That Wild Player, page 9
“The manual I sent you has a section on how to name an album. You tap on the new album, then—”
“I know the basic steps. What I mean is, how do I come up with a good name?”
He scoots closer and shows me the photos in the app. They’re all of me—at work, outside, at home, at Starbucks and so on, probably taken when he was at the office and visiting Matt’s. “This is my favorite,” he says, stopping. It’s me in the morning, my eyes bright and a purse slung over my shoulder like a shield. I study it, unsure what makes the photo so special. The dress is nice…but I was wearing a better one when we first met at the sushi restaurant. My makeup’s pretty good…but not the best. The one he took of me at my desk is much, much nicer because my makeup is better and my hair falls around my shoulders just so in it.
“Why do you like this one?” I ask.
“Chin held high, no nonsense, ready to take on the world. What’s not to like?” he says, looking into my eyes.
And just like that, I realize he values what he sees in me, not what I have on. And that’s as scary as it is exciting, neither of which I want to feel. So I blurt out, “Were you stalking me?”
“Nope. You were just there. Isn’t ‘Capture What You Love’ Sweet Darlings, Inc.’s motto?”
My brain seems to liquefy a bit at the word “love.” It’s too early for that kind of talk, but… “You can’t love me.”
“I love what I’ve seen…and know about you.”
“No!” The outburst is so loud, heads swivel in our direction. My face heats. Crap. “You can’t,” I hiss.
He cocks his head. “Why not?”
“Because! You saw me at my worst.”
“I did?” He blinks.
Is he serious? “The sushi restaurant parking lot?”
“What about it?” He’s frowning now.
Head. Desk. Oh my God. “My underwear,” I mutter. “You took them, remember?”
He inhales sharply, then grins. “That’s one of the main highlights. Actually, the best one.”
“How?”
“I got your panties.” His grin widens. “Still have them.”
There isn’t enough alcohol in this restaurant. “Throw them away.”
“Nope. I like the way they feel…and smell.”
“Oh my God. You didn’t.”
“Sure I did.” His eyes gleam. “Rubbed them all over my face.”
I cover my flaming cheeks with my hands. I can probably tell Mimi I came down with a nasty fever and go home. I gulp down my lemonade, then pull a large ice cube into my mouth to crunch it. It has very little effect. “They’re cursed. Any second now, all your hair’s going to fall out.”
“Don’t worry about my hair. Now, if that’s your only objection—”
“No.” I raise a hand. “You’re a player. I heard stories. You, Cora and Linda…”
“We never had a threesome, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t. And your answer isn’t helping.”
“I don’t understand why you’re upset. Aren’t we on the same page when it comes to relationships and commitment?”
Huh? “Which page would that be?”
“That commitment never works for relationships.”
“What?”
“I mean, you can have a nice time with someone in a monogamous fashion, but it doesn’t last. I’m surprised you don’t know that. Your side gig is all about things not lasting.”
I shake my head. “We aren’t just not on the same page, CJ. We aren’t even in the same book! I want everything—the wedding, the kids, the suburban house—the full-option deal.”
His gapes at me. “Seriously? After seeing all those couples break up?”
“What I saw growing up wasn’t like that…and I’m not like them.”
“More people than you know are like that. Even when they’re together, they aren’t really happy.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw how things were between my parents growing up. They couldn’t stand each other while they were married. But within a week of divorce, they became best friends.” His face scrunches. “I’m sure they do more than just friendship.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but my experience is totally opposite. My parents have been married happily for twenty-four years. There’s a huge amount of love and respect between them, and I want everything.”
“So what if you marry some guy? There’s no guarantee you’ll end up like your parents.”
“There’s no guarantee you’ll end up like yours, either.”
CJ raises an eyebrow. “So that’s it? You made up your mind based on your parents’ marriage.”
“Hey, don’t make me out to be the unreasonable one here. You did the same thing. Besides, in case you didn’t notice, I’m not the type to test-drive a Ferrari, if you know what I’m saying.”
