“About this political story—” Normally, he wouldn’t dare interrupt his boss. But this was important. It burned in his gut, and he’d learned never to ignore that feeling. The previous Saturday, he’d had the same sensation of need running through his whole system before he’d kissed Hannah. Hannah who still hadn’t agreed to go out with him.
“You’re not on that beat.” His boss’s emphatic closing of the issue wiped Hannah from his brain. He wasn’t focusing on her right now. Maybe he’d focus on her later, when he had the kind of reporting assignments he wanted. After he’d gotten the kind of dog he wanted. And been on his own a while longer.
For now, he and Hannah were just friends, and he had a story to get.
“But I trained for that beat.” He didn’t mean to sound like a whiny asshole, but when Irv sighed, he was afraid that was the impression he was giving off.
“Your beautiful mug is the site’s most popular feature.”
Jack flushed. He hated feeling like a piece of meat, which was possibly why he empathized so much with the women on dating apps these days. Maybe he was just raised right—both before and after his parents’ divorce. Even though his parents barely spoke, his father respected his mother and could admit that she’d been right to move on to bigger and better things. Sean had been kind of a son of a bitch in the early years of his kids’ life. He hadn’t seen that his wife was growing more and more unhappy.
Jack had seen that and vowed never to let his lady feel like she was less than the most important thing to him. He couldn’t imagine demanding that Hannah leave a job to stay home with the kids.
Because he was never going to have kids with Hannah. He just wanted to be her friend. That’s why he couldn’t stop texting her cute French bulldog pictures or photos of food he thought she’d like. Maybe he needed to get a personal Instagram account. Under a name that the fans of his how-to column didn’t know. Maybe if he had another outlet, he could stop trying to talk to a woman who didn’t want him.
“Where are you, Nolan?”
His boss’s impatient staccato was a few decibels below a bellow. Shit. Stay focused, Jack. “Thinking about how I can convince you to give me a shot at this lead I found.”
“What lead?”
Oh no. He wasn’t about to hand Irv the lead and have him hand it to one of the political reporters. He would do it himself or let the site get scooped. It didn’t sit well with him because Irv had been good to him, but this was too important to miss.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “Not unless I get the story.”
Irv collapsed in his chair. “You’re going to be an asshole about this.” Not a question.
“I want in on this.” And out of the how-to game.
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t continue doing the how-to.” Irv gestured to the bull pen. “Political editors are a dollar a dozen. You have a niche.”
“I don’t want to be the good-looking fluff guy.” He didn’t like calling himself good-looking. He thought it was weird, but he didn’t have body dysmorphia. He knew how he looked.
“You should capitalize on it while you can.” Irv ran a hand over his weathered face. “I can’t just let you jump ship. If you’re going to graduate to the big leagues, you have to go out with a bang.”
Bang. He hoped he didn’t have to write a sex story. He was too out of practice at this point. Plus, some of the nuns who’d taught him in grade school read all his stories. He couldn’t live with the shame of being responsible for informing Sister Antoninus about what she’d been missing for sixty years.
But he couldn’t write another story about dating etiquette, even though the listicles about dating got a lot more play. They hit more Twitter and Facebook feeds. And, since he wasn’t dating anymore—well, not unless texting a girl six days in a row was dating, which it could be. He didn’t know, because he didn’t date.
“I’ve got nothing.”
“Come on, I’ve heard about you.”
“You couldn’t have heard anything too salacious.” Jack paused to smile, knowing that his image as a rake was kind of key to his employment at the moment. “Lately.”
“You can’t get a girl either?”
“I can get a girl. I just don’t want to.” He leaned on the back of the guest chair, knowing that Irv would cut this short if he sat down. “Right now.”
“Dating guys now?”
“Nope. I just want to do my own thing for a while.”
Then Irv got red in the face. “What’s the problem with kids these days?”
“I have no idea.” Jack wasn’t a part of whatever problem Irv had spotted with youths and their mating rituals. He wasn’t part of the solution either; he needed to get himself solved first.
“No one dates anymore.” Jack jumped when Irv pounded on his desk. He looked out at the bull pen to make sure no one was watching him get reamed out for something he didn’t do.
“I date. Just not right now. Still sore from my girl leaving me for that director.”
“You’ve got to get back out there.”
“Maybe I’d meet a nice girl political reporting?” Jack shrugged. “I’d like to find a Maggie Haberman type to come home and talk shop with.”
“She’s already got three kids, and she would eat you alive.” Irv would know. He’d been an editor for the New York Post while Haberman was there.
There was an awkward pause during which Jack wondered if he should leave. Irv looked like a computer buffering, and he only hoped he hadn’t sparked the rainbow wheel of death by coming in here and asking for a real story.
After fifteen seconds, Irv hit the desk again. And Jack jumped. Again. “I’ve got it. You’re going to figure out what the problem is.”
No. He was not going to do another dating how-to. Not even if it was the last one. It might make him terminally stupid, but he just didn’t have it in him. “Actually, I know what the problem is.” He did. He’d been witness to the problem on Saturday night. He’d almost missed out on kissing Hannah because his friends were idiots. “Men are assholes.”
“But you’re not?”
“I’m an asshole, but in a good way.” He’d been an asshole when some drunk loser at a Cubs game had grabbed Lauren’s breast. She hadn’t wanted to be there anyway, and she’d almost demanded to leave a playoff game. Instead of missing out on the game that would clinch the pennant, he’d given the groper a black eye. And then he’d talked his way out of getting arrested. That had been kind of an asshole move. Maybe.