CHAPTER TWELVE
Somehow another week has drifted by and it’s already Friday. Rachel and I catch up, as we’ve both been busy and she’s been out of the office for most of the week doing on campus summer recruitment at the colleges. Between having my own office and no longer being on Team Awesome I’ve been able to relax and focus all week with nearly no distractions. I’ve also missed Rachel, though, so I’m glad she’s suggested this catch up power lunch.
“So that’s exciting news,” Rachel says about Patrick, as I update her and show her some pictures, including the one Andreas took of us that day at the diner. “Now the outfit makes sense.” Rachel is beaming. “I’m so excited for you,” she says. “We have to have an official get together. A double date?”
Now she’s scaring me. “A double date?” I ask. “That’s a first.”
“That’s usually how new things begin,” she says.
Ugh, she’s in her philosophizing mode.
“Anyway,” she says, “don’t you want to know who the double date would be with?”
A slight tinge of guilt takes over. I’ve been basking in my own post-orgasmic potential boyfriend bliss and have totally missed the signs. “You slut,” I say. “Who did you have sex with?”
“Who said I had sex?”
I give her the same don’t bullshit me face she gives me.
“It wasn’t sex,” she says. “If anything it was just heavy petting.”
I can tell she’s lying.
“It wasn’t full on sex,” she says.
I’m taking that to mean it was oral. “With who?” I ask.
“Whom,” she corrects.
“Don’t grammar me,” I tell her. We’ve known each other long enough to pickup on each other’s ploys and stall tactics. “Now I really want to know. Who was tongue lashing your kitty?”
Her smile and facial expressions contort between bliss and worry.
“He must have been good,” I say, “who the hell was it?”
“Keep in mind that people change,” she says. “You’ve changed, I’ve changed. People change.”
“Oh my god,” I say. “I’m actually scared now.”
“If it were someone you knew and you had to guess…?”
“Spit it out already,” I say. Then I think I know. “Devante?”
“Kevin,” she says.
My face contorts with confusion. “Who?”
Her face waits for mine to put together two plus two.
“Hell no,” I say. “No, no, no! No, no, no, no, no!”
“Calm down,” she says. Her face has gotten as serious as mine. “I shouldn’t have even told you.”
“Yeah that sounds about right,” I say “he’d have you both cheating and lying.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “Are you kidding me?” I can’t get myself to stomach the idea even for a second. “Why?” I ask. “He’s such a…douche…dick…dumbass. Pick any d-word.”
“People are different in and out of the office,” she says. “I thought the same thing but surprise, people are different out of a suit. Did he call you and tell you what was going on? He called me crying and explained things. His dad is dying.”
“I cannot believe you’re falling for Matthews’s bullshit.”
“Kevin,” she corrects.
“Satan, as far as I’m concerned.”
The conversation has hit a stalemate and we sit in silence for a minute or two.
“You do realize the same mouth that equated blue hair with blue balls has now had intimate contact with your vagina? That can’t be good.”
She cocks her head to the side and purses her lips, then laughs. “His tongue works much better when it’s doing things other than talking,” she says.
“Yuck,” I say.
“Oh come on,” she says, “we’re not getting married or anything.”
“Yeah just double dating,” I say. “Oh yeah, AND WORKING TOGETHER.”
“I was just kidding about the double dating thing. And he may not be working there much longer anyway.”
My ears prick up. “Now that’s exciting news. Did he tell you that before or after his munching?”
“Don’t be a dick,” she says.
“I’m serious,” I say. “You know guys will say anything to get in your pants.”
“He said it afterward,” she says. “Well actually it was after the first time, before the second.”
“Gross,” I say. “And what about Martin?” It’s almost laughable to ask about him, as I’ve picked up that they’re in a relationship by official status and living situation only.
She gives me a look back to confirm my suspicion.
“Why don’t you just end it with him already? Actually end it with both of them.”
“Can you just be glad that I’m happy?” She asks.
“I guess,” I say, “though I can’t say I’m happy about the circumstances.”
My phone buzzes with a message from Patrick. Just the name popping up fills me with enough excitement to overcome Rachel’s distressing news. “He wants to have dinner,” I say.
“I bet he does,” Rachel says. “So does Kevin.”
“Let me guess, fish is on the menu.”
“No worse than sausage,” she says.
We both laugh and a bit of tension clears the air.
“You know,” she says, “he’s actually a real person behind all of his douchebaggery.”
“And you know this based off of a night of cunnilingus?”
“Well, his skills were certainly a surprise, so in a way, yes.”
