Eye Candy

by Jessica Lemmon

  “No, I have a thing.”

  “It’s not polite to call your girlfriends ‘things,’ ” I remind him.

  “My thing is poker with a few guys from work.”

  “On a Sunday?” He works from home. What guys from work is he playing poker with on the weekend?

  “Commerce never sleeps, my friend. We had a preweek meeting at an on-site office today and I invited the guys to my place for cards. They’re a mixed bag. Come over so I have someone normal to talk to.”

  “I don’t know…” I haven’t played cards for money since Leslie and I used to have separate girls’ and guys’ nights.

  “For your own good, Carson. I can’t bear the idea of you spending the evening alone.” He’s smiling. The asshole. “Jackie-O too busy to polish your knob tonight?”

  I breathe a heavy sigh. Spending the evening alone is a nonoption now that I’ve been shot down by Jackie, and Davis knows it. “Your place?” I ask.

  “Yep. Six o’clock.”

  “I’ll bring the cigars.”

  —

  Davis’s coworkers are dressed like normal human beings instead of corporate cyborgs. After years of witnessing Davis wear suits and ties almost exclusively, I’m surprised any of his friends wear casual attire. One guy is in flip-flops. And one guy isn’t a guy at all.

  Her name’s Charmaine. She’s twenty-seven and cute as a button. Blond, petite, and curvy. Davis hasn’t looked twice at her, which tells me one of two things: She’s married or they already slept together.

  She’s on my left, pursing her lips at her hand, which means she’s about to bluff. I’ve been watching her take everyone’s money, including mine, for the last hour. Simpson starts to call when she raises twenty bucks, but then chickens out. I folded a while back and so did Davis, as well as the two other guys who aren’t sitting at the table any longer. I can’t remember their names….

  “Come on! Call her!” Davis chides.

  “No way, man.” Simpson flashes a smile at Charmaine and she smiles back. Damn, she’s good. “I’m out.”

  He throws his cards facedown on the table and tips his chin at her. “Show ’em.”

  “Sorry, Simps. That would have cost you twenty bucks.” She lays her cards on top of his facedown and sweeps them into a pile before doing a quick shuffle and shoving them aside. Then she pockets the cash, and I’m grateful I only lost a five-spot in that stack.

  “I need a beer,” Davis says, blowing out a breath. “Come on, Simps. I’ll buy you one.”

  They amble into Davis’s kitchen, which is attached to the dining room. Davis lives in a fancy apartment building near downtown. He has the penthouse balcony suite with an impressive view of the skyline.

  “How can you live with yourself, ripping off your coworkers like that?” I ask Charmaine with a smile.

  “It’s easy.” She turns to face me, resting her elbow on the chair. “I work with a lot of men who get paid more than me, so technically I’m recouping some of my missing income.”

  I chuckle. She has me there.

  She covers her mouth as she yawns and pushes herself up. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Yeah.” A long day of spending it without Jackie. Yesterday didn’t feel as long, but then I’d just seen her. How can I miss her already?

  “Where are you headed, Vince?” Charmaine asks, her voice huskier than before.

  “Home after this one.” I waggle my bottle to show her it’s nearly empty.

  “Would you like some company?”

  “Uh…” I stall because she’s caught me completely off guard.

  She leans forward and reiterates, “I mean in your bed. You’re fun.”

  A completely uncomfortable laugh leaves my throat and her smile fades. “I’m not laughing at you. I’ve just never been asked quite that way before. I’m going to have to politely decline. My—Jackie would kill me.”

  “Ah. Girlfriend.” Charmaine blinks and her bedroom eyes are no more. I don’t feel an ounce of loss or curiosity about her or what she might be like in bed. There was a time I would’ve, though, which she deserves to know.

  “Something like that.” I keep my voice low and add, “A few months ago, I couldn’t have said yes fast enough.”

  “You’re sweet.” She kisses my cheek and I let her. “You’re a lucky guy to have found a woman worth putting adventure on hold.”

  She swivels on one heel and gathers her purse. Once she’s in the kitchen saying goodbye to everyone, I notice Davis watching me, his mouth tight at the corners. Half an hour later, his buddies from work have finished their beers and one by one trickle out the door.

