That Wild Player, page 19
“I have an answer,” he says.
“What answer?”
“You asked me why I was changing what we have, after saying it was just sex.”
“Okay.” I tilt my head. I wasn’t expecting him to come up with an answer. It was something I asked to make a point—that he was being arbitrary for the sake of being arbitrary.
“I don’t like you around Derek. And I don’t like it when you tell me to go home after we fool around. Or to take my presents with me when I leave.”
Huh. Well. That’s…honest. And I guess it deserves a response in the same vein. “I like Derek. I’ve known him longer than you. And I like sleeping alone, and I don’t want your gifts, so if you don’t take them with you, I’ll have to throw them out.”
There. That’s perfectly reasonable and calm. And crystal clear.
Except CJ’s eyebrows snap together, and his expression darkens.
So I add, “Listen. You don’t get to insist that I conform to your preferences and whims. You can’t say it’s ‘just sex’ one day, and then a couple days later change your mind and act like there should be more.” I pat his knee. “But it’s okay. You’re just in shock because you finally got a woman who doesn’t cling or demand more than you want. You’ll get used to it. I’ll even make an exception to my new policy and give you a little break for the next few minutes.”
“What new policy?”
“Well, I wouldn’t comfort a vibra—”
“If you call me a vibrator one more time”—CJ’s jaw tightens—“I swear to God—”
“Fine. An anal plug.”
Shock slaps his face. Then indignation and stubbornness replace it and he pulls over. “You are crazy. You drive me crazy.” He cradles my face in his hands and kisses me, hard. Then, just as abruptly, he pulls back, his eyes searching mine. “Now, no more anal plug comments, either. Unless, of course, you want me to go around telling everybody that you kissed one.”
“And you think I’m crazy,” I say, torn between laughter and outrage.
“So stop with all the name-calling, okay? I’m not doing this to manipulate you or make you change some damn…policy.”
“Then?”
“I care about you. I want…I want us to explore the possibilities.”
He sounds so damn sincere. It’s unbelievably tempting to kiss him back and say I want the same. Then I remember people don’t change. Dad cheated on Mom for twenty years. Twenty! He could’ve stopped any time…but he didn’t. People don’t just change because some time has passed.
Just like I haven’t really changed because I really, really want to believe CJ, even though I know “caring about me” isn’t going to be a strong enough motivation to transform any of his beliefs. And I don’t want to misplace my faith because of how I wish things could be, rather than how they actually are.
“People don’t change,” I say, more to myself than CJ. “But thanks for saying you care enough to consider being open-minded.”
* * *
CJ
“I didn’t expect her to cry tears of joy, but people don’t change?” I repeat—yet again—still in disbelief after ten hours. The third beer of the evening hasn’t improved matters. And the fact that Michelle is with her friends next door isn’t helping either.
Matt shoots me a look of sympathy. “Just what did you tell her before?”
“I said it was just sex. But I only said it once.” Matt starts rolling his eyes. “Hey, she sprung it on me. So I was, you know…kind of entrapped. Is that legal?”
Luke is typing away on his laptop. He apparently still needs to wrap up a few more scenes. “Like women care about fighting fair. Once is all it takes. They’ll remember stuff like that forever.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” I turn back to Matt. “Did Jan believe you the first time you told her you cared about her? You used to get around, too, back in the day.”
“I wasn’t as bad as you. I didn’t commit because I’d never met a woman I could imagine spending the rest of my life with…until Jan. But you’ve never wanted to commit. I mean, it’s like a life principle for you. So I say let it go…unless you really think she’s worth it.”
“How did you know Jan was, you know. The one?”
“When I started to worry about her feelings. I don’t generally care what other people think but I care what she thinks. I want to take care of her. Seeing her makes me happy. And it makes my blood boil when something upsets her or some shithead leers at her.” Matt cracks his knuckles.
“You’ve never hit anybody, have you?” I ask.
“Only because I’m trying to be civilized. But if I could, I’d lock her away so nothing ever upsets her and only I can see her.”
“Jails are not sexy.”
“Palace, man. Think ‘palace.’ That’s the least she deserves. Like the Taj Mahal.”
“A mausoleum,” Luke says, then sips his beer and returns to his manuscript. “Macabre.”
“A symbol of undying love,” Matt corrects him dryly, “and marital devotion.”
I wait for my gut to clench at the mention of “marital devotion”…but nothing happens. Then it hits me—the reason I said what Michelle and I had was just sex…and what Dad told me about people making irrational decisions.
People make decisions based on the past, even though it has nothing to do with the future. And I’ve been doing exactly that—because I’ve been so convinced I’ll have the same kind of marriage my parents did. But in reality? My parents and I aren’t anything alike. They love academia; I don’t have the temperament for it. They love theories; I prefer practical application. Their primary concerns are their careers and winning intradepartmental squabbles. I couldn’t care less about either one.
Ugh. I hit my forehead with my palm. Why I ever thought I’d end up like my parents is a mystery. And I can’t believe I just figured this out, after screwing everything up with Michelle.
I need something to convince her I’m no longer the same guy who said “it’s just sex.”