“Gross, but keep going,” I say. “Fast forward to the part where he has the hidden heart of gold.
“He’s the first person in his family to go to college,” she says. “His family lives in Texas, but in a really poor part—like one of the poorest cities in America, poor.”
“Too bad he didn’t make a run for the border,” I say.
She gives me a look that scolds the stupidity of that comment.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say.
“And his dad is dying. He’s going home next week. So cut him a tiny bit of slack. We all have our personal problems that sometimes brings out the worst in us.”
Ugh, I hate when she’s right. “I still don’t approve,” I say. “But I’ll go along with it in support of you.”
“And that’s why I love you,” she says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, “I love you too.”
I’m already regretting suggesting dinner at my place. My place is a cramped studio in Hell’s Kitchen, which is in Midtown. Rachel and I lucked up in finding the place when we moved here. It’s slightly loud and needed some love, which is why we got it dirt-cheap. There were also problems with rodents, but hey, this is New York.
The place has since undergone lots of changes, like everything in NYC. We fixed up the place, painted, exterminated, and over the six years one or both of us has lived here, the apartment, like the neighborhood, has become almost unrecognizable.
Still, compared to Patrick’s place this place is a shoebox.
“Stop worrying,” Rachel says over the speakerphone. “Just make sure you have clean sheets.”
“Dammit,” I say. I’ve just burned my hand boiling water and realized that I do indeed need to change the sheets.
“And why are you cooking again?” Rachel asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Why don’t you guys just go somewhere?”
“When I suggested we eat at my place he got really excited. I think he likes the idea of home cooked stuff.”
“Did he say that or did you just assume?”
“He said he’d bring the wine,” I say. “You bring wine to go with home cooking. It’s a rule of domesticity.”
“Um, okay, never heard of that one, but if you say so.”
“Anyway,” I say, “that’s the plan, and he’s on the way, so too late to change it up now.”
“Um, it isn’t, but if you say it is then…”
“Okay, I’m gonna go,” I say, “you’re stressing me out.”
“If things go wrong you can always join Kevin and me. We’re eating in the Village.”
“Oh hells no,” I say. “But good luck with that.”
We hang up as my buzzer rings.
I open the door to Patrick, who brought wine and flowers. We lock lips and he nearly drops the bag with the wine. The flowers are a casualty, as they drop to the floor and we step on them in our lip locked commotion.
“Oops,” he says about the flowers.
Truth be told, I wouldn’t have had a vase to put them in anyway. Guys and flowers aren’t exactly synonymous; no surprise they ended up trampled.
“So what’s for dinner?” He asks after our lips have said their hellos. “I brought red and white, just in case.”
I smile, not knowing which goes with what. “Perfect,” I say. “We’re having chicken and pasta.”
“White it is then,” he says. “I’ll put this in the freezer to get cold.”
“I don’t have a freezer,” I say, “but I’ll put it in the fridge.” I nearly drop the bottle.
“You okay?” He asks through his dimpled smile. “You’re sweating.”
“Sorry,” I say, “I may be a tiny bit nervous.”
He grabs me from behind. “Nonsense,” he says. “Food smells great.” He sniffs and kisses my neck. “And so do you.” He growls and playfully bites my neck, which gives me an instant erection; I can also feel his.
The pot with the pasta begins to boil all over the stove.
He rushes over to turn off the fire.
I smile thinking of how he lights one fire and puts out another. Hot.
With the pasta situation under control, I give a quick tour. I can do so from the kitchen, the studio being barely more than a room.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I ask.
“An aperitif sounds good,” he says. “What do you have?”
“Vodka or beer,” I say.
“Beer it is,” he says.
I go to get him one then realize there aren’t any. “Sorry,” I say.
“Don’t worry,” he says, but not even his words can calm my nerves.
Twenty minutes later dinner has been ruined. Patrick pushes his food around his plate, trying to take tiny bites of the least inedible thing.
The pasta and broccoli have the same consistency, somewhere between slime and mush; both have enough salt to trigger an instant case of hypertension.
I cut into the chicken, which is a golden brown and looks to be the savior of the meal. But it bleeds profusely the deeper I cut past the skin.
“Don’t eat that,” I say as he cuts into his.
We both laugh at the bloody disaster.
“At least the wine is good,” I say, even though it’s not quite cold enough. I feel a hot flush of embarrassment about the entire evening.
“I can’t cook either,” he says. We laugh and decide to order in.
We’re sweaty and naked by the time the food arrives, having already gone a round of sex. I give the delivery guy a nice tip as I hide naked behind the door and get the food.
“Enjoy,” he says with a wink.