He considers, then shrugs. “No, but I don’t mind. Mi Ferrari es tu Ferrari.”
I choke on my lemonade. “There’s no ‘mi Ferrari es tu Ferrari’ here. I’m not test-driving a car I’m never going to own.”
“How do you know you’ll never own a Ferrari?”
“On my salary?” And why are we talking about buying a Ferrari like that’s a realistic scenario? “And that’s not the point. I’m saying we can’t be together. At all.”
He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Because…” he says slowly, “you can’t test-drive a Ferrari?”
“No! Because you’re a Ferrari I can’t buy. Oh, forget it.”
“You know…there are plenty reasons to test-drive a car you aren’t necessarily going to own.”
“Like what?” I ask even as I’m telling myself I need to get off this crazy topic.
“For fun, obviously. To explore the possibilities. If you never test-drive other cars, even ones you don’t think you’ll buy, how are you going to know when the right car comes along?” He sits back and spreads his hands like he’s actually being reasonable. “So it’s no problem if you want to take a spin in my car. I’ll even let you handle my stick.”
Chapter Sixteen
Michelle
“And then he goes, ‘I’ll even let you handle my stick.’” I suck down my second margarita because I need it.
Jan chokes on her drink, while Sammi makes a fist and chants, “Do it, do it, do it, do it!”
“Oh, stop. There won’t be any ‘doing it.’”
“But, but…the stick!” Sammi says.
“No!”
“Long, hard, thick. Different speeds, hehehe.”
“Stop it!” God, she’s worse than a sugar-high kid after trick-or-treating. “He only wants to fuck. That’s it.” I sigh with relief when our server Diego places our dinner on the table.
I ordered the triple-beef tacos, while Sammi got nachos and seafood fajitas and Jan chose cheesy chicken burritos. The same stuff we always get at Carlos’s. They have a margarita special on Monday, the tasty drinks priced at all of five bucks. And it’s only half an hour from the office. So naturally, Monday is girls’ night out, since passing up those strong but cheap margaritas would be a crime.
“I’ve given it some thought, you know,” Sammi continues, totally ignoring my objection. “He’s the perfect guy to help you lose your OrGinity.”
“OrGinity is not a word,” I remind her—again—which has zero deterrent effect.
“He’s gotta be good in bed to do both Cora and Linda. Neither one of them would fool with a guy who can’t at least do what a Hitachi—”
Jan holds up a forestalling hand. “Eww, cousins.”
“Yeah, yeah, squirm away. Truth can be uncomfortable. Anyway, I guarantee you CJ can help you lose it. And who knows? Maybe he’ll be so enamored with your magina, he’ll want to park his Ferrari in your garage for life.” She waggles her eyebrows.
I shake my head. Magina is Sammi-speak for magic vagina, that mythical lady part that can ensnare any man…basically, a dirty version of soul-mate radar. I should’ve never told her about the orgasm thing. Or the Ferrari conversation with Cora and Linda.
“And remember, you aren’t the only one test-driving,” Sammi says. “He gets a grand preview of the Michelle Experience.”
“The Michelle Experience?”
“He’s never seen what his life can be like with you in it. So he might naturally assume a fling is enough, like a guy who legit thinks a hamburger is the be-all and end-all. But then let him have lamb chops, and voilà. Now a hamburger just won’t do, no matter how fancy you make it.”
I hesitate.
“And even if his taste buds are too dysfunctional to recognize lamb chops are tastier than hamburgers, at least you won’t be an OrGin anymore, and you’ll be able to move on, start fresh with someone else who’s going to be your Prince Charming. Or Frog Prince. Or…” She frowns. “You know. Whatever.”
“Hmm…” I take a huge bite of my beef taco. CJ doesn’t seem like a guy you can just forget about after a quick fling. In some ways, he’s an ideal man—smart, well-mannered and interesting. It’s just that we don’t want the same things. I still can’t believe he assumed I’d only want a casual fling because of my part-time job! Who puts up with the disastrous dates I’ve been put through just for a short-term lay? It’d be easier to just hire a gigolo.
