“Why’d you sleep there?”
I’m not going to mention the part where she asked me to violate her one and only rule of the house—first, she wouldn’t believe me. And even if she did, she’d be even more embarrassed than she already is. “Just in case you needed me to hold your hair back in the middle of the night, or something. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
She smiles. “Cormac, I don’t know what to. . .”
“I have to go into the office.” I cut her off because I know she was about to say something that would have been hard for her to say, and I don’t need praise or an apology. I just wanted her to be okay. I put on some clothes quickly and grab my bag. “I recommend a shower, you smelled about eighty proof last night, and I’m guessing a long night’s sleep in the same clothes hasn’t improved things any. Just my two cents.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I start to walk out when she stops me. “Cormac?” she calls.
“Yeah?”
“You’re a really good fake boyfriend, you know that?”
I smile and head to my car.
Tori
I’ve never taken such a long shower in my life. It was totally necessary, but I might have used up all the hot water for the next week. But it felt good. The steam cleared my head and the smell of my favorite body wash replacing the smell of liquor was just what I needed. A shower isn’t enough, though. A half a bottle of Listerine later and I swear that I can still taste the alcohol.
I can’t believe I kissed him with this mouth.
I can’t believe that I kissed him at all.
When I’m done getting last night off me, I text Shoshana to come over. We need to talk.
I hear her knock on the door about an hour later. My hair is still a little damp and I’m still a little embarrassed about how I might have acted at the bar last night. I suspect that Cormac might be leaving some things out of his version of last night to spare my feelings. Shosh won’t pull any punches with that kind of thing though. If there’s one thing of many that I count on her for, it’s her honesty.
I open the door and she has on that disapproving mom look that isn’t like her at all. “Fuck, I was so worried about you. I thought we were just having a nice night out and you turned into Kim Basinger in Blind Date.”
“Never saw it.”
“What? How dare you!”
“I’m sorry. You know I’m bad with movies.”
“It’s a 1980’s classic. Bruce Willis plays this guy who has to take Kim Basinger out on a blind date. She ends up drinking, but she has this genetic thing that makes her super sensitive to alcohol, so she starts acting crazy and doing things that get both of them in deep shit.”
“Jesus, I didn’t do that kind of stuff, did I?”
“No, you were just white girl wasted. All kinds of sloppy.”
“Fuck.” I rub my head and feel really silly. It’s not just embarrassment at what I might have done or said, but I always wonder if someone’s going to recognize me and pull out their phone. The last thing I need is to be on YouTube looking the fool.
“What the hell even made you drink like that?” Shosh asks. “It’s not like you at all.”
“I was nervous, for one.”
“You? You’re around 100 times more people than that every day on your channels.”
“That’s my audience,” I tell her. “It’s not the same. And I wasn’t nervous because of the people, I was worried about. . .”
“About what?”
“Being convincing. I was obsessed with Max thinking the relationship was real, even though it really didn’t matter. I don’t know how to explain it. That, and the way Cormac and Maxwell were acting—bro-ing out and high fiving at every stupid sexual innuendo. It reminded me of the frat house. It reminded me of. . .”
“Trevor,” Shoshana says. “I knew it!”
I don’t even want to speak his name out loud. It was bad enough just being vaguely reminded of him last night. “Yeah. Look I don’t want to go there right now, but I promise I’ll control myself from now on. I’m sorry I left you high and dry. I got nervous. This whole thing felt so. . . real all of a sudden. I got really scared and tried to drink the feeling away. Clearly it was a mistake.”
“No worries, you know me, I get along with everyone. Maxwell was super nice. Not my type at all, though.”
“No? I didn’t know you had a type?”
“I don’t, not really,” she agrees. “But that’s just my polite way of saying he didn’t exactly wake my vagina up from the slumber its been in recently. And if you can’t wake her up, then we’ve really got nothing to talk about.” I smile. I love her crazy metaphors. “Oh, speaking of which, it’s about time your hibernation came to an end. It’s summer—time to wake up and fuck.”
“I think we’ve been down this road—and recently. I’m not fucking Cormac. He’s not my type.”
“Oh yeah? Too tall, right? Too muscular and handsome. Too much swag and self confidence. Too much stability and brains. I get it, he’s a total loser.”
“Alright, look, I’ll give you all of those things. He’s hot, okay. And yes, he makes a great living, dresses well, is sexy as hell. Oh, and I forgot to tell you.”
“What?” she says, looking all fake mad. “What did you forget to tell me?”
“Well, apparently I kissed him in a drunken stupor that I can’t remember no matter how hard I try. And trust me, I’ve been trying since he told me.”
“You kissed him and you don’t remember? That’s tragic. Not sleeping with such a sexy guy who you’re living with is even more tragic. We’re talking Macbeth level of tragedy here.”
“This isn’t going to make sense to you—it might not make sense at all—but me not wanting to sleep with him has nothing to do with how hot or not hot he is. It has to do with the fact that this isn’t real. What kind of feminist author would I be if I got my first publishing deal by screwing the guy who runs the publishing company?”