  Then it’s Davis and me. I was going to leave after I finished this one, but I didn’t. There’s an inch of warm beer in the bottle and the label is missing. Once we’re clear of any of his compatriots, I speak up.

  “It wasn’t what it looked like with Charmaine.”

  “It wasn’t?” He sits across from me at his glass-topped kitchen table and folds his hands. “You didn’t turn down Char for sex?”

  “Okay, I guess it was what it looked like. I didn’t want you to think I was flirting. What’s your story with her anyway?”

  “No story.” He shakes his head with finality.

  “Is she single?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she’s blond. Didn’t you date her?”

  “No.” He looks at me like I’ve gone insane. Maybe I have and I’m having this conversation in an asylum with a fat guy named Tumbles, because in no way should my accusation come as a surprise.

  “Davis. She’s blond. You date every blond you can get your hands on. My assumption isn’t that out of left field.”

  “I don’t date women I work with.”

  “Even when she asked you to bed, no strings? Still a no?”

  Davis goes pale. “That’s what she offered you?”

  “Yes, but in a tasteful way.” I point my bottle at him.

  “Jackie-O,” he says as if it’s all the explanation needed.

  The thing is, it is all the explanation needed. Or at least it’s the only one he’s going to get confirmation on.

  “Jackie-O,” I agree.

  Davis sits back in his high-backed black iron chair. I can’t be sure, but his smile appears to be one of approval.

  Jacqueline

  “I’m doing good, yeah?” I ask my sister, rather sloppily, I might add. We’re halfway into a second bottle of champagne and, like liquor, bubbly makes me feel way drunker than I really am. Or makes me way drunker than I should be.

  “You’re doing great.” Bethany forgoes her slender flute and takes a swig directly from the bottle before wiping a hand across her mouth. Somehow she looks sophisticated doing it.

  I flop back on the couch, to which I’ve dragged all the pillows from my bed and a light blanket. My sister has gotten comfortable. We bypassed Mean Girls for some old-school classics, per her request. We watched Pretty in Pink and then put on Sixteen Candles, but we didn’t really pay any attention to it. It’s in the background, infusing the room with Molly Ringwald, patron saint of the eighties—a decade I wish I’d been older than a toddler during. The clothes are a riot.

  “I want to continue having sex with him and not worry about all the things I was starting to worry about with J.T., you know?”

  Bethany nods. “Totally.”

  “I don’t want to put unnecessary weight on it. Like when should I call, or if it’s a big deal that we work together. I’m not going to make out in the break room with him or anything, but I’m not going to hide.” I frown, because I’m making no sense. “Can I have some more of that?”

  Bethany offers the bottle and I take a measured sip, carefully, because the last time I drank champagne from the bottle, I coughed and sputtered when the bubbles hit my throat. Lex was frustrated with me for not pouring it into a glass, and the memory stings more than it should.

  “I never got to see what J.T. looks like.” Bethany wraps her arms around her
knees. Then her eyes get big. “Hey! He lives here. Let’s go look at him!”

  She’s smiling like a maniac.

  “It’s eleven at night! He’s probably in bed.” With another woman, some snide, grouchy part of me adds. “Do you want some more popcorn?” We killed two bags, but I could go for a third.

  “Sure.” She smiles sweetly and I test my ability to walk by pacing from my living room to the kitchen with fairly little wobbling. Impressive.

  Popcorn popping in the microwave, I hum to myself and watch the numbers on the digital timer count down. Bethany says something, but it’s too quiet for me to hear. “Just a sec!” I call out. As I listen to the space grow between pops, I hear her clearly say, “Great. See you in a few.”

  I snatch the bag and give it a shake as I head back into the living room. She’s placing her phone back on the coffee table facedown when I return.

  “Who are you seeing in a few?” I tear the bag, careful to avoid the steam billowing out, and empty the contents into a big plastic bowl.

  Before I can really get comfortable, she says, “J.T.”

  Bag in midair, I gape at her. Then my eyes track slowly to the phone on the coffee table facedown. My phone. Not hers. That’s my sparkly red case.

