and my first one-night stand since Cody.

Attraction: You must be attracted to your one-night stand. Otherwise, what's the point?

Distance: Your one-night stand has to be a complete stranger. That way, you can't get attached to them, because you'll never see them again.

Which brings us to the last one.

Deal breaker: Your hookup must come with a deal breaker.

This one is important. Maybe the most important. If there isn't something you dislike about your hookup, it's a one-way ticket to Relationship Town. And I'm supposed to stay far, far away from that place.

So, in my nicest, but still thrifted, emerald green dress and a pair of black kitten heels that squeezed my feet in a way that made me wish I were dead, I went to Monsey's Bar Grill. I know the more typical route would be Tinder or Hinge, but I've seen enough Dateline to know how that ends. Plus, Monsey's is my go-to, and I was trying enough new things as it was.

I should have known the entire situation was going to be a disaster when the moment I stepped out of the car, my heel snapped. Still, I could hear Hayden's voice in my head, telling me he believed in me, and Adrian hyping me up about what a "hot piece of ass" I was. So, I improvised. I grabbed the only other pair of shoes in my car, my favorite shark-shaped slippers that I run all my quick errands in. You know, picking up takeout, grabbing snacks at the corner store, those types of things. Then, I put them on.

I guess I also put on rose-colored glasses, because the universe sent me yet another warning sign I completely ignored.

When the tan woman with the aquatic tattoos dumped half her margarita on me, I should have turned around right then and there. Two strikes should have been enough for me to realize this wasn't going to work out in my favor. Tonight was not my night. But I was so blinded by her dashing smile and those hazel, aphrodisiac eyes that I pushed those rose-colored glasses up the bridge of my nose and let her buy me a drink.

To be fair, she was hitting all the right criteria.

With her shiny chestnut hair, thick dark lips, and facial piercings that glistened in the low bar light, Violet looked as if Artemis and Asteria had a lesbian love child. "Beautiful" did no justice, but "ethereal" was too soft. This woman was the physical embodiment of Mother Earth. Everything about her, from her forest-colored eyes to her small, boulder-like hands was like she was hand-fucking-crafted by nature. Attraction? Check.

And distance was no question, given that I had never seen her a day in my life. It kind of seemed like a cruel joke, to meet someone so beautiful just to see them only once in your life. But I hadn't known her, and she hadn't known me, so distance? Check.

It wasn't until we were locked inside the bathroom with her hand inside my underwear that I realized I massively fucked up. There was no deal breaker.

I tried to think of one, scouring my brain to find anything she could have said or done that ruined any chance of me thinking about her the next day. I couldn't stay mad about the spilled margarita because I've spilled about six different substances on this dress already. I couldn't hate her for the taunting because it was actually quite charming and was definitely turning me on. And the fact that I'd never had a sexual encounter with a woman before couldn't be a deal breaker, because that was the entire point. I was trying something new. I was moving on.

Then, I was moving out. Out of the bathroom, out of Monsey's, out of Violet's life.

I don't know why I panicked so badly. Adrian thinks everything just became too much too fast. I only gave them a brief synopsis, because it had been humiliating enough, but I have to say I agree with them. I just kind of wish I could have explained that to her, because damn did I want her to fuck me in a way I hadn't been fucked before.

But I couldn't really control that.

In my twenty-three years of life, I've learned that controlling my body and my mind is nearly impossible. Although they share the same vessel, the two are complete enemies. My brain can never make my body do what I want, act how I want, or even breathe how I want. The only thing my brain does control is ensuring constant worry is always present. Last night, it might have kicked into overdrive, but today, I can think of many reasons why it's feasible.

I'm starting a completely new job, with new people and a new atmosphere. There will be new customers and dogs and rules and equipment. The only familiar things will be Adrian and Avery. And still, I only like half of them.

"It'll be fine," Adrian says in a comforting tone. We stand outside the large building, hand-in-hand. Dawson lets out an excited whine, his tail gently swatting the concrete slab. "Everyone is really nice. I mean, the owner is a little uptight, but she's pretty much always on vacation. All you have to do is what you're good at."

Usually, Adrian's consoling helps, but sometimes, it just reminds me of all the things there are to stress about. The things I hadn't thought of in the first place:

What if I'm not good at my job?

What if everyone hates me?

What if I mess up and get fired?

Half of my brain knows that, in reality, the chances of all of those things happening are slim. But the half that comes up with that shit works overtime, so I can't forget they're all still technically possible.*

As we step into the lobby of Furry Friends Pet Resort, the smell of bleach and wet dog baptizes me. Various retail products line the light blue walls from floor to ceiling: brushes, toys, food, leashes, anything a dog owner could ever need, anything a dog could ever want. When the door closes behind me, a bell hidden somewhere near the top of the frame chimes. I barely finish looking around before Adrian drags me through a side door near the back of the room and leads me to the inside of the facility.

The aroma immediately transforms from bleach and wet dog, to strictly wet dog. I analyze my surroundings while Adrian leads me to a large set of green lockers. The facility is huge, like a warehouse-converted-dog-hotel. Loud barks echo off the walls, bouncing around one another and ringing through the building. My head throbs at the sounds, but I try my hardest not to show it. To the left, four large garage-type doors sit up on the wall, daylight flooding in through each opening. Vinyl fencing surrounds the doorways, creating separate yards for the dogs. The same soft blue from the lobby encompasses me, fire hydrants and squirrels and paw prints painted on top. On the right side of the facility, dozens of rooms sit along the wall, each with a clipboard next to their windowed doors.

"You can put your bag in here," Adrian says, interrupting my sight-seeing. "Listen, I'll give you a tour sometime soon. But today we've got like six dogs on the schedule, and one of them is a seventy-pound doodle. So, let's get your ass into the salon."

I nod and start to follow Adrian once more, but I feel resistance from the leash gripped in my hand. After giving a short tug to get Dawson to move, I start walking again, but there's no budge. I turn to see what's causing the holdup, and my jaw drops to form an overwhelmingly horrified "o." A yellow puddle forms at the bottom of a vinyl post, Dawson's leg hiked high into the air.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, as my dog continues to take what has to be the longest piss of his life on the epoxy floor of my new job.

Adrian's cheeks grow pink, and I can tell they're trying not to laugh from the way they bite their lip. I appreciate the effort, even if I can still see their very obvious amusement.

"I'll go put him into daycare," they chuckle softly. Their finger points to a bright yellow bucket in the corner. "There's a mop bucket over there."

I sigh loudly, shaking my head as I approach the bucket. I'm reaching for the wooden, splintering mop handle when a voice startles me, and my heart practically rams against my ribs. I clutch my chest.

"Can I help you?" the voice asks. It's smooth yet raspy, and I swear I can sense familiarity in it. Turning around slowly, as to not let whoever it is know that they almost had me pissing my pants, pure mortification floods my body.

So that's why she sounded familiar.

A small tan face, with perfectly plucked eyebrows, and a pierced angular nose blinks at me slowly. Those thick full lips are parted ever so slightly, her jaw just barely hanging open. Recognition floods her face, and while my cheeks are scalding, hers go ghostly pale.

"Oh, Vi!" Adrian's voice interrupts us, before either of us has the chance for a verbal reaction. "I see you've finally met Cameron."