“You wouldn’t be screwing him just to get a deal. Look, if you don’t want to sleep with him then don’t. I’m not trying to pressure you, I’m just saying that you’re missing a golden opportunity—and one that you created!”
“And what opportunity is that?”
“To be in a relationship. However contrived it might be, it’s something. I’ve read your book, Tori, more than once. It’s perfect—except for one thing.”
Here it comes. “That I’ve. . .”
“Never experienced it yourself. Not for a long time, any how. And—I’m sorry to go there—but Trevor doesn’t really count, and we both know why.”
“So, what do I do, then? Make out with him next chance I get? Throw myself all over him? Not argue when he tells me that he doesn’t think my book is good enough for his publishing company?”
“No,” she says. “No to all that. I’m not telling you to be a woman you’re not. Be you, Tor. Be the strong, intelligent, confident woman that a million people listen to and watch every week. Be the woman who started #slavestotheirdicks and #tormentorarmy. All I’m saying is give him—and it—a chance. At the very least it’ll make your book stronger.”
I’ve got to give it to the girl, sometimes she knows exactly what she’s talking about. “Oh shit.”
“What?”
“My car. It’s still at the bar. Can you drive me there really quick? I need to go do a few things.”
“Of course. And consider what I said.”
“I always consider what you say, Shosh. Always.”
After I give Shoshana the biggest hug ever, I change into real clothes and throw last night’s outfit in a plastic bag that I’m either going to take to the dry cleaners or burn outright, I haven’t decided which yet. That’s when I get a text that dings from across the room. It’s Cormac.
Cormac: Even though you were sloppy drunk, you’re still one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I’d never take advantage like that, but it took all my self control not to climb i
nto bed with you.
I read it twice.
Then I read it twice more.
I forget my own mental blocks, and remember Shoshana’s advice. I just let his words sink in, and when they do, they make me tingle in all the right places. He thinks I’m beautiful? I know I shouldn’t care what some man thinks of my face—it shouldn’t matter at all, but for some reason it does—it feels really nice.
Tori: :) Thank you!
Cormac: Don’t make any plans for dinner tomorrow night. It’s time for the next phase.
Tori: Meeting your family already? Didn’t I embarrass you enough last night?
Cormac: You didn’t embarrass me. Let’s call this phase 1.5. Something in between friends and family.
Tori: Okay? And what’s that?
Cormac: A date. A legit date. A romantic dinner, just you and me. I know a place. I promise I won’t order for you :)
A date. I know those were part of our negotiations, but I’d say yes even if they weren’t. Something changed last night, but I don’t know what. After the way he took care of me and watched me show a bad side of myself without judgment makes me look at him in a new light. I’d love to go out with him, even if it is pretend.
Tori: I’d love to. Text me the time and place and I’ll be there.
“Who’s that?” Shoshana asks.
“Sorry. It’s Cormac. He wants to take me out.”
“You said yes, right?”
“Of course I said yes. What kind of fake girlfriend would I be if I said no?”
Cormac
La Fontina is a cute little Italian place that I’ve always wanted to try.
Elissa and Cynthia have told me about it for years. It’s one of those places that has the ambiance you need when you’re trying to close a big-time author. I’m not the wining and dining type when it comes to my professional life, but in my personal life there’s nothing I enjoy more than a quiet dinner with a woman I’m dating—or, pretend dating, in this case.
I left work at eight and picked up Tori at Cynthia’s house so that I could take her out properly. I feel like one of those guys in a romantic comedy or something— I picked up flowers and everything. You should have seen her face when I handed them to her! She looked at me with that strange, uncomfortable condescension that you’d give your dog when they come over to you with a dead bird in their mouth—you’re happy they know how to retrieve, but you are kind of freaked out at the same time.
I don’t mind, though. I’m not even doing all this for the experiment. Something just tells me that she’s not used to being treated nicely by a guy, so I’m happy to do what I’d normally do, even if she thinks I’m just trying to prove her wrong about men. Whichever way this whacky thing goes, at the very least, maybe I can show her that not all guys are total assholes.
When we get there, the hostess seats us at a candle-lit table right by the window. The atmosphere in the place is very romantic, and it’s the perfect place for a date night. It’s dressy, but not too dressy. The food is fancy, but not pretentious artwork food. The lights are dim enough to set a mood, but not dark. I hope she likes it.
“When was the last time you were on a date?” I ask her right after we order a glass of wine.
“Wow. We’re jumping right in, are we?”
“We only have four weeks, Tori—that means we’re on the accelerated getting-to-know-you program.”
“You’re right. And it’s been a while. A long while. How about you?”
“It’s been a few months, at least. I want to say it was April the last time I went out with someone. This girl Jennifer. It was a disaster!”
“How come?” she asks, smiling.
“You’re going to think I’m lying to you if I tell you, but I swear it’s the truth.”
“Try me.”