  “Bethany!”

  I scrabble for it and unlock the screen, scrolling through the recent calls. Sure enough, an outgoing one for J.T. sits in the queue like a bad omen.

  “I was going to text him,” she says as she munches a few pieces of popcorn, “but in case he had a lady present, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “So you called instead?” I gape at her.

  She shrugs and eats another handful of popcorn.

  “What did you tell him?” I all but screech.

  “I said I was your sister and I wanted to get a look at the one that got away if he wasn’t too busy.”

  “He didn’t get away,” I bite out.

  “I know. But he wouldn’t come over if I told him I wanted to kick him in the balls for cheating on my sister.” She smiles sweetly. “Besides, he said he had something to return to you.”

  My doorbell buzzes and I race to grab Bethany, but she’s faster than me. Or less drunk. I can’t tell. The door swings aside and I open my mouth to apologize to J.T. for the misunderstanding, but it’s too late. Bethany snatches a DVD from his hands, tosses it to me like a Frisbee, and kicks J.T. squarely in the nuts.

  It happens so fast, I stand frozen, a DVD in hand, and my jaw on the ground. Bethany is a ninja. Who knew?

  J.T. oofs and I gasp, and then the door is slammed closed, but not before Bethany shouts, “You’re a cheating sack of shit!”

  Once he’s groaning behind the closed panel, my sister dusts her hands together and grins. “I always wanted to say that to Lex.”

  I rush to the window and part the curtains to find J.T. looking miserable and furious at once. I don’t know if it’s the champagne or the divine retribution, but I start laughing and don’t stop until I tumble to the floor, Bethany collapsing at my side doing the same.

  “He’s going to hate me now,” I say through tears.

  “I know,” she barely manages between howling peals of laughter.

  I join her, despite knowing things won’t end well. Just this once I allow myself to enjoy the moment. And in this moment, life is good.

  Chapter 22

  Vince

  Seeing Jackie give a presentation is like watching a bird take flight or a fish return to the water. She’s at home up there. She shines. I do well enough to get by, but not Jackie. No, she aces the training she’s issuing to our coworkers.

  The only way I’m comfortable instructing my peers is to make joke after joke and promise a happy hour afterward. Jackie takes the alternate route: She wows them because she’s damn great at it.

  First she hits them with knowledge—thorough research of her topic. Next the sucker punch of a clip from a movie instead of a boring PowerPoint presentation. The clip? From Glengarry Glen Ross. Jack Lemmon’s character is right. You can’t succeed in sales if you’re only given shit leads.

  Last, Jackie gives everyone homework in the form of a contest. The reward? Cold, hard cash.

  When she asks if there are any questions, she’s beaming. Of course there are no fucking questions. She outlined every possible question and answered it in a rat-a-tat-tat machine-gun rhythm while our coworkers scribbled fiercely into their notebooks—which she handed out at the beginning, I might add.

  Genius.

  “To reward you for your patience and attentiveness,” Jackie says with a smile as I hit the lights, “I’ve ordered Papa Joe’s deep dish pizza, and it should be in the conference room”—she checks the clock on the wall behind me—“right about now. Enjoy your lunch, everyone.”

  Of the dozen people who file out, several are excitedly chattering about how they’re going to win the contest.

  “Kayla, can you and Joan and Robin stick around and eat in here with Vince and me? There are a few details we need to solidify with you.” She leans over the table and stage whispers, “I’ll order us Thai instead.”

  “Absolutely,” they chime in agreement.

  “Drinks on me,” I announce. It’s the least I can do. Jackie let me kick back and relax on this one. We do that—trade presentations and take turns based on our strengths.

  “I’ll have a gin and tonic.” Robin is a fiftysomething manager in sales. Her voice is that of a former smoker, and her hugs are those of a grandma. There is nothing like sinking into that floral blouse and getting a good squeeze from her.

  “Oh! Mimosa for me,” Joan says. She’s rail thin, unlike Robin, her features angular but pretty in her own unique way. Kayla joins in next.

  “I’ll have a gin and tonic and a mimosa. It is Monday, after all.”

