You can’t get the dude away from you.
A fucking cling-on, he has no ability to pick himself up, brush himself off, and move along. Instead, he is glued to the people he can rely on, which would be me and our other best friend, Roark.
“Will ya get on with it?” Roark asks, leaning back in his chair, a tumbler of milk in his hand.
Yeah, milk.
Roark McCool, sports agent to all the mega stars on the baseball field, basketball court, and football field, he used to bleed Guinness from his veins but ever since he met his girl, Sutton, he’s changed.
In a big way.
He’s still the surly Irishman with an accent thick enough that sometimes you can’t understand a damn word he says, but now instead of drinking a glass of whiskey in the morning, he’s apparently switched to milk.
“Before I get started, can I get you some more milk?” Bram asks, pointing to Roark’s half-empty glass.
He swirls the white liquid, downs the rest like a shot, and then slams the tumbler on the table. “Do you have chocolate syrup to go with it?”
Bram holds his finger to the sky. “You came to the right place.” Turning to me, Bram asks, “Can I get the big man a chocolate milk as well?”
Jesus Christ, when did this become our lives?
Just a year ago, we were guzzling beer down, our fingers coated in Dorito dust while we screamed at the television, rooting for our favorite teams. We might be sophisticated and rich-as-fuck businessmen, but when we’re together, taking a second to breathe from the fast lives we live, we slip back into our frat-boy roles.
Which I enjoy, but ever since two thirds of our group started dating and became doting boyfriends, our dynamic has changed.
We’re still there for each other, but instead of sharing a family sized bag of Doritos and clinking our beer bottles together, we’re apparently going to look over tux options that correspond with wedding flowers while drinking goddamn chocolate milk.
Giving in, I say, “Yeah, I’ll take one.” Because, why not at this point? It’s not like we’re ever going go back to the old days. Might as well enjoy our evolving friendship.
“That a boy.” Bram walks over to the kitchen and starts pouring large glasses of milk. “If only I had ice cream, I’d make us milkshakes. Ughh,” he groans. “Missed opportunity. That’s okay, we’ll make do with what we have.” He fiddles around the kitchen. “Linus told me you hired a new assistant. Starts tomorrow.”
“Ya did?” Roark asks, looking shocked. “I thought you were destined to having that eejit setting up your schedule in the worst way possible.”
I rub my forehead with frustration. “Don’t even get me started with the temp. He set up a meeting for me yesterday to talk with Gwendolyn Havershire . . . for ten minutes at a fucking office supply convention. I wanted to murder him. And I couldn’t cancel, so I went.”
“That’s where you met your assistant though, right?” Bram asks, plopping a string of chocolate syrup into each glass.
“Yes. She was hanging out with Linus. Used to work for Harold Danvers.”
“Oh shit, I’ve worked with her a few times,” Roark says. “I remember being super impressed. She’s just getting a job now?”
“I guess so.” I shrug. “I didn’t really ask her many questions.”
“You hired her based off Harold’s recommendation?” Bram asks, stirring each glass and then placing a red and white striped paper straw inside.
“The fact that she worked for Harold had me interested, but it was how she called me a turd nugget that really set me on fire to hire her.”
Roark laughs while Bram hands us each a glass of milk with confusion in his brow. “What do you mean she called you a turd nugget? How dare she insult my little Rathy bear.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.” I sip my chocolate milk and hate to admit but, damn, this hits the spot. I hide my reaction though, because I don’t want the boys to know I’m apparently going soft as well.
I explain to them how I “met” Charlee, our little dispute at the entrance of the convention, and her very mature name-calling.
“Sounds like my kind of gal,” Roark says, sucking down his milk faster than the rest of us.
“The best part of it all was that she didn’t back down. Yeah, she called me names and she lied about being Mrs. Havershire—”
“Which was a bold move,” Bram says, “but admirable given her love for office supplies and that you were being a piss parade and ruining it for her.”
“Exactly. She didn’t cower, she didn’t duck away, she held strong and stood her ground. That’s what I want in an assistant. Someone who isn’t going to take any crap but still be nice while turning you down. Plus, her organization precedes her. Hell, she was licking her lips at the prospect of getting a new planner, and that has Maria Kondo written all over it.”
“I roll my T-shirts differently because of Maria,” Bram says thoughtfully. “So much more drawer space.”
Roark gives Bram an annoyed look and then turns to me. “She starts tomorrow. That’s good.” A smarmy grin spreads across his face. “Is she pretty?”
“Why do you care?” I ask. “You have a girl.”
“I’m aware. I’m asking for your own sake. Want to make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble again.”
I work my jaw side to side, my temper flaring.
Yes, I might have fucked my assistant before. And yes, it turned into a relationship and then yes, she ended up breaking my goddamn heart and leaving me without a competent worker. But, I swore I would never do that again.
Ever.
Charlee Cox might be gorgeous, and she might have the perfect hips to grab on to when fucking, but she’s also completely off-limits. I’m more mature now, I’ve learned from my mistakes, and that is one mistake I will never, ever make again.
“She’s average,” I say, a bold-faced lie and both my friends catch it before they throw their heads back and laugh.
Fuckers.
I sip my chocolate milk while they continue to laugh.
Bram is the first to calm down.
“Average. Okay. That means he already wants to fuck her.”
“Easily,” Roark agrees. “Dude, is that why you hired her?”
“Fuck. Off. You know I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I hired her because she comes highly recommended and held her ground when I challenged her. I liked that.”
“And you probably liked her boobs too.”
“Don’t be a fucking moron,” I say to Roark, even though, yeah, they were perky, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Off. Limits.
“Are you going to test her out, be a dick like you are to all of your assistants until they prove themselves?”
“It’s the only way I know how to test them.”
“Or,” Bram says, “you can be nice and make them feel like they’re appreciated. That’s how I got Linus to be so loyal.”
I shake my head. “That’s not me and you know it. If I was nice to her right off the bat, everyone in the office would already think I was fucking her.”
“Valid point.” Roark taps the table. “Consistency is key.”