How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days: Chick Flick Club #1

by Lila Monroe

  “Hey don’t bust his balls,” Martin says. Then he takes a sip of his own smoothie and grimaces “At least he doesn’t have to learn French to talk to this one.”

  Julie laughs. “I’d forgotten about Sandrine. What ever happened to her?”

  “Went back to France,” Brody mutters.

  “Although,” I say, “Learning French was an improvement over your punk phase, thanks to … ” I lift my eyebrows, waiting.

  Brody sighs. “Karli.”

  “Right,” Martin snaps his fingers. “The drummer from that all-girl riot band. She was pretty cool. Though I can’t say punk rocker was my favorite look for you.”

  I laugh, remembering Brody with a bolt through his ears. “You looked like Stef Curry got mugged by a Sex Pistol.”

  Julie sputters in laughter, a little dribble of her smoothie running down her chin. “I’m sorry I missed that phase.”

  “I’m sure I have pictures of it somewhere.”

  “Many pictures,” I grin. “Maybe even video, too.”

  Brody groans. “I thought she was the one. If The Swindles hadn’t gone on that extended tour, we might still be together.”

  “Making happy little angry punk babies,” I tease. “Which, by the way, you two need to hold off on,” I warn Martin and Julie. “I’m not ready to be Uncle just yet.”

  “Don’t worry,” Julie smirks. “I’m already stuck playing mom to one oversized man-baby.”

  “Tough break,” I tell Martin.

  “I’m talking about you!” Julie exclaims. She and Martin exchange a look, and then he pipes up.

  “Actually, I was meaning to talk to you. A buddy of mine is looking for some programmers to help out with an app. I thought maybe you could—”

  “No thanks,” I cut him off, taking another gulp of the coffee.

  “You didn’t even ask what kind of app.”

  I shrug. “I don’t need to. I’m retired, remember?”

  “You’re twenty-eight,” Martin gives me a look.

  “And?” I ask. “It’s nice to be retired before needing a walker and Viagra, don’t you think?”

  “You’re never going to work again?” Julie asks, screwing her forehead up in concern. She’s as much of a deadline-aholic as Martin, programming at one of the big tech companies here in town.

  I lift my shoulders in another shrug. “Hard to say. Right now, I’m just focused on relaxing and having a good time.”

  Julie tries another tack. “This guy is really smart and already has the venture capital all lined up. It could be a great opportunity for you.”

  He could have the entire Shark Tank panel lined up and I still wouldn’t be interested.

  Martin tags in. “He just needs us to build the matrix and beta-test it. You helped out yesterday with James,” he adds.

  “Yes. As a one-time favor because you couldn’t. It was an easy fix.” Not to mention I got to see Gemma all worked up at her office. Added bonus.

  “This could be a great project for us,” Martin says, reminding me that much of our success was due to his persistence.

  “For you, you mean. And go right ahead, I’m not stopping you,” I say. Then, to change the subject, I look at Brody. “She keeps looking over here. Go flirt with her.”

  He stares at me. “I … ”

  I roll my eyes. “Man, you need to up your game. Go get me one of those cups of sludge or something.”

  Now that he has an excuse, Brody slides off his chair and goes up to the counter. Sierra the Vegan glances up and smiles. She’s cute; they would make a nice couple.

  Even without the bacon.

  “Zach,” Julie interrupts my thoughts. “We’re worried about you.”

  “What?” I turn, looking from her to Martin and back. “Is this some kind of intervention? Come on, you guys. I’m great!”

  “Really?” Martin asks. “You never leave your place. You dress like a slob. Your social life—”

  “Is fine, thank you very much.” I glare. “As Brody can attest, I had a guest over just the other night after we left the bar. Kaitlin, I think her name was. And I didn’t even have to go vegan.”

  Julie sighs. “Zach. You can’t keep having random hookups.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “They’re happy, I’m happy. I don’t lead anyone on. It’s consenting adults having fun.”

  Julie and Martin look at each other. “But don’t you want something … real?”

