I don’t want to date her friends. I know about Girl Code. One of Leslie’s friends, Tricia, told me after the divorce that she’d liked me for years, but since she’d known Leslie since the sixth grade, I was off limits. I should mention there is no way, even in the face of a zombie apocalypse, that I would ever date Tricia, but her words resonated. Girlfriends stuck together.
“No, don’t,” I tell Jackie.
“Why not? I know lots of nice girls.”
“I, uh…” Why not, indeed? “I need to do this.” I gesture to myself with a hand on my chest. “For me. You know? Because I am worthy of…um…”
God. This is such bullshit.
“Earning the woman I ask out,” I finish, proud of my ability to think on the spot. “The process is important. Trust the process.”
Jackie purses her lips in thought but then miraculously buys my bullshit. Thank God for her belief in those stupid motivational posters. “All right. You go get ’em, tiger. Jogging, then? Tomorrow?”
“Sure. A Sunday jog. Sounds great.”
“In that case, I’m going to leave you the contents of my beer and go home.”
“What? Why?”
But she’s already up and angling her long-strapped bag over her torso. “Because I have to make a plan. A chart. A spreadsheet. Download an app. Find my workout clothes.”
“I didn’t agree to jog so we could lose our Saturday-night movie fest, Butler. I agreed because you are harebrained and slightly misguided, but as your friend I support your Bugs Bunny–like schemes.”
I’m one to talk. My own scheme more resembles Wile E. Coyote’s.
“What a maroon,” she quotes Bugs, throwing a hand and opening my front door. Then she’s gone and I’m alone with my beer and the remainder of hers, wondering what I just agreed to.
Chapter 4
Vince
Watching Jackie run is painful. Mostly for my erection.
Do you know how uncomfortable it is to sport a boner while jogging? My only saving grace is that my shorts are baggy, unlike hers.
Hers are molded to her ass. Spandex, pink with a white stripe down each leg. And she’s wearing a sports bra with a sliced tank top over it. I can see so much of her skin, I’m having trouble concentrating on anything but the part of me demanding to make himself known.
“I’m…awful…at…this,” she pants, coming to a clumsy stop, her ponytail drooping to one side. She tugs the elastic free and pulls her fingers through her hair. “Dumb. Dumb idea.”
I come to a stop too, nowhere near as out of breath as she is. I can run ten miles. We’ve only gone a few blocks from my house.
“I don’t know why we didn’t do this at your apartment,” I argue. Again.
“Because! I don’t want him to see me like this!”
Her full lips are parted, breasts heaving as she sucks in another breath. Her cheeks have a pink hue and are slightly damp from perspiration. I agree with her. I don’t want him seeing her like this either. She looks like she just sweated it out between the sheets, and the very idea makes me wonder what sounds she makes during sex.
High, gaspy ones, or is she a screamer? I bite down on the edge of my lip as I imagine Jackie screaming my name in my ear as I ride her from—
“…give up, do you?” She has her fists on her hips like Wonder Woman and eyes me impatiently.
“Give up what?”
“I swear. Men never listen. There’s no sense in my asking J.T. out because he’ll just say ‘What? Were you talking?’ ”
“Your man voice needs work,” I say instead of the truth. That I wasn’t listening because I was having a sexual fantasy about her while we stand in front of Riley Mason’s house. Riley steps outside now, dressed in a short skirt and a top that is cut really, really low. Riley was one of Leslie’s wine-night friends, and she’s about fifteen years older than me.
“Vincent,” she calls, her voice dipping. “You have a friend.”
Jackie smiles at me knowingly.
“Jackie, Riley. Riley, Jackie,” I introduce. “Jackie and I work together.”
“Nice to meet you.” Riley sets down a watering can—empty by the sound of the hollow clunk when it hits the porch. I wonder if her plants need watering or if she came out here because her nose was “bothering” her.
I’m betting the latter.
“You too,” Jackie says.
Riley’s glance flits from Jackie to me. “They say the couple that works out together stays together. Is it true?”