“I think Michelle should do what’s in her heart,” Jan says, because she’s the rational one in the group.
“But what does her magina say? You need to listen to that if you want to pop the OrGin cherry. That should legit be your first priority.”
I signal for another margarita, then turn to Sammi. “If you keep insisting on talking about my ‘OrGinity,’ which isn’t even a real word, I’m going to ask Luke for help. I’m sure he’ll knows how to solve my problem.”
Sammi pats my shoulder. “I love you, Michelle, and you know I’d share anything with you…but not Luke.” Then she perks up. “But he does have a writer friend who lives in Canada, and he’s sort of studly looking… It’s cold up there, so they know how to keep each other real warm…”
I bite into my food, totally tuning Sammi out because there’s no way to stop her when she gets like this. Instead, I let my mind wander…it obligingly conjures up an image of CJ…and his Ferrari in the garage at the townhouse. It’s so surprisingly satisfying, I almost forget why I was so against his “mi Ferrari as tu Ferrari”…
Almost.
* * *
Michelle
By the time we make it back home, it’s nearly nine. I can’t believe how Sammi badgered me, while Jan lent silent support. It’s almost like they were playing good cop, bad cop. I don’t think I was this bad when they were first dating their men.
The lights in Matt’s townhouse are off, but ours are blazing. We walk inside. Much to my relief, it’s just Matt and Luke in the dining room, wrapping up their Chinese takeout. They’ve become good friends in the last few months. It probably doesn’t hurt that Matt had his super lawyer sister Olivia draft a scary cease and desist letter for Luke to put God’s fear into a plagiarist.
Matt and Luke light up at the sight of their women, and they hug and kiss as though they’ve been apart for a decade rather than thirteen-plus hours.
“Chinese takeout!” Sammi sniffs. “Aw, man. General Tso’s chicken!”
“I got some extra fortune cookies,” Luke offers. Sammi loves them.
“Nice!” She grabs one and rips off the plastic wrapping.
I take one from the table and crack it open.
“‘Your path is great,’” Sammi reads.
“In bed!” Jan adds, then reads hers. “‘Be open to possibilities.’”
“In bed!” Sammi gestures at me. “What does yours say?”
“‘The truth will be revealed.’”
“Innnnn beddddd,” Sammi intones. “Seriously, consider what I said earlier.”
“There’s nothing to consider. It’s just a piece of paper with some epigrammatic nonsense. Fortune cookies aren’t even really Chinese.”
“Says who?”
“Anyone knowledgeable on the subject.” And with that bon mot, I flounce off to bed.
Two hours later, I’m still lying wide awake, wondering about the “nonsense” written on that piece of paper. I’ll never admit it to anyone, not even my best friends, but I can be a tad superstitious. I have no idea what the “truth” that’s about to be revealed is. However, I’m certain it’s nothing good. Revealed truths are never the stuff you want.
Truth, as the saying goes, hurts.
Besides, don’t I already know the most important—and highly unpleasant—truth here? That the only thing CJ wants with me is sex?
At least he was upfront about it, instead of leading me on. That counts for something.
Sighing, I turn onto my side. I know I’m not getting eight hours of sleep tonight.
Chapter Seventeen
Michelle
Less than seven hours later, I am beyond help. My head throbs as though it’s about to explode…or come to a complete, shuddering stop. I feel like a broken typewriter stuck among supercomputers as I try to process what’s going on around me. I don’t know how my best friends function with this little sleep. It’s like we don’t even belong to the same species.
But when I arrive at my desk, a small present is waiting for me. From CJ. I don’t have to look at the card to know.
I rip the pink wrapping paper, see a tin of chocolate-covered coffee beans and almost weep with joy.
How did he know?
Text alert. I look at my phone.
–CJ: Enjoy.
I really shouldn’t. I already made it clear he and I couldn’t. But I can’t help the smile curving my mouth.
It wouldn’t do to be rude, so I respond.
