I have no idea what that is. Like, is she asking me for bedroom tutorials? A fake date? Something else? “What does that mean exactly?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I just want to know…” she stops and takes a steadying breath, “…how a man is supposed to treat a woman when they go out. So when I said, ‘girlfriend lessons,’ I was going to ask if you could take me on those four additional dates you owe Date Night, as friends, and just kind of show me how a man treats a woman.” Her voice pitches up, full of hope and anticipation.
I hesitate. Do I want to take Rachel out on dates as friends? Like un-dates? Spending more time like we’re together sounds like it’s going to test all my resolve.
But the look in her eyes right now is priceless. Her words from moments ago echo in my ears. I don’t know what it’s like to date. For real. When a man actually cares. And when she puts it like that, I can’t say no to her. I want her to have everything good in the world. “Yes. I’d love to.”
She claps. She actually claps in excitement. “I was even thinking maybe Date Night could call it How to Date. Like the comments said. It could be the How To Date series. Do you really think they’d go for it?”
She sounds so eager that I do the only thing I can. I call my agent on speakerphone right then and tell him the idea.
Maddox listens intently then asks, “Like, what to wear on a date? What to talk about on a date—that kind of thing? Where to go?”
Rachel nods vigorously. “Yes, exactly. What to do, how to have a great date. Some of us have no idea, but I can do lots of research and pick some fun places and things to do,” she says, then rattles off some options.
She really has thought this through.
“Can you make that happen instead of five first dates?” I ask Maddox.
There’s no hesitation from him. “I’ll call them right now. But consider it done,” he says, then I say goodbye and hit end.
“Boom. I’m the date doctor,” I say dusting one palm over the other.
“You’re the best,” Rachel says, with obvious relief and excitement. “I thought you were going to laugh at my crazy idea.”
Oh, hell.
I was thinking about boning her and all she wants is someone to be good to her.
“I swear I’ll be the best platonic boyfriend ever,” I say, meaning it.
But I’m also cursing the couch for what it just got me into.
Ten minutes later, Maddox emails the good news. Date Night loves our plan and Zena wants to have dinner soon. Rachel and I order Thai food to celebrate—the Date Night love, not the pending dinner meeting. When the food arrives, we eat at the kitchen counter because I refuse to sit on the jackass couch with her any longer.
I am not that strong.
Not that good.
We will eat, and then I will drive her home, and then I’ll jerk off, and then tomorrow I will start my first-ever cleanse.
A dirty thought cleanse.
“I came up with some ideas. Now, I hope it’s okay if I don’t want to do some fancy new restaurant as a date,” she says.
“Too Edward,” I say. “I get it.”
“Exactly. But there are so many other things we can do. Like, what if we went to a farmers’ market for a date?” Rachel says as she scoops up a spicy eggplant chunk with chopsticks. “Because I was researching dates and that came up, but I have no idea how to go on a date at a farmers’ market. I mean, do you?”
Well, yeah.
That’s sort of a thing these days. But is it rude to say that to her? I don’t want her to feel worse about her lack of dating savvy. Honesty is probably the best policy though. “Yes, I’ve been on them,” I say. “With Quinn, and then with Sasha before. Even Izzy.”
Smooth, real smooth. Why not go a little further down Ex-girlfriend Lane?
I take a bite of pad Thai to shut the fuck up.
“Good. Because I love farmers’ markets, but I don’t think I’d know how to go on a date at one,” she says, seeming entirely unfazed by the mention of my exes. It’s just part of our friendship history, after all.
But she also sounds excited, and I key in on her enthusiasm since it raises a really good question. After I finish the noodles, I swallow some water, then say, “Does this mean you’re going to start dating for real? Like when we’re done?”
As soon as I ask, I feel like I’m being strangled by a python.
She snort-laughs, shaking her head. “God no.” She shudders too. But then, after a deep breath, she says, “I just…want to know. For someday. Way down the road.” She sets down her chopsticks, her guileless eyes meeting mine. “Not now, not tomorrow, not anytime soon, but someday I really would like to be in love. For real. When it means the same thing to both people.”
My heart lurches. “I want that for you,” I say.
My best friend wants love. When we finish eating and she asks if I’d like to watch a show, I say yes. I’m not ready for the night to end.
She returns to the couch, and I grab my laptop and find a new episode of Privilege on Webflix.
At least it’s not a romance. Near the end of the hour-long episode, when the broody lead, Bryan, is taking out his trash, and the shadows turn dark and foreboding, Rachel whips her gaze to me. “I bet his next-door neighbor turns out to be his new boss, who’s spying on him,” she whispers.
Damn, that’s brilliant. But I’m good at games too, so I add, “And Bryan will say, I didn’t see you there.”
Five seconds later, Bryan startles, then says to the man, “I didn’t see you there.”
I laugh, then we knock fists. “Now we’re the script doctors.”
When the episode ends and the screen offers us another, Rachel nods. She settles deeper into the couch, and soon, very soon, as Bryan confronts his boss, her eyes fall closed and her breathing evens out.
I watch her longer than I should but exactly as long as I want to. I just can’t look away. Her shoulders rise and fall gently, her hair spills around her face, and she seems content.
Like she got what she wanted tonight—girlfriend lessons from a man who can treat her right.
But I still want to slide my body against hers and kiss her every-fucking-where.
Which means…I need to take care of one more thing before I begin the dirty thought cleanse.
Quietly, I get up from the couch, put a blanket over her, then dim the lights as I head to my bedroom.
16
THE SHOWER SHOW
Rachel
Ow.
My underwire is digging into me.
I fumble around in the dark, plucking at my evil bra as I push up onto an elbow. The button on my jeans is bugging me too, and I’m about to undo it and go back to sleep, but I’m twisted around in this blanket, and…ohhh.
I fell asleep on my couch again. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. Conking out on the couch. But then I can never get back to sleep in my bed.
I will stay sleepy, dammit. I will successfully transfer my tired ass to my bed.
With a monster yawn—this is good, this is so good—I sit up, then shove this tangled blanket off me. I can barely keep my eyes open as I stand.