Chapter Five

Sammi, Michelle and I don’t get to gossip after work. Sammi’s team has some kind of emergency, and Michelle’s talk with her boss runs late. So I do yoga by myself since there’s no reason to skip a workout. Alexandra is big on staying fit, and she insists that everyone in the family exercises regularly.

You think she won’t know and skip a session…and then she’ll mention it the next time you see her. It’s really creepy. There’s gotta be a secret camera installed in the company gym so she can keep track of what we’re up to at all times. She’s probably bugged our cars and homes too. She has info not even the NSA is privy to.

As I wipe my face with a towel and suck down some water, I wonder if she knows about my one-night stands. Ugh. I hope not. Talk about embarrassing! Besides, her knowing stuff is another good reason—albeit a minor one—to pick up men far from northern Virginia.

“Hi, Jan.”

I choke, then sputter. Half the water in my mouth ends up on my shirt, making it stick to my chest. A big, warm hand pats my back gently, making my sweat-misted skin prickle deliciously even through my workout shirt.

“You okay?” Matt peers at me.

“I’m fine,” I croak out, looking back at him. Of all the things in the world. “Why are you here?” I immediately cringe at asking a question with such an obvious answer. His black hair is spiked with sweat, and his skin is damp. The Nike workout shirt and shorts he’s wearing cling to the well-defined muscles underneath. What a waste that I can’t see his bare abs. They are stunning—hard and ridged. I ran my fingertips all over them, marveling at their magnificence.

“David and I decided to catch a workout.”

“Oh. Good for you,” I say since I can’t think of anything else.

“Contacts?”

“What?” I suddenly realize I’m not wearing the Clark Kent glasses. Oh crap! “My vision’s not that terrible.” Actually my vision’s perfect, thank you very much, but I can’t just tell him that, can I?

He tilts his head, his gaze sharp as he takes in my features. I flush under the scrutiny and wipe my face again, trying to hide behind the towel. “Gosh, I’m so hot and sweaty.” The second I blurt it out, I could almost kill myself. Why don’t I just add, “Gosh, I’m horny and wet too,” while I’m at it?

Something wicked and searing gleams in his eyes. “Uh-huh. You look like you’re having fun.”

“I should shower.” I gesture at the locker room. “I’ve got dinner plans.”

His stare grows more intense—or am I just imagining things because I’m getting tenser and tenser the longer we talk? A small muscle in his jaw ticks before he finally says, “A date?”

“Yes. Most definitely,” I say quickly. “Today is Mexican Monday with the girls.”

A smile quirks his lips. “I thought that was supposed to be Taco Tuesday.”

“Why limit it to Tuesdays when you can do it whenever you want?” Now I’m babbling. “Gotta go.”

I bolt to the women’s locker room before he can say anything else and rush through the shower. I need to join a local gym, not to ogle men, but for my own sanity. I should’ve known he’d be at the gym. He didn’t get that body from writing legal briefs!

Although he might’ve gotten his forearms that way. Girl, you should’ve licked them when you had the chance, my most definitely worthless mind whispers.

I leave the gym, the glasses back on, my gaze straight, looking forward. Okay, not that forward. I surreptitiously glance around for Matt, and I see him finishing benching with David, pumping some serious poundage from the number of plates on each side of the barbell. I’m not the only woman who’s checking him out.

He lifts his head as though he feels my gaze, and our eyes meet. My mouth dries, my cheeks going red again.

This totally proves Sammi’s theory of optimal virginity disposal timing: If you don’t lose it before finishing college, it’s only going to get harder. But I’m still an honorary student, right? I only graduated this year.

I text my friends.

–Jan: Are we still going to Carlos’s today?

–Michelle: Of course. I already made a reservation for 7 p.m.

–Sammi: On my way. Diving.

–Michelle: What?

–Sammi: Driving.

–Jan: Why are you texting?

–Sammi: Dictating. This newt app is wonky.

–Jan: Stop dictating.

–Sammi: Nude app. New. Duck it! I give up.

–Michelle: Just drive. You’re gonna get yourself killed.

–Sammi: Red light. Chill.

–Michelle: See you in twenty.

Carlos’s is a fantastic local Mexican restaurant about twenty minutes away from Sweet Darlings Inc. A lot of people from the company like to go after work, especially on Mondays because of their Margarita Monday Specials. You can never say no to a five-dollar margarita.

When I finally pull into the lot in front of Carlos’s, I feel almost normal again. The lack of a red BMW among the parked cars helps. Matt’s probably still working out with David. Then I remember what Izzy said in the bathroom, and I wonder if she’s at the gym flirting, that shameless hussy.

Nah. She’s too lazy to work out. I’ve never seen her down there. On the other hand, she might go just to check him out. Loretta, too. She’s definitely looking for a hookup to get over her ex. I bet they’re “jogging,” their eyes on his superbly defined arms and chest…and abs…and…

Gripping the steering wheel, I thump my forehead against my knuckles. Ugh. I’m being stupid. I already decided I don’t want a relationship, so I should forget about Matt. He’s a complication, and who wants to run into their one-night stand over and over again at work? Kind of defeats the purpose.