She’s fishing, and Jackie knows it. I may not have told Jackie about my string of one-nighters, but I did mention that after Leslie left, Riley asked me out repeatedly. She brought over casseroles topped with Doritos and once delivered a bottle of pink wine for us to share. I accepted the food but never the booze, and finally stopped answering the door. Riley did not adhere to Girl Code.
“Oh, no, we’re not dating.” Jackie flashes me a shit-eating grin. “He’s free as a bird. We’re friends. Coworkers. He’s trying to help me get in shape for a date.”
“Really?” Interest blooms in Riley’s eyes.
“And I for mine,” I chime in before I’m forced to recite any number of polite refusals.
“Oh.” Riley’s smile vanishes. “Best of luck to you both.” She wanders inside, leaving the watering can behind. I have my answer about the plants.
Without discussing it, Jackie and I start back to my house, our pace settling into a stride.
“Why not her?” asks my insane coworker. “She’s gorgeous.”
“She’s overbearing. And too old for me.”
“That’s a sexist thing to say.” Hands on her hips again, Jackie scolds me. “If I wanted to date a man ten years my senior, I would.”
“First of all, she’s fifteen years my senior. Secondly, you would date a forty-year-old like Sergio?” I say of the production manager at work.
“Not Sergio.” She makes a face. “But a nice, normal guy of a certain age, sure.” She shrugs. It’s cute. “Why not?”
“Well, I would date an older woman too. I mean, if Riley were normal. Besides, I think she and Leslie are still in the same spinning class.” I hazard a glance over my shoulder to see Riley’s front room curtain twitch and then drop. Nuttier than a fruitcake, that one.
“That’s a definite ‘no,’ then. I didn’t realize she and Leslie were friends.”
“Yeah, hard to believe Leslie kept any of them after the shit she pulled.” Yowch. Been a while since bitter divorced guy crawled out to grumble about the state of the world.
Jackie loops her arm around mine and suddenly I’m not so sad I let that one out. Knowing what divorce feels like, she has always offered silent support. She didn’t tell me to get over it or to “get back out there.” She supported me and she listened. Like she does now.
“I don’t know why I said that,” I admit. “I’m not angry with her any longer.”
Jackie nods.
“It’s like you told me once. It’s a wound that never healed.” We walk a few more steps and I turn my attention to her. “Did you heal?”
She loops her other arm around mine and we slow our pace. “Lex hurt me pretty bad, so no. I don’t think I’m fully healed. But I believe it’s possible. Once I find the one who understands me, doesn’t judge me. Once I lose myself in someone else, I hope I can forgive him, if not forget about him.”
Lex cheated on her. Just once, with his personal assistant. He fell in love with another woman, ditched Jackie, and as soon as their marriage was dissolved, he married his PA. Leslie left me, but she didn’t cheat. Who knows what I’d be like if her betrayal had been that bad.
“Sorry, Butler.” I put my hand over both of hers.
We finish walking to my house in silence.
Jacqueline
The first time I saw Vince, I was fresh-faced and, since Lex had left me so recently, uncharacteristically shy. Everything about me shrank after I learned why he left. He waited until I finished my college class
es, which I guess was polite, but didn’t stick around to make sure I had a job before he bailed.
Vince was one of the first people to greet me at the firm. I felt an instant kinship with him. He had kind eyes, which Lex did not have, and confidence preceded him. In meetings, whenever he presented a marketing or design idea, Vince did it with humor and grace, never explaining or excusing himself if someone didn’t agree with him.
I was blown away at the idea you could own your life with such confidence. So I did. I dropped my shy side into the incinerator. Just when I found my mojo, Vince lost his. Leslie left and I watched him turn into the old me. He shrank.
We were friends by then, so it wasn’t a stretch to offer to come over to his house with a bucket of fried chicken and a six-pack of beer. I’ll never forget when he opened the door, saw my offerings, and laughed. “Isn’t this supposed to be pints of ice cream and nail polish?”