I need a Taj Mahal.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Michelle
CJ shows up again the next day. At least this time he waits until I’m fully dressed before making his way up to my bedroom. I’m in a power outfit of a magenta top and black skirt, my makeup is impeccable and I feel battle-ready as I cross my arms and face him. “How did you get in? Jan locked the front door before she left last night.” I checked to make sure.
“A spare key.” He grins, blinding me with his shamelessness. Unfortunately, he too is battle-ready in a crisp ivory dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He probably did that on purpose, because he has to know I have a thing for ropey, lean forearms. And his slacks are perfectly fitted, showing off the powerful lines of his legs. As he comes closer, I get a whiff of a deliciously spicy cologne. Bastard.
“I don’t remember giving you one.” I fractured my ankle, not my brain, so I remember that much. Amnesia only happens in movies and books.
“I got it from Jan.”
“Is that so?” She should know better. I need to have a word with her, pronto. But first… I stick my palm out. “Well, give it back.”
“Uh-uh. It’s mine. If I have to return it, I’m giving it back to Matt.”
“I thought you said you got it from Jan.”
“Indirectly, yeah. Matt got it from Jan…then gave it to me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. So maybe my best friend has some common sense after all. But Matt? What the hell was he thinking?
“Come on. You’re going to be late,” CJ says cheerfully.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say as I pick up my purse.
“Of course it is. My back’s strong enough to carry you, and my car runs great. Oh, and your coffeemaker works fine, too.”
The man’s being deliberately obtuse. Just to drive me nuts.
Of course I should’ve realized he had nefarious plans when he mentioned the health status of his back. Instead of helping me down the stairs, he picks me up in his arms.
“Ack! Put me down,” I say, wriggling.
“If you squirm around enough to make me drop you, we’re probably both going to break something.”
I go still as an image of a full-body cast flashes through my head. That’d hurt me more than it would him.
“And don’t you enjoy being carried like a Disney princess?” he asks, walking down the stairs effortlessly.
“No.”
“Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize.” CJ shifts his grip and tosses me over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. An instant later, there’s a fairly sharp slap on my butt.
“Hey!”
We proceed down the stairs to the first floor, where he bends and gently deposits me on my feet. I can’t believe he did all that with a straight face. But he blunts whatever offense I can muster by offering me a travel mug full of fresh coffee and my favorite granola bar, served with a totally innocent smile. And I have to admit, the whole episode was slightly thrilling.
Throughout the drive to the office, he’s a complete gentleman, which makes me extra nervous. When we’re about ten minutes away from the lobby, I say, “Why are you doing this?”
“You fractured your ankle,” he says.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m making a point.”
“Giving me a ride isn’t making a point. Or at least not a point I’m getting.”
“Ideally it’ll penetrate your thick skull that vibrators and anal plugs don’t drive Ferraris.”
It’s a good thing I’m done with my coffee. “You know what? Don’t come trying to pick me up after work. I can ask Jan or Sammi.”
CJ merely gives me a superior smile, which I’d love to wipe off his face. So I add, “Or Derek…”
The smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it widens.
“Have a great day,” he says, opening the door for me in front of the office building. “I’ll see you at five.”
* * *
Michelle
The second I’m settled in my cubicle, I pull out my phone.
–Michelle: Can either of you drive me home today?
–Jan: Sorry. Tim and Joe dragged us to an “urgent” project.
Us?
–Sammi: We’ll probably be working like the proverbial canines for at least a month.
–Michelle: Isn’t Joe in San Mateo?
–Sammi: Yeah. And he thinks we should work until at least 6 p.m. Pacific Time.
–Michelle: That’s against our work policies.
–Jan: Since when do they apply to app dev?
–Sammi: Joe’s people are working from 8 a.m. ET, even though most of us need to start by 7 a.m.
Ugh. I shudder. Since there’s nothing I can do about Sammi and Jan’s schedule, I text Derek next.
–Michelle: Hi Derek! Would you mind dropping me off at my place after work today?
–Derek: Can’t do it today. There’s an urgent project involving both marketing and finance. I’m on the steering committee.
You don’t say. I’ve never even heard of the app dev project or this sudden marketing and finance project.
–Michelle: Sounds like they just dropped it on you.
–Derek: Yeah, Alexandra’s been thinking about it, but decided to go ahead this quarter rather than push it back again.
Riiiiiight. Alexandra decided, and CJ had nothing to do with that decision. And I’m the bastard child of Christian Grey and Darth Vader.
Of course, Matt and Luke can’t help either. Both are too busy. Not that I expected anything different from those two. Men always stick together.
So, naturally, CJ shows up at five at my desk to pick me up.
“Very clever—your maneuvering,” I say.
“What maneuvering?”
“Everyone’s suddenly very conveniently busy around five.”
He shrugs. “I mentioned one of Sweet Darlings’ competitors is going to roll out some features Alexandra has been thinking about in the next two quarters. You know how she hates it when it looks like she’s copying someone.” His words are so smooth, they’d put Teflon to shame.
“Luke doesn’t work for Alexandra.”
“He’s always busy. Deadlines, deadlines. And his readers get mad when he has a life. He needs to write faster, and I told him I’d help with that by giving you all the rides you need.”
