“Nah man, not Raine’s mom. Yours. And guess what? I think she’s in love with me. She’s talking about leaving your dad and moving in with me. Mentioned adopting more kids, even. The full nine. Imagine…that would make me your stepfather. I could make you call me Daddy. How about that?” I was playing with fire, but I’d always loved living on the edge.
Nate clenched his fists slowly. His temper bubbled just under the surface much of the time, escaping the attention of those who didn’t know him well, as it was masked by the smooth veneer of effortless charm he projected. It didn’t fool us, his closest friends, those who knew his inner demons, but it had the rest of the world eating out of his hands. Especially women. The pulse in his jaw throbbed frenetically.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was another affectation he used to disarm others that had zero effect on me. On the other hand, I quickly decided I had neither the energy nor inclination to get into it with Nate, for no other reason than the sport of baiting him.
“There’s no date tonight. I’m taking a break from the whole dating fiasco.”
Nate snorted, and as smooth and controlled as he normally was, it seemed involuntary. My suspicion was confirmed when the snort mutated into a coughing fit, and he doubled over, sputtering unceremoniously. When he regained his composure, he stared at me like I’d grown a second dick.
“I’ve known you for twelve years, and there has never not been a date. It’s your thing. Even when you could barely think or see straight to do anything else, you dated. Whether they’d announced the start of the nuclear holocaust, or the melting of the polar ice caps, one thing I knew would happen as sure as the setting of the sun and rising of the moon was that you would be on a date. Especially on a Monday.
“For you to have looked me in the eye not five minutes ago and claimed that you’re not in love with Melissa Reid, and then to declare your dating life over is nothing short of pissing the bed and claiming you were sweating. Of course, I knew you were tripping to begin with, but this news just cements that suspicion with cast-iron evidence. You were lying through your fucking teeth.”
“Look, it’s not how it seems. Don’t put words into my mouth. I said it’s a hiatus from dating, not a complete end to it. I’m not about to become a fucking monk. I still love pussy as much as the next guy, but you said it yourself, it’s been twelve years nonstop. Two, three, four dates a week for more than a decade is a lot of dates. I need a break. That’s all.”
“A break coinciding with your ex-girlfriend, who just so happened to be your first love, the love of your life and the girl who popped your cherry, returning pretty much from the dead? How very convenient.” He rolled his eyes, before leveling his glare back on me.
I stared him down, certain he knew my deal, but also aware that I couldn’t very well confess my undying love for my ex-girlfriend, and prospective client. At least not at this stage in the pitch process. On the other hand, there had never been too much need to explain anything between the two of us. We knew each other well enough to read the cues, leaving those things we didn’t want to broach unsaid, but understood. Which reminded me.
“What happened?” I motioned toward him with my head.
“What?”
“Now it’s your turn to cut the crap Bumble. You know full well what I’m talking about. Let me guess, another altercation with a ‘door’?” I was referring to his split lip and slowly blooming black eye.
“Something like that. You know how it goes.”
I kind of did, kind of didn’t, but I did know that Nate had his demons, and his battles to fight—internal and external. We all did. We also understood that we didn’t talk about those issues unless the other person wanted to, or they were doing something life threatening and an intervention was required. Nate had no intention of talking to anyone about his “clumsy” spells any time soon, and from what I could gather they weren’t life threatening, so they sat firmly in the ‘none of my business’ camp.
Besides, they kind of made him a little more interesting and a little less one dimensionally perfect. A split lip here, black eye there. Sometimes, though admittedly, rarely, stitches, to the cheek or eyebrow. Once a cauliflower ear. These “accidents” were the only things to occasionally mar his perfect looks, but even still, these temporary imperfections somehow added to his appeal, rather than detracting from it. He really was excessively genetically blessed.
Mel
Why the fuck had I agreed to a potential date with Beck? Did I need head shrinking, or maybe an intervention of some kind? What in his right mind had convinced him to suggest it, but worse still, what in my wrong mind had convinced me to agree? It was a bad idea on any night of the week. But given that we were elbows-deep in a global pitch situation, where we had both promised to keep things strictly business, and where technically, us doing anything other than liaising about issues pertaining to said pitch represented a substantial conflict of interest. It was an horrific idea.
Add the previous failed coffee “date” to the mix, and it was positively suicidal. If it went badly, it could very well mean the death of my career. Beck would be okay. He owned his own company, but I’d be out of a job, with my professional reputation torn to tatters. Then what would I tell Sam?
Fuck, what would I say to Sam, anyway? It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fill him in on what was going on with Beck. It was that I couldn’t. I couldn’t turn back time, and I couldn’t push water back into a faucet.
No, it was better this way. For now at least. It couldn’t continue forever, but it was currently better than the alternatives, and hopefully Sam would forgive me when he finally found out the whole truth.
My reverie was interrupted by the ping of an email hitting my inbox.
To: Melissa Reid
From: Nico Perera
Subject: I’m done
Hi Melissa,
This is to let you know that I will not be liaising with Dillon Bartholomew of BR&ND any further. He is rude, obnoxious and insulting, and I’m not paid anywhere near enough to put up with that. He has questioned my intellect, my work ethic, and even my taste in music. Worse still, as of about a half an hour ago, he is now refusing to work on this project if he has to liaise directly with me.
If you intend for the project to continue, I would suggest that if he has a question for me, it goes through you, and likewise, if I need anything from him (which I sincerely doubt), I will solicit it through you, and never the twain shall meet.
There are so many things I could say about this situation, but they sit at the margins of professional conduct. Suffice to say that I’m not happy.
Nico.
I glanced down at my watch. Nine thirty-five a.m. Shit! Shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I briefly wondered if foul play was at work. It wasn’t inconceivable that Beck may have thrown the situation in the interests of winning the bet and scoring a non-date with me. Was that what had happened? I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t stoop so low, but I couldn’t know for sure. Tyler wouldn’t have done something like that, but Beck, the grown man version of today was far more worldly-wise than the boy I’d fallen in love with. He was also battle-worn, and could clearly be ruthless if and when he needed to be.