Also, Grandma frowns on interoffice dating in general, equating it to taking a dump where you dine. I don’t want to give her any further reason to be disappointed with me.

I’m going to the Bay Area early next year with David to visit our San Mateo office. I should definitely find someone there. Someone who won’t be popping up next door…or at our headquarters in Dulles.

Inhaling deeply, I stiffen my spine and get out of the car, then walk inside. The hostess recognizes me immediately and gives me a welcoming smile. “Your friends are already here.” Sure enough, Michelle is waving from our favorite booth in the back.

I sit, putting my purse next to me, as our regular server, Diego, brings three margaritas.

“Just in time!” Michelle says.

“We have nachos too,” Sammi says. She’s obsessed with nachos. If she could, she’d eat them for breakfast.

I take a big gulp of the refreshingly cold margarita. I so deserve this after how life has been going since my latest ill-fated one-night stand.

“The usual, ladies?” Diego asks.

“Yes,” I say.

Michelle nods, and Sammi gives him a thumbs up.

Our usual is pretty standard. I get a cheesy chicken burrito with guacamole, Michelle some triple beef tacos and Sammi seafood fajitas with two extra tortillas.

“Why do you look so morose?” Michelle asks after Diego leaves. She takes a quick selfie with her margarita—if you upload shots like that to Instagram and tag Carlos’s, you can get prizes and coupons. “We’re about to eat, and we got our discount alcohol.”

“Probably low blood sugar,” Sammi remarks, shoving a chip with extra melted cheese and salsa into her mouth.

I take a bite of the nachos. “Do we still have that coupon for the local gym?”

“I threw it into the trash last night,” Sammi says. “Why?”

“I’m going to dig it out and join.”

Michelle swallows her margarita. “What’s wrong with the company gym?”

“Matt works out there.”

Michelle and Sammi laugh, while I glare. They are not helping.

“You’ve done everything in your power to pick a man you’ll never run into again, yet the universe is throwing him at you every chance it gets. So have you considered the possibility that maybe you should just screw him senseless and be done with it?” Sammi says.

“No. That’s like giving up. Like when I was studying for the intermediate accounting final and kept falling asleep.”

“I bet Matt can keep you up.”

“And you can keep him up,” Michelle adds.

I ignore the unhelpful commentary. “If I’d given in, I would’ve never graduated.”

“I thought you did finance,” Michelle says.

“Accounting’s required.”

“But this isn’t a test.” Sammi gestures with a chip. “It’s just sex.”

“‘Lead me not into temptation…’.”

Sammi waggles her beautifully arched eyebrows. “He’s a handsome devil so he can tempt all he wants. Look, if you’re seriously not interested, I’ll take him.”

My mouth opens. “What about your crush on David?” She’s been infatuated with David since our first year at UVA.

“He’s still unavailable, dating that worthless skank, so what can I do?” She shrugs. “I’m not putting my sex life on hold until he’s free.”

“Hear, hear,” Michelle says, banging on the table twice and downing the rest of her margarita.

“He meets all my requirements for boyfriend material until David’s free.” Sammi reaches for her phone and taps a few things. “He’s single, played football in high school and at Notre Dame—”

“He played football?” That’s news to me. David said they went to Harvard together. On the other hand, that explains the extra broad shoulders and ultra-sexy physique.

“Yeah. Quarterback. Hot, right? That’s how he got that awesome bod. Anyway, he got injured his sophomore year, which ended his NFL aspirations, so he transferred to Harvard. Went there for both undergrad and law. Summa cum laude. He used to work for a huge-ass law firm in New York that specializes in defending corporate assholes, but he’s seen the light so that can be forgiven. And he was truthful about being single and unattached since his Facebook profile says so.”

“Are you Facebook friends with him?” I ask.

“Nah. Just got his public info.”

Michelle frowns. “Have you been snooping around where you shouldn’t?”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t touch the HR database.”

Michelle makes a face. Sammi hacked into the database once to pull info on David. Thankfully, nobody noticed. The only reason why we know is that she fessed up one night while playing a drinking game during a Mad Men marathon.

“All this is public.” Sammi leans closer. “Do you know he used to date Emma Beane?”

The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place her. “Who’s that?”

“A socialite. She married a shipping magnate from Greece five years ago. It’s like a Harlequin romance—The Hot Greek Tycoon’s Pregnant Socialite Virgin. Well, she probably wasn’t one if she’d dated Matt before. Anyway they divorced a year ago.”

It’s my turn to get my phone out. I look up Emma Beane.

Google crushes me by showing me a photo of a beautiful, polished blonde with eyes as blue as the Mediterranean Sea, which, as it happens, is in the background. Her wavy hair blows around her. A strapless white dress fits her perfectly. It pushes her girls up for a bountiful cleavage, pinches her small waist and flows over gently flaring hips. Diamonds glitter at her ears and throat. She looks more like a Victoria’s Secret model than a divorcée.