–Michelle: Thanks. They’re JUST what I need this morning.
And the sinfully delicious beans, combined with an extra-large cup of extra-strong coffee, help me get through the morning, even if my brain’s not working at one hundred percent capacity. Thankfully, Tuesdays are usually slow. And I’m done with all my executive memos—I don’t believe in procrastination. On top of that, Mimi reduced my workload, probably under the misguided belief that I’d be spending a lot of time helping CJ. Normally I’d feel bad about taking advantage, but on a day like this…
During lunch break, I hijack one of the sleeping rooms used by the app developers. A forty-minute nap makes all the difference. And it’s a good thing, too. I have a honeypot assignment tonight. According to the woman who hired the agency, I’m just her husband’s type. Apparently, custody of a yacht is at stake, and she’s determined to win it, along with their huge-ass mansion.
“Michelle! Just the person I wanted to see,” says Mimi when she spots me stepping out of the elevator.
“Hi,” I say. “Did you need something?”
“Can you stop by my office for a moment?”
“Sure.” I follow her to her desk.
Mimi is a stylish Asian woman in her late thirties, short and slim, with smooth golden skin that almost looks airbrushed. Her hair is cut short, jet-black and glossy, and she always wears the cutest earrings. Today, a pair of golden Hello Kitties dangles from her earlobes.
She gestures at a chair. “Take a seat.”
“Thanks.” I sit down and wait for her to start. It’s something I’ve learned—Mimi hates to be rushed.
“You’ll hear about this soon when we do the official review, but you’re going to be promoted to senior HR coordinator.”
It takes a moment for that to penetrate. “Oh.” I blink a few times. “I thought…”
“I know.” She smiles. “The promotion for the position usually comes after two or three years. It’s just that you’ve been amazing, Michelle. It seems only right to promote you, give you more responsibility and opportunities.”
“Wow,” I say because I’m stunned, and also…not enough sleep. “Thank you,” I add quickly.
“Don’t thank me. You earned it!” She smiles and extends a hand.
I shake it, grinning back, and then return to my desk, texting Jan and Sammi with the news. My fingers hover over my parents’ contact info…but no. I’ll tell them face-to-face at our next brunch.
–Sammi: We gotta celebrate!
–Jan: No kidding! Celebrate your awesomeness! Woohoo!
–Michelle: Thanks, guys!
–Sammi: First round’s on me. You’re the first of us to get promoted. So proud of you, girlfriend!
I grin. This is why they get to be the first to know.
–Jan: Drinks after work?
–Michelle: Can’t. Have to work.
–Sammi: Dick can let you off early.
–Michelle: LOL. No. A yacht is at stake. The Douche Riche or something.
–Jan: Well, if anybody can nab a cheater, it’s you.
–Michelle: Celebrate later this week?
–Sammi: Deal. How about this weekend?
I check my calendar. Nothing except a gig on Saturday, and that shouldn’t take long.
–Michelle: Works for me.
–Jan: Woohoo! So excited! Not even Tim can make us work late on weekends!
–Sammi: Because there’s no overtime work this weekend.
I giggle. I can just feel the eye rolling from Sammi.
I get through the rest of the day with a big smile on my face. Even though Mimi hasn’t announced it yet, everyone’s going to know soon enough. Our department has no secrets. After all, we’re the ones in charge of processing everything from benefits to promotions to pay.
When it’s five o’clock, I quickly make my way down to the lobby so I can get home and change before my part-time gig. A familiar giggle comes from few feet to my right, and I slow down a bit.
“Oh, Nathan.” A breathless sigh. “That is sooooo hot. You’re driving me crazy.”
Ugh. My eyebrows twitch at Nathan, but I ignore the tight clench of my gut. It’s not an uncommon name, and who cares if Izzy is making out in the company lobby? It isn’t the first time she’s done it, and it certainly won’t be the last. I’m seriously not looking.
“You’re, like, the hottest.” More giggles. “I can’t believe your ex wasn’t getting all hot and bothered. She must’ve been an ice queen.”