  “Don’t even go there, you two,” I warn. “Just because you’re super in love and enjoy going to weird furry sex clubs together, doesn’t mean you get to inflict that on everyone around you. I don’t want to join your club. I like my life.”

  “We don’t go to furry sex clubs!” Julie exclaims. So loud that conversation in the rest of the place stops as everyone turns to look at our table.

  She flushes. “We don’t! It was one time, and we were cosplaying Wookies!”

  “Whatever you say,” I grin, teasing.

  “Zach, we just want you to be happy,” Martin says, staying on track, despite his wife’s embarrassment. “Get back to the work you loved. Do something with yourself.”

  “Are you kidding?” I ask. “We worked like dogs for years to make that company what it was so we could sell it and never have to work again. That was the plan. And seriously, why shouldn’t I enjoy my life? I love not having to put on suits to go schmooze investors. Or working for thirty-six hours straight, only taking breaks to piss. I’m enjoying my life, can’t you guys just let this go?”

  Then Julie adds the kicker. “Maybe you’re not over Lisa.”

  I freeze.

  “One, we agreed never to say her name. And two, I am over her,” I say, pointedly looking at each of them in turn. “And I’m very much over this conversation, too.”

  “But—” Julie starts, but I shake my head.

  “Guys, you know I love you and I appreciate your concern. I do. But seriously, we’re done talking about this. Please.”

  They only ride me because they care, but just because their life is all white pickets and married bliss doesn’t mean everyone else’s has to be that way. I figure I’ve got years of late night hook-ups and grungy apartments before I find someone worth breaking my heart over again … and I’m not going to waste a minute.

  * * *

  After ‘brunch’, Martin and Julie head to the comics store, and Brody and I make our way across town to a potential gym space he wants to show me.

  “Ugh,” I belch as we get out of his car, pounding my chest. “How long will these disgusting burps last?”

  He gives me the side-eye. “It’s your body in revolt because you ate something green.”

  “It tastes like … I don’t know, like I went down on a swamp mermaid or something.”

  Brody laughs. “You get used to it.”

  “Man, she better be the love of your life.”

  “Here it is.” Brody stops in front of a nondescript door tucked between a florist and (another) smoothie bar. “The guy said it would be open.” He tugs on it and sure enough, it opens to a small, musty vestibule and a steep staircase beyond.

  “Why are you looking for a space?” Brody normally works with clients at their homes. Or in public parks—doing morning boot camps or sometimes running with clients on trails. “Why bother with the overhead?”

  He gestures for me to go up the stairs ahead of him. “I want a studio as a home base. An office, too; I’m tired of paperwork all over my kitchen table. And if I have a studio, I can hire more trainers. Build a business that isn’t just me, you know?”

  I nod. He’s a great trainer, but while he’s known for jumping into love head-first, he’s always been over-cautious about expanding his business. I’m glad to see him looking toward the future and make the mistake of saying so.

  “Speaking of the future,” he says as we get to the top of the stairs, “it’s been a while since you and Marty sold the company.”

  “Yep,” I agree as I look around. It’s an ope
n-plan space, run-down, but the light is good, and there’s plenty of room for gym equipment.

  “Look. You don’t have to work, I get that. But you should want to. To do something. I think you’re stagnating.”

  Stagnating. Like a swamp.

  “Brody …”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not going to ride you, that stupid intervention was Marty’s idea. But think about it, OK?”

  I reluctantly nod.

  “OK, now what do you think?” he asks.

  “I like it,” I say.

  “Yeah?” Brody says, a smile spreading across his face.

  “As long as you get a deal on the rent. Because this place needs some serious cleaning.”

  “Like your apartment?” he jokes.

  I punch his arm. “Hey, maybe you can get a package deal.”

  We go on to discuss numbers and his ideas. By the time I leave, we’re both pumped about his business’s expansion plans. I’m happy for him, of course, but also it feels good to use my brain in a way I haven’t for many months. That blip of a job for James doesn’t count, because I’ve used more brain cells ordering a pizza.