He didn’t pout or whine, but he didn’t pretend he wasn’t hurt. I liked that he confided in me. I knew he also confided in his best guy friend, Davis. Even though Davis is kind of an ass, he helped Vince through the get-drunk phase of his depression, while I helped him through the dispense-your-feelings part.
“Refill, Jacqueline?” Davis asks me now.
My wineglass is empty, and I promised myself before I arrived at McGreevy’s I’d only have one before going home to work out.
“She’s dieting.” Vince sends me a pointed glance.
“I’m not. I want to look good.”
“Check,” Davis says, smiling as he swigs his beer. “You look good, honey.”
“I mean without my clothes on.” I give Davis a warning glare. He ignores it.
“I’d do you.”
Vince backhands Davis in the arm and I smile, my gaze lingering a little too long on Vince’s tattoos. We came straight from work, so Vince is in his button-down/jeans combo, but he rolled his sleeves up when we got here. The tattoos start midforearm, where he’s all sinew and tanned muscle. His ink is black, no color, a winding swirl of patterns. No animals or symbols of any kind. Just shapes. The ink is sexy, especially matched with Vince’s dark, dark hair, blue eyes, and the smirk he’s wearing now.
“I need to get tatted,” Davis blurts. “If a girl looked at me like Jacqueline just looked at you, I’d be set.”
Rather than deny I’d been checking out my best friend, I cover by refocusing my attention on Davis.
“You get asked out plenty,” I tell him. “I’ve seen it. Girls come to you!”
Davis rolls his eyes. He’s a looker. Ridiculously full lips. Messy, sandy-brown hair at odds with his clean-lined suit. Unlike Vince’s careless wrinkle-free attire, Davis is a dry-clean-only kind of guy. I can’t figure out why. He works from home yet dresses like he’s in an office every day.
He flicks a glance over his shoulder at the bartender—his mouth turning down in disgust. “Whatever, Jacqueline.”
Before I can question what his beef is with her, he shifts his attention to Vince. “So, who are you asking out?”
Vince shrugs and I find myself inexplicably uncomfortable. We’ve been jogging a few more times this week, and while I’m not getting faster, I am getting better. I don’t feel like yakking when I’m done, so that’s progress. I’m closer than ever to approaching J.T., but Vince hasn’t mentioned his plans whatsoever.
“I only ask,” Davis says, finishing his bottle of beer, “because since you told me about this idea, I’m intrigued to see who you choose this time around. You’ve had a variety of— Ouch!”
The “ouch” is because Vince punched Davis in the arm. Not a backhand, a fist.
Davis rubs the spot on his pristine suit sleeve. “What? I saw one of your past conquests over there and she keeps looking at you. I didn’t know if you’d be up for a second helping.”
Vince’s face is a placid mask as he holds my eyes a beat before his gaze goes over my shoulder. Then his eyelids sink closed and he takes a deep breath, exhaling on one word. “Shit.”
“That’s a no. Tell you what,” Davis slaps Vince on the arm—a friendly slap—before he stands with his empty bottle. “I’m going to go hit on her so you don’t have to do that dance. Jacqueline? Was that a no on the refill?”
“No refill.” My lips are numb. My face too. If Davis means what I think he does…then Vince already took a dip in the dating pool.
One of your past conquests.
Several dips. I cringe.
“Okay, then. You two have a great night.” Davis leans close to Vince. “Perchance do you remember her name?”
“Fuck off,” Vince says.
Davis wanders to the other side of the bar while I sit here, feeling lied to and betrayed—not in the same way Lex betrayed me, so why does it feel similar? Because Vince already slept with a girl—multiple girls, if Davis can be believed—and didn’t tell me? I’m his friend, his confidante. I may not relish the idea of hearing his sexual exploits, but his not sharing hurts.
“You didn’t tell me.” I’m not sure what else to say.
“I know.” Vince studies the ceiling and again I’m reminded of my ex, who, when we met for coffee to discuss our divorce, addressed the ceiling of Perks the entire time. Unlike Lex, Vince locks gazes with me. “I didn’t want you to, you know—to be disappointed in me. Men are assholes, Butler.”
“You’re not, though,” I say, trying to make sense of what he’s admitting.
