Dammit, he didn’t even know anymore. It used to be parties, beautiful women, and booze.
Now, anything involving Piper, even if it was a Saturday night in, curled up on the couch, watching some chick flick sounded better than the partying and loose women.
Ummm, would the real Trevor please stand up?
Whoever that man was. And what was he going to do with himself when this was over? He didn’t fit in his old life; he didn’t have a new life.
And after all the sheer panic, he’d probably have a heart condition and a brand spanking new low sodium diet.
Well, that was good. All those trips to the cardiologist would occupy his time.
Get a grip, asshole.
How nice of Davidson to give them extra time on this one so he could commence the nervous breakdown he so rightfully deserved.
Focus. The perfect weekend…
A getaway in a private inn tucked into the country with a soft, king-sized bed, and no cell phones.
Shit, that might actually work. If it didn’t, the fact that he’d described something romantic would win over the women. They would forget about their disastrous beginning.
Breathe, just fucking breathe, man.
“Okay, men, one more question. Call it a little bonus round.” He scanned the paper. “What did you get your partner for your first Christmas together?”
This would be a big one. Motherfucker, they were going to mangle the shit out of this whole deal with the way they were trying to dial up a history as if this was Wheel of Fortune and their chances depended upon the luck of the spin.
He looked down at his beer. His second beer. If he hurried maybe he could consume a couple more and feign inebriation.
Except Rachel would call bullshit. She’d seen him pound a fifth of Jack Daniels and then use the side rail of a yacht as a balance beam.
Because for a time, he’d been the king of all show-offs.
“Time’s up!”
Yup, times up. Death awaited him. His career teetered on the edge of the Empire State Building just waiting for a canary to disturb his balance by breaking wind, sending him plummeting over the edge to his death. What they scraped off of East 34th street could be packed in a Sucrets box.
God, he’d become a dramatic bitch.
He looked down at what he had jotted on the card.
Music box.
Ahh, yes, just call him Trevor “King of Dumbasses” Myers.
She was a fucking dancer. Now that he’d sealed his fate with the hasty scrawl of a Sharpie, he could think of at least three things to get a dancer: ballet tickets, any kind of ballerina jewelry, a dance scene depicted in watercolor or acrylic, ballet slipper Christmas ornament, you know, since it was motherfucking Christmas and all.
Christ, was it hot in here?
Davidson called the ladies back in. Piper dropped into the seat next to him. She smiled.
He tried to smile back, but judging by the odd look she gave him, he resembled a man trying to smile through poop cramps.
“Okay, ladies, we asked the men…” Davidson continued.
Trevor reached for Piper’s hand and wrapped it in his. He focused on the feel of her soft skin against his as Davidson went through all the couples and finally arrived at them.
“Piper, you’re up. Where did you go on your first date?”
She looked at him and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “To the movies?” she said.
“You don’t know for sure?” Rachel asked. The sip of wine she took hid the smirk on her face.
“Well, Trevor, what was your answer?”
None of your goddamned business man. How’s that for an answer?
Knowing he was only delaying the inevitable, he flipped his card. “Piper’s prom.”
Davidson gave him a puzzled look and then glanced between them. A flush rose up on Piper’s cheeks.
“Okay, then,” Davidson said.
Yeah, that about summed it up. He picked the one date that they actually had gone on and there was not a single reason on the planet that Trevor could think of to explain why Piper wouldn’t remember that Trevor took her to her very own PROM!
Did he scream that?
He scanned the room. It looked like he hadn’t, but several people seemed to be onto his bullshit. Kent, Mike, and Steve gave him pitying looks. He hadn’t ever seen that fierce a grin on Rachel’s face before. Christina and Deanne both sat with their mouths slightly open, glancing between Trevor and Piper.
“I guess later on, Piper and I will have a bit of a talk about what qualifies as a date,” Trevor said lamely.
Yeah, we’re imposters.
Next question addressed what they had first thought of their partner. At least that was more of an exploratory question than a your-ass-is-on-the-line question.
Of course, the question also had the capability to stir up trouble, but after screwing the pooch on the first, did it really matter anymore? He couldn’t keep his ass in a boat long enough to finish a race and now this.
Davidson asked Deanne to which she replied, “He thought I was already taken.”
Kent flipped his card: She was a snob.
Uh oh.
Deanne pinched his arm.
“You’re up again, Piper,” Davidson said. “What was Trevor’s first impression of you?”
This time she didn’t look at him. “That I was a smart ass.”
Trevor flipped his card: She had brains, talent, and a smart mouth.
“I’d say that’s close enough. Nice job!” Davidson said.
Trevor chugged what was left of his beer.
Yeah, thanks, Davidson, for throwing me a pity bone. Not that it will get me the job or anything.
He leapt up. “I need another beer.” And headed for the kitchen to grab one.
Curling his fingers around the edge of he counter he hung his head. Was the partnership really worth all this? With every question he felt like more of a fraud, and not just to his boss.
But to Piper.
He hated putting her through this dog and pony show. And he had to wonder if how they’d every laugh one day about the whole thing when with every question, he revealed just how much of a manipulator he’d become.
It wasn’t that long ago that he’d considered it his best quality, but now, all it had become was a source of shame.
At least he didn’t do it with a smile on his face the way he had just a day before. But that dose of self-awareness he could only credit to Piper and her positive influence.
She called him on his shit alright. Called him on it and despite not being cool with it, she honored her word.
It was time to shed his inner jackass and be more like her. Especially if he ever wanted a shot at being at them more than puppets in a ruse for his boss.
Beer in hand, he headed back to his fate just in time for the ice cream round. He’d gotten her favorite ice cream right, whoopdie shit. Chocolate wasn’t exactly rocket science.
Several sets of eyes in the room continued to move over him making it near impossible to fight the urge to squirm. He tamped down the urge to flee and told himself he just needed to make it through a few more minutes.
No longer excited about this last question, or how romantic it made him look, he maintained an every-seven-second draw from his beer.
“And Piper, what is Trevor’s idea of the perfect weekend?”
“A weekend getaway with a big bed?” she said, the hint of doubt in her voice for all to hear.