I smile just remembering this craziness. She’s definitely going to think I’m making this up. “She tried to get me to join a cult.”
“What! No.”
“See, I knew you’d think I was lying, but I’m telling you. What was it called again?” I close my eyes and try hard to remember. “Oh, yeah! The Path, that’s it! There was a pamphlet and a website and everything. Girl was crazy.”
She starts to laugh. Really, really laugh. Her entire face changes when she smiles, in the best way possible. “How did that even come up?”
“Well I ‘met’ her on this dating app.”
“There’s your first mistake,” she says. “I always tell my listeners to meet guys in person first. You never know what you’re going to get when you swipe your way to a date.”
“Tell me about it. I deleted that shit, canceled my account, and wrote a pretty pointed email to their ‘contact us’ section about vetting the lunatics who have profiles on there. But, anyway, we agreed to meet up for an early lunch before I had to go to work, and everything was fine. . . at first. She had this weird energy, though, I should have known something was up.”
“Weird energy, like how?”
“Like eye contact that went on longer than it should have. You know what I mean. Like, you’d look away, then look back and she’d still be looking through you.”
“Oh, that’s uncomfortable.”
“Now I realize that she was probably studying me to see how susceptible I’d be to her pitch to join The Path.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, laughing hard. “Every time you say The Path I die!”
“I know, right? You’d think they’d get more creative with the names so that it sounded less cultish. But anyway, it was a normal lunch, normal getting to know you chit chat, all that stuff. But now I realize she was asking me questions to see if I was attached, or had a family. Once she realized it was just good old me, she went in for the hard sell.”
“Oh no. What did she say?”
“She did this, I shit you not.” I take my napkin and fold it in half like it’s a piece of paper and I slide it slowly across the table towards Tori while making a weird face and intense eye contact. “‘Have you ever felt like a sheep without a flock? Have you ever wondered the answers to life’s most burning questions? Well, if you have, it’s time to consider getting on The Path.’”
“No! Oh my God, I don’t know what I’d do. That’s hilarious.”
“It is now,” I tell her. “At the time, I was a little scared.”
“So what did you do?”
“I left.”
“You told her you weren’t interested and left?”
“Nope. I just left. Once I realized what was happening—and trust me, it took a minute, because who the hell gets solicited into a cult on a first date—I just stood up and left. No words, no nothing.”
“Did you at least leave money for the food?”
“Hell no,” I joke. “That was the only time in my life where being a gentleman didn’t even enter my mind. I felt bad, but let The Path pick up the check. I’m sure they had plenty of money from all the scamming. That was my last date until right now.”
“How come?” she asks.
“As cliché as it sounds, I just haven’t met the right woman. Weird, cultish ones aside.”
“Okay, so let me ask you something else, then. Am I asking too many questions?”
“Never. We’re getting to know each other, right? We should be asking questions.”
“Okay. Well, if you did find that perfect woman—the one—what would she have to be like?”
“The physical attraction has to be there. No question about that. There has to be a fire when we look into each other’s eyes. We have to want to tear at each other’s clothes the second we’re alone, and to want to slip away to rip each other’s clothes off when we’re around people. I know it sounds shallow, but that’s a must. I want a girl who looks at me like I’m her dinner—who wants to devour me, who wants my hands all over her body at all times, who feels empty when I’m not inside her.”
“Oh. My.”
“Sorry. Did I go to far with that answer?”
“No,” she
says. “You went just the right amount, and please don’t apologize. You just surprised me for a second, is all.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
“In a very good way. What else besides the physical attraction?” she asks.
“In and of itself it isn’t enough for a serious relationship. A two-week fling, maybe, but not much more than that. For a relationship there has to be more substance there, otherwise. . .”
“It’ll fizzle out?”
“Exactly. That flame burns hot and then burns out—especially when the girl can’t hold a conversation, or has zero personality. There’s an expression I’m sure you’ve heard before, but it’s true—show me a hot woman, and I’ll show you a man who’s tired of having sex with her. Sorry. I know how that probably sounds to you, but it makes my point. There has to be more there, and so far, I’ve only found three women who’ve ever had that it-factor.”
“Only three?”
“Only three. And even those three didn’t last.”
“How come?”
“That’s a hell of a question.”
“I’m sorry if that’s too personal.”
“It’s not that, it’s just that it’s a conversation for another day. Too much to say here. Every relationship is just a story, like a book. They have characters, arcs, and the serious ones have a beginning, middle, and hopefully no end. Each one is a story. But the good news is that I’m currently involved in a committed fake relationship. It’s going really well.”
“You shouldn’t make me laugh.”
“Why not? You’re beautiful when you smile.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You know what.”
“Sorry. I can’t help it sometimes. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t. I just want to hear the rest of it. What is the ‘more’ that needs to be there for you to be in a committed, serious relationship?”
“Before I answer that, let me just say that commitment is never an issue with me. I’m always one hundred percent in whatever kind of relationship I’m in—and monogamy is like a religion for me.”
The Three Kiss CLause Page 13