He swallows and licks his lips. “I needed to get over her.”
“By sleeping with random women?” My voice rises and I calm down and take a breath, not fully understanding my overreaction.
“They weren’t random.” He searches out Davis at the back of the bar, then tells me, “Her name is Polly. She’s an intern at a production studio. Or was. They probably hired her. She graduated her classes with honors.”
I suddenly wished Polly were random. But then again, I know Vince. Of course he wouldn’t have meaningless flings.
“Moving on helped,” he states.
Sitting up straight, I force a smile. “That’s good to know. J.T. might be the perfect person to help with my own moving on.”
“Right.” Not for the first time, I notice he doesn’t sound happy about my plan—his plan, if we’re being technical.
“Like you said. It’s time to get out there. You know what? I’m going to ask him out tonight.” I stand and Vince stands with me.
“No.”
I blink at him, noticing a flash of…something…in his eyes. Not jealousy, but a dab of that uncertainty I felt a few minutes ago when I found out he’d slept with Polly. A mental rug pull that left me wobbly.
“Why not?” I ask, indignant.
“You’re not ready, Butler.” He eases into a smile, his confidence back in full force. “You have to learn how to approach a casual affair if that’s what you want from this guy.”
“And the rules are different if that’s the case?” I fold my arms, not buying it.
“Yes. Sit down. Order another glass of wine. You’ll need it.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re going to practice on me.”
Chapter 5
Vince
Admittedly, giving Jackie advice on how to get a guy to sleep with her is not my best plan. Side note: I’m going to castrate Davis the second I get him alone for ratting me out about Polly over there. Though whatever charm he’s working on her now seems effective. She’s blond—just his type.
“Okay, Butler,” I say, fully focused on Jackie now. “Let’s hear it.”
She stops scribbling on the napkin in front of her, and I bite back a smile. Since I’ve given her a few tips, she has been frantically taking notes. She’s a planner. I’ve always been more go-with-the-flow.
She reads over her notes, squinting in concentration, her lips moving as she reads. Then those golden brown eyes hit mine and she gives me a resolute nod. “I’m ready.”
Her tongue swipes pink lips, making them glisten an
d making me regret again the route I’ve chosen to take with her. Part of me concedes I could call it off and tell her what I really want, but I know her. She’s barely convinced she can ask a dude out, so her best guy friend throwing a date on the table would be an automatic no.
“Let’s see it,” I say, kind of excited to see what she’s come up with.
She takes Davis’s seat, sitting next to me and leaning heavily on an elbow, fist under her chin. “Hi. I’m Jackie.”
I blink several times in quick succession at the transformation from my scatterbrained best friend to a gorgeous woman giving me bedroom eyes. She’s pretending. I’d do well to remember that.
“Vince.”
She straightens in her chair and frowns. “Shouldn’t you pretend to be J.T.?”
“I’m not that good of an actor, Butler.” And I’m not pretending to be that jerk.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, then slides into seduction mode so swiftly I find myself impressed. She’s better at this than she’s let on. “Do you have a last name, Vince?”
“You know my last name, Butler.”
“Call me Jackie.” She gives me a slow bat of her lashes.
My smile is real, and when I lean closer, I don’t even do it on purpose. “Well, Jackie. Last names are irrelevant, don’t you think?”
Her chest lifts as she takes a breath, and I’m not shy about checking out her cleavage, exposed down the V of her shirt. Normally I wouldn’t look so obviously, but this is a game. Our game.
“That’s very assuming of you, Mr. No Last Name.” She quirks her lips in that way she has, and my smile broadens. “But let’s say”—she moves her half-full wineglass onto the cocktail napkin she wrote on—“for argument’s sake, you’re right, that last names are irrelevant.” She runs the tip of her finger along the rim of her glass like she’s doing it absentmindedly.
She’s doing it on purpose. I can tell.
Damn. She’s good.
“We should have a real date before making plans, don’t you think?” she asks, her eyes on mine.
“Yes.” Hell, yes. “Dinner, at the very least.”
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