“You bribed him.”
CJ shakes his head. “Uh-uh. He said yes for free. Anyway, are you hungry? What are you in the mood for?”
“Sushi,” I say, since there’s nothing in the fridge at home.
“Sushi it is.”
He drives to a small Japanese restaurant that opened not too long ago. It’s still early enough that we get a table without having to wait.
“Don’t you have to go back to the West Coast?” I ask after our waitress brings out tea, soft crab tempura and salted edamame.
“Nope,” he says. “Why?”
“You aren’t going to do anything else to earn your keep?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Anything else? I sold my company for more than most people would make in a hundred lifetimes.”
Well, yeah, okay. He kind of has a point…
“Like I said before,” CJ continues, “I don’t have to rush into anything until I see something that really calls to me.”
“Hmm. Idle men aren’t attractive.”
He laughs. “Don’t worry. Actually, I’ve already found a project.”
Good. That means he’s going to be out of Virginia soon. Except the thought is oddly unsettling.
No. The weird feeling in my stomach is relief, a special type that I’ve never felt before. Hence, the unfamiliarity. It’s nothing serious.
“Aren’t you curious about the project?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
“Whatever you say is going to go right over my head, like Klingon or something.”
He laughs. “I’ll have to teach you some Klingon.”
“Probably futile. Sammi tried for months in college.”
“She must’ve been a bad teacher.”
“Klingon doesn’t have the vocabulary to discuss the topics I’m interested in.”
“Such as?”
“Fashion? Makeup?” And peace, and a nice, ordinary life, the kind of stuff I recorded faithfully in my albums. I frown. Why am I thinking about them anyway? I threw them away for a reason—to not think about them ever again.
“We’ll have to come up with something interesting to talk about in Klingon, then. I’m a very patient teacher.”
“Doubt we’ll ever get to that. Didn’t you say you found a project? Which means you’ll be heading out somewhere soon, right?”
“Not really. The project is here.”
“Did you get a permanent position at Sweet Darlings, Inc.?”
“Nope.”
“Then what’s the project?” I doubt it’s government contract work. From what I understand, you need a special kind of temperament to do that sort of work—
“You.”
I pull back, blinking a few times.
“More specifically, convincing you that I’m not just some kind of sex toy.”
I almost spit my tea.
After dinner’s over, the waitress places a folio in front of him. CJ gives me a blinding smile, which sets off my internal alarm. “So, you want me to pay, or…?”
“What if I pay?” Sammi said paying for a meal yourself is a great way to show a guy you’re not interested.
“No problem. Of course, then you’d be paying to feed your vibrator.”
“Anal plug,” I correct him.
“Right.”
His smile doesn’t falter, and I can’t think of a sex toy more…unsuited for our current circumstances than an anal plug.
And the weirdest thing? He drives me home, helps me get upstairs to my bedroom, then leaves after placing a kiss on my forehead.
My forehead! Not even on my mouth!
I cross my arms and consider. Is this some kind of retaliation for my calling him an anal plug?
The next morning, I tell him rather baldly, “I’m not doing anal sex with you, so you need to readjust your expectations.”
He stares at me for three heartbeats, then bursts out laughing. “Mm-kay. I’m flexible.” He pats my shoulder.
And somehow his easy manner makes me even more nervous, especially when he keeps repeating the same routine over and over again—dropping me off at the office, picking me up, taking me to dinner, then driving me back home.
Sammi’s no help, because all she texts back when I explain the situation is: Gird your loins, girlfriend. He’s planning a siege.
–Michelle: What?
–Sammi: A siege. You know. You a pretty castle. Him a conquering warlord. That’s hot. Is he flinging gifts at you over the castle walls? Like with a trebuchet?
–Michelle: WTH?
–Sammi: Hope you’ve got a lot of food stored up. Or you could just surrender.
This isn’t helpful. On the other hand, I should’ve known better. Sammi loves video games with medieval knights, mages and archers who go out and conquer things.
–Jan: At least he’s not starving you. That’s the first point of a siege. Starve the other guy out.
Both of my friends are missing the point. I quit texting. Obviously whatever horrible project Tim and Joe put them on has rotted their brains and they can no longer communicate.
I stare at my ankle. Sammi’s wrong. I only need to put up with CJ until my ankle heals enough to drive.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Michelle
I’m reasonable and responsible. Good at adulting. Not perverse or overly contradictory. But right now, I feel like an Olympic champion in perversity as I smile at the people who’ve shown up for my birthday celebration.
It’s Friday evening, and the weekend has begun. Jan and Sammi went above and beyond despite Tim and Joe’s Project My Dick’s Bigger Than Yours…I mean Project Insane Deadline. The music’s great. The small crowd is just perfect. Food’s fantastic. And they didn’t invite CJ, as I requested.
And he didn’t show, which is exactly what I said I wanted.
But somehow I feel deflated rather than elated. I thought he’d come anyway, because that’s just how he rolls—stubbornly doing whatever pleases him. What else could explain him turning up on my doorstep every morning to drive me to work for two weeks? If he was staying for sex, I’d assume that was it. But he didn’t. Not even once.