  I won’t admit it to him, of course, but I’m glad to be of help to Brody. And not just for the sake of his business. Maybe he was onto something with the stagnating thing. I have been feeling … bored lately, with nothing much to do all day.

  Even vacation gets old after a while.

  I detour to my favorite burger joint, then head home, opening my apartment door to that smell Martin had complained about.

  “Fuck,” I say to my empty apartment because I hate that he was right. It really does stink like Eau du Sweatsock in here. I pick up an empty pizza box and the tequila bottle from last night, clearing a spot for the takeout on the slightly sticky coffee table, ignoring the pile of laundry for now.

  Because hello, bacon-double cheeseburger and onion rings.

  I sit on my ratty old couch, flip on the TV to ESPN, and start to eat. Sports and real food. Two of my favorite things. One more thing would make it absolutely perfect, but I remind myself that relationships have only ever complicated my life.

  This burger? Totally uncomplicated. Doesn’t want to change me. Needs nothing from me. Is never passive-aggressive. Doesn’t talk in code. It’s just here for me, no matter what. It’s just meat, cheese, and bread.

  The perfect relationship.

  I mean, I guess it would be slightly more perfect if there was a tomato or lettuce on it. Brody hadn’t been wrong when he’d teased that my body didn’t know how to handle a vegetable anymore.

  Wait. Do onion rings count as vegetables? If so, then pickles do, too. I’m practically eating a salad.

  See? I don’t need an intervention. At least, not much. I glance around, wincing at the mess. I’ll look into that housekeeper thing tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even start to order from places that have salads—real salads—on the menu.

  But that’s tomorrow. Until then, Monster Hunter is waiting for me.

  5

  Gemma

  - Day 1 -

  Saturday morning, I go try Bigfoot’s door again, but there’s no answer, so I meet Eve and Zoey and hit the markets: Farmer’s and Flea. Eve has just found a rare Royal Doulton figurine of an Old English sheepdog. She’s practically vibrating, she’s so excited. Zoey is considering a cast-iron frying pan that looks like it was forged for use in the Civil War. “As long as it’s properly seasoned, it’ll last forever.”

  “And also double as a weapon,” I say, giving an experimental swing.

  Zoey laughs. “Put the blunt object down,” she takes it from me. “Unless you have another date you need to fend off.”

  “Not me,” I turn, remembering. “Eve! You had that thing with that guy last night! Spill!”

  She shakes her head. “The date was okay, but …” she makes a face. “He’s a cat person.”

  Zoey laughs. “That’s it? No psycho ex, or b.o, or still living at his mom’s? I get that dogs are important to you, but not everyone is as dog-crazy as you are. Anyway, I thought you like cats.”

  I look over at Eve, waiting for her answer because I, too, always thought she was an equal-opportunity pet-lover.

  “I do,” she says, nodding. “But he’s only a cat person. He doesn’t like dogs.”

  “At all?” I ask.

  Eve shakes her head. “And it’s not even that he’s allergic or got bit once, he just doesn’t like them!”

  “That is kind of weird,” I frown. “Who doesn’t like dogs?”

  “Sociopaths,” Zoey says knowingly. “You dodged a bullet, Evie. Maybe even literally.”

  Eve shivers. “Whatever. We obviously weren’t compatible. I’m only going to look for dates at the dog park from now on.” She sighs. “What about you, how’s the big competition?”

  I groan. “A non-starter! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I mean, he slammed his door right in my face. Literally. Right in my face!”

  “Maybe you could be nicer to him,” she suggests.

  “I’m plenty nice!”

  Eve laughs. “Come on. All you do is insult him. He can’t be all bad.”

  “Yes, he can. Maybe he hates dogs,” Zoey says. “Ever seen a pet in his place?”

  “Nope,” I say. “Just a big ‘ol bachelor mess.”

  “Sociopath, obvi,” Zoey narrows her eyes. “But either way, you’re going to need to do something to win this bet. You can’t let the Instabitch win. Can you bribe him?”

  “With what?” Eve asks.