  I fold my arms over my chest and blink at the women before me. I’m waiting for their real orders, which they figure out without a word from me.

  “Fine.” Kayla, predictably, is the first to cave. “Coke.”

  “Diet,” Robin and Joan say at the same time.

  “Butler?” I ask Jackie.

  “I’m going to drink water, thanks.”

  “Come on. I’m treating. How about a coffee?”

  Jackie’s eyes brighten. “Like a caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream?”

  “I change my order!” Kayla shoots her arm into the air like we’re in a classroom.

  I sigh but give in, sliding into a chair at the table and opening my phone to peck everyone’s Starbucks orders into my app. “Don’t get too excited,” I say as I add a medium Pike Place for myself. “I’m sending a temp to gopher. Order me a shrimp pad thai, will you?” I ask Jackie.

  “You got it.” She beams at me and I wonder if anyone else notices the rosy color in cheeks, or the extra second we hold each other’s gazes. I hope not.

  I email the order to the temp, Sandy, then swing by my desk and check my messages. There are several from people who think they’re having an emergency, but it’s nothing that can’t wait until after our Thai/Starbucks lunch meeting.

  I swing back by the conference room as the fastest Thai food in the universe is delivered to the table.

  “How long was I gone?” I ask after the deliveryman zooms by me to return to his time machine. “What year is this?”

  Jackie flashes me a smile as she opens one of the bags and starts unloading our meals.

  “Mr. Carson?” I turn to find Sandy holding a tray of Starbucks cups plus one extra in her hand. “Here are your coffees.”

  “Thanks.” I take the tray, then lean in and say, “Seriously. Did you and the Thai guy use the same machine to zap you back?”

  She frowns, not understanding, so I tell her to never mind. By the time I close the conference room door, a conversation has started without me.

  “He’s gorgeous. Tall. Golden-blond hair.” Kayla is speaking and Robin and Joan are hanging on her every word. “He has a deliciously wide chest and round, sculpte
d shoulders.” She touches her own shoulders and rolls her eyes in apparent ecstasy. “When he runs by tomorrow, you have to check him out.”

  I grimace.

  “Hey,” I interrupt. Kayla’s mouth forms a small O. “You’re married.” That’s not what I wanted to say, but I can’t exactly gripe about J.T., can I? “Besides.” I pull my shoulders back. “I too have round, sculpted shoulders.” I set the drinks in front of them. “And I come bearing gifts.”

  “Run by with your shirt off, honey, and we’ll talk.” Robin peeks over her glasses at me. I narrow my eyes at her, but I can’t hate her. Those damn hugs.

  “Close your ears, Vince,” Kayla instructs. Without waiting, she looks at Jackie and says, “Spill it. How good is the sex with him?”

  Jackie nearly drops my pad thai and I scoop up the container before I have to eat my lunch off the floor. Her widening eyes hit mine and I raise my eyebrows, trying to communicate with my mind that Kayla is referring to the running douchebag, not me.

  “What does that smooth, bare chest feel like?” Joan asks.

  See? Not talking about me. I have a manly, hairy chest.

  “I’m going to eat at my desk,” I announce, not that anyone is paying me any attention.

  “Is he a good kisser?” Robin asks.

  “Or eat my desk,” I mumble.

  “Uh…” Jackie is fumbling but I’m not bailing her out. I snatch my Pike Place and salute the ladies with the cup. “Butler, fill me in on what I miss. I mean, about the project, not about whatever you’re doing with…whoever you’re doing it with.”

  “J.T.,” Kayla answers.

  “Oh! Right! J.T.” Jackie, late to the party, has finally figured it out. God love her. “Um.”

  “Wait until I’m gone!” I call, but there’s a secret smile on my face as I slip out the conference room door and close it with a snick. Jackie is talking about sex, and even though the ladies from work are assuming it’s with someone else, Jackie is thinking of me as she describes it.

  I hum as I stroll to my desk, coffee and Thai food and confidence intact.

  —

  “You’re right. This place is girly.” Jackie is standing beside me at the doorway of Chic Winehouse.