Caleb

Sebastian calls me mid-afternoon the next day. I’m lying on my couch in a rare moment of inaction, eating a sandwich and daydreaming about last night while I watch an episode of Mad Men.

“Just checking whether you need a lift to Harry’s,” Seb says.

“Nah,” I tell him, “I’m good. I’m picking up my date on the way.”

“Date? Did you get back with Felicity again?”

“Fuck, no. I’m bringing Roxie.”

Seb laughs. “The chick with the black spiky hair? Wow, you move fast.”

“Seems to be a theme at Hearktech.”

“Yeah, point taken. So… you’re bringing her to the party. Are you sure about this?”

“I asked her and she said yes, so yeah, I’m sure.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” I finish the last mouthful of sandwich and shove the plate away across the coffee table.

“Caleb, I’m sorry.” Seb sounds genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t mean anything by the comment. It’s just that she’s not your usual type.”

“That’s why I like her.” I sigh. I can’t be annoyed at him. We’ve been friends for too long, and we’ve looked out for each other for years. “I know she’s a bit… unusual. But I like that. I don’t want another Felicity. I’m tired of women who are like rotten apples—all beautiful on the outside and bitter under the skin. Roxie doesn’t pretend to be who she isn’t, you know? I don’t have to look beneath the surface of her words to try to make out what she’s saying. It’s refreshing. I like her.”

Seb laughs. “Hey, you’ve convinced me. I look forward to talking to her more. Just… be careful, eh? We’ve been worried about you the last few months.”

It’s a rare moment of heartfelt honesty. As guys, we rarely talk about our feelings, but I know my friends were concerned when I broke up with Felicity. I took it hard, and I retreated into my shell for a while.

I don’t know what to say to this show of affection, though, so I opt for humor, like we always do. “What the fuck? You want to share a tub of cookie dough ice cream now?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, all right. Catch you later.”

“See ya.” I hang up and toss the phone onto the sofa.

I lay back and look up at the ceiling. I know what Seb was trying to say. I’m sure that beneath Roxie’s sassy image I’ve glimpsed a young woman who’s much more vulnerable than she makes out, but the truth is that I don’t know her at all. She could be the kind of girl who uses guys then dumps them when she’s bored with them. It’s obvious from the way she asked me back to her place without flinching that she’s had a few partners, and maybe she’s only interested in sex.

So why did she agree to go out with me today?

I remember the look on her face while I made love to her—the disbelief and the almost-wonder that lit her eyes. I’m convinced she’d thought that all guys treat women like objects. It’s possible if her parents were from a rough background that she’s never seen a loving relationship apart from at the movies.

Not that I’m taking it upon myself to change her view. I’m not excited by the thought of forever either, and I don’t think I’ve recovered enough from Felicity to desire a long-term partner yet.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. There’s a middle ground between a one-night stand and putting your ring on a girl’s finger, and I don’t see any harm in walking that road for a while.

*

At just before six-thirty, I buzz Roxie’s apartment.

“It’s me,” I say when she answers.

“Come in,” she replies. I go up to her floor and along to her door, which opens as I approach.

I stop dead, a few feet from the door, and stare at her. She’s wearing only a bra and a pair of skimpy panties, and she beckons her finger, pressing herself up against the doorpost alluringly.

“Come here, big boy,” she murmurs, running her tongue along her top lip.

For a moment, I’m tempted. Harry won’t mind if I’m late—we all follow the rule that sex comes before everything except Hearktech.

But something’s not right. Her hair isn’t pinned up and spiky—she’s washed and brushed it so it’s shiny, and she’s attempted to flick the ends under like a bob. She’s also missing her black eye makeup and bright lipstick. She looks like a darker version of Felicity. It makes my skin prickle.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” I say without moving.

She pouts. “I thought you might want to indulge before we go.” But there’s a glimmer of panic in her eyes.

I stride past her and go through to her bedroom. Every piece of clothing she must own is laid in a pile on her bed.

“Caleb!” She runs to catch me up. “That’s so fucking rude.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s up, Roxie?”

Her lips part, and then her shoulders sag. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Every woman has said that since the dawn of time. Of course you have things to wear. Wear what you wore last night.”

“Jesus, don’t you know anything about women? Colette and Gaby saw me last night.”

“And you care what they think?”

Her mouth opens and closes again. She does care. Holy shit.

“I know what kind of do this is going to be,” she says. “Everyone’s going to be in pantsuits or silky skirts and blouses. Nobody’s going to be wearing tight jeans and cropped tops or leather. I don’t fit, Caleb.”

“I’m not taking you because you fit.”

“So, what, you’re taking me so you can parade me like a freak show? Does it give you kudos to turn up with a bit of rough?”

Anger flares within me, and I go to yell at her not to be so fucking insulting. But then I see her eyes flare. She’s trying to provoke me. She thinks if we argue, I’ll walk out and she won’t have to go.

My anger vanishes, to be replaced by pity and a flicker of affection. “I’m taking you because I like you and I want you to be my date.” I move closer to her and bend my head so I can brush my lips against hers. “Yes, I want people to see us together, because you’re beautiful and feisty and fun to be with. You’ve brought me back to life, Roxie, as sure as if you’ve given me mouth to mouth. I want to be with you. There will be food and wine, and music. My friends will be there, and I want to share you with them. I want to dance with you, and then I want you to come back to my place and spend the night with me.”

I surprise myself—I hadn’t intended to ask her that, but as soon as the words are out, I realize it’s what I want.

She stares at me, bemused. “Spend the night with you?”

“Yes. I have a collection of guitars, including a Rickenbacker.”

“Holy shit, really?”

“Yes. I thought you might like to see them. And I thought we might have sex, too.”

Her look turns to amusement. “Oh you did, did you? Talk about taking liberties.”

“You don’t want sex?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, “yes, I do want to have sex with you.”

I kiss her. “Then get dressed, and we’ll go and have a great evening.”