  Zoey smirks. “Sexual favors.”

  I laugh. “No thank you. I don’t need to floss with all that hair, thank you very much.”

  “Gross,” Eve says and then adds sheepishly, “Though I don’t mind hair so much. You have to admit, it’s very masculine.”

  I wave her off, even though secretly I think she might be sort of, a tiny little bit right.

  “You could take one for the team, Gems,” Zoey grins. “It’s not like you wouldn’t get anything out of a romp in the Bigfoot cave. You could use to break that dry spell, you know. A guy like that would definitely get the job done.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Eve says. “You just need to appeal to his good side. Offer up something nice in return.”

  “Like I said,” Zoey quips. “Sexual favors.”

  “These look so good,” Zoey says, waving over the vendor and ordering a whole flat of berries for her truck. People come from all over the bay area for her strawberry waffles. I wonder if Zach can be bribed with food.

  Because Zoey is right: I do need to do something. And sexual favors are off the table.

  Right?

  Yes, yes, right. Of course, they are. Dry spell aside, I do not want to get up close and hairy with my neighbor. Nope.

  Definitely not.

  * * *

  After brunch, Zoey heads to the kitchen to prep for her food service tomorrow, and Eve goes to walk some of her clients. I head home, and try to think of more ways to charm-slash-bribe Bigfoot into submission. The clock is ticking on this bet, and if I don’t talk him around soon, I won’t even have any time to transform him. I mean, just that apartment would take a month under the best of circumstances, let alone his hair face.

  And that body …

  There’s a knock at my door. A glance out the peephole is enough to get my heart racing.

  Zach.

  What’s he doing here? Did he realize he’d been a rude ass before, and decide to find out what my favor is? I take a breath and force my lips into a smile as I open the door. “Oh hi!” I say in a chipper voice. “What’s up?”

  “Your keys were in the door lock.” He reaches out and drops my keychain into my hand.

  “Oh,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. But of course he hadn’t come over because he’d changed his mind. “Thanks.”

  He doesn’t reply, just heads for the elevator.

  Crap.

  I grab my jacket, and the keys, and start after him. “Li
sten, about that favor—“

  “Nope!”

  “You don’t even know what I’m asking!”

  “Don’t need to.” Zach shrugs, as the elevator doors start to close.

  “But … wait! Hold the doors!”

  Which of course has no effect. Or, maybe the opposite effect as I can imagine Zach pressing the door close button rapidly and repeatedly to get away from me.

  He shoots me a smirk, as the doors close—just before I reach them.

  Damn.

  This guy hates me. Why am I even bothering? Oh right. Because I can’t let Arielle win. I need this job. I want this job. Hell, I was born for this job. And if that means having to tame a Bigfoot to get it, so be it.

  Gemma Jones is nothing if not resourceful. I head to the fire exit stairs and hurry down, but by the time I emerge from the building and look around for Zach, his long legs have taken him almost two blocks away.

  All this, and he’s making me run, too?

  I deserve a prize for this. The Nobel, I think, as I race after him, huffing for air. I’ve just about caught up when turns and enters a coffee shop on the corner. Perfect! I catch my breath in the doorway, then step inside. Zach is in line at the counter, so I walk casually up behind him.

  “Anyone would think you’re avoiding me,” I say, planting myself beside him in line.

  Zach turns. “Seriously? You’re following me now?”

  I flutter my lashes. “You have to respect my persistence.”

  “Uh, no, I don’t.”

  “Hi there,” the woman behind the counter announces. “What can I get you?”

  “An Americano, thanks,” Zach says.

  “My treat,” I pipe up, and reach for my wallet.

  He waves me off. “No. You’re not paying for my drink.”

  “Sexist much?”

  “No,” he shoots back. “I don’t want to owe you anything. You butter me up with a five-dollar drink and next thing I know, I’m obligated to do this favor for you, whatever it is.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s just a beverage, not a diamond tennis bracelet. And about the favor…”

  He shakes his head, cutting me off. “Not interested.”