Holy shit gets stuck in my throat. That’s the kind of woman Matt used to date?

If that’s what he can get, why did he want to take me to bed on Friday?

I mean…I’m pretty enough. Nobody’s complained about my green eyes or red hair, but I’m not model material. Not even close. I’m too short and too curvy. I glare at the half-full margarita glass. Drinking probably doesn’t help, but a girl’s gotta have some fun. Just not too much fun, because that makes her irresponsible.

Before I can feel even more pathetic and ridiculous, Diego shows up with our food. We dig in. Depressed or not, I’m hungry, and my belly won’t be denied.

After I’ve wolfed down at least half my burrito, Sammi says, “Did you apply for the app dev team opening?”

I almost choke on my food. It’s like Alexandra has taken over my best friend’s mouth and is speaking through it. “What?”

“I saw it this morning and thought it was perfect for you. More fun than making David’s coffee.”

“Geez, thanks. Next time, I’m not telling you shit about what he’s up to.” I’ve been sort of helping Sammi keep track of David…because what else can you do when your best friend refuses to give up on your unavailable cousin?

“That’s what Facebook and Instagram are for.”

“You aren’t his Facebook friend.”

“I’m not an amateur. I created a fake account for that. Otherwise it wouldn’t be stalking.”

Michelle peers at her. “Do you want him to think you’re stalking him?”

“Of course. Bet he’ll be flattered I put in the effort.” Sammi waves her fork around, a grilled onion drooping from the end. “Anyway, the point isn’t about my stalking, but Jan’s career.” She turns to me. “I’m not having you screw up your career for my love life. It ain’t worth it or right. Why do you think I never applied to be his assistant?”

“Because you’re too good an app developer.”

“So are you. I wouldn’t have been able to make Bailey without you.”

I snort. “Come on.”

“You come on. I’m serious. You should go for it.”

I eat the last bite and reach for my margarita. It’s easy for her to say because she was one of the best engineering students at UVA, but not me. To this date, I don’t understand how I got into the business program at Comm School.

Diego comes by to make sure we don’t need anything else, and since I’m starting to crash after getting up an hour early, we ask for our check.

Suddenly, Sammi’s brown eyes light up. “Incoming!”

“What?” I turn to see what she’s looking at.

Jesus. It’s Matt. And he’s not alone.

He walks in with a stunning gray-eyed blonde. He’s in the same pinstriped suit he wore at work, and the blonde is in a fitted sleeveless jade dress cinched with a thin yellow belt. Her thick, glossy hair is set in an artful French twist, secured with a gorgeous faux-diamond and pearl pin. She has a pair of diamond studs, and a platinum key pendant hangs from her neck. Her sky-high heels add at least four inches to her height, and she looks like a starlet. Hanging from her slim wrist is a black lambskin Lady Dior, a purse I’ve been admiring for ages without having the guts to splurge on one.

The hostess seats them at a rectangular table on the other side of the restaurant. I keep staring at her, cataloging our differences. I just came from the gym, am not wearing makeup, and my hair isn’t exactly “stylish”…unless limp red spaghetti can be considered a style. She, on the other hand, is perfectly sophisticated and polished.

I bet she’s never chickened out in the middle of sex. Or tried to brazen her way through an awkward meeting with an ex-romantic partner.

“He said he wasn’t dating,” I mutter, unspeakably peeved.

“Men. All liars,” Michelle says with a small, apologetic shrug.

“The bastard should’ve updated his Facebook profile,” Sammi grouses. “How are we supposed to keep up if he doesn’t?”

I drain my glass, my eyes on Matt and his date. They’re chatting, and he laughs at something she says. So she’s super witty, too.

There’s such an easy rapport and affection between them. Maybe he’s found his soul mate between the gym and now. It can happen.

Or maybe they’re related. Right. They don’t look anything like each other.

As though he’s sensed me, he turns his head, locks gazes.

Then he has the gall to smile.

Wait. That’s not right. I don’t have the right to be unhappy about this since we aren’t an item. He doesn’t even know he almost slept with me because he doesn’t know I’m Bella from Brooklyn.

I give him a smile too.

“Bared teeth do not a smile make,” Sammi says.

Just then Diego, that good man, brings our check. I give him an extra generous tip for the timing and we leave before Matt decides to do something crazy like introduce us to his date.

The drive back is a simmering exercise in not committing vehicular idiocy. As we park our cars and pile into the house, I declare, “Jan’s Law is not going to prevail!”

“What’s Jan’s Law?” Michelle asks.

“The avalanche of crap I’ve been going through since Friday.” I make a fist and wave it like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. “I’m going to do my job. He’s going to get bored with Virginia and go back to Manhattan.”

“Does this mean you aren’t going to wear those glasses anymore?” Sammi asks.

I give her a look. “Of course I’m keeping the glasses. Let’s not get too crazy here.”