by Lila Monroe
Grease? Food?
Worse?
Zach cranes his neck. “What?”
“That stain?”
“I don’t know.”
I groan. “How can you not know?”
He shrugs. “It’s always been there.”
“What do you mean?” I push up off him and move over to the other side of the couch. “Where did you get this furniture?”
“It came with the place.”
I blink at him and then launch off the couch, because WHAT? “Are you serious?”
He shrugs again. Like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. I left Lisa the house and the furniture. She was the one who decorated it, so …”
As grossed out as I am that I was just making out with him on a sofa with unknown heritage, I see this as glass half full: opportunity for total transformation. Assuming he’s on board, that is.
“Don’t you think you should buy your own furniture?” I ask gently.
“I guess. I figured I’d get some stuff one day, but I never got around to it.”
I peek around the corner into his bedroom. You’ve got to be kidding me. “Zach!”
“What’s wrong?”
“You have a mattress on the floor! How are you a gajillionaire and you sleep on a mattress on the floor?”
“It’s a futon,” he protests. “It’s comfortable.”
“Women put up with this?” I ask in disbelief.
He grins. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
“You don’t even have curtains.” I realize, looking around with fresh eyes. “And what’s with all the books stacked up? You need a bookshelf. Chairs! Furniture!”
He shrugs again. “Sure. You want to pick some stuff out? I mean, I was going to do it eventually.”
I clap my hands in delight. “Let’s go!”
“Easy there, sunshine.” Zach gives me a lazy grin that turns my insides upside down. “Unless these stores are clothing-optional?”
Tempting, but nope. “Five minutes,” I order him, pushing him towards the bedroom. “We’re going to need all the time we can get.”
* * *
While Zach is in the shower, I make a few calls to housekeeping services and line someone up to come over ASAP. Then I take a bunch of ‘before’ pictures of his place (complete with beer bottles, takeout boxes, and a pile of laundry on the floor) for my portfolio.
Once he emerges, dressed in worn but comfortable clothes, we get in the Jeep and drive to the giant blue and yellow wonderland that is IKEA. Even though I know Zach can afford some seriously high-end furniture, I figure it’s a good place to start to get a feel for his taste—and see complete rooms. Like always, it’s insanely busy, but I feel good as we finally find a parking spot and walk in, especially when Zach grabs my hand and twines his fingers in mine.
I blush.
Is it because he doesn’t want to lose me in the crowd, or because he’s chill with acting like a couple? I don’t want to ask, so I just keep it zipped and enjoy feeling like half of something, for once in my life.
We start at the very beginning of the maze of staged little showrooms. Living rooms are first.
“So,” I begin happily. “How would you define your style? Besides ‘free and came with the place’?”
Zach shoots me a fake stern look. “You know, I’ve never really thought about it. Lisa always took care of that stuff.”
I’m seriously starting to hate hearing her name and everything it means.
“Well, now it’s time for you to figure out what you like.” I lead him into a very Scandinavian living room and pull him to sit beside me on the white leather couch. It’s all very sleek and modern. “What about this? Can you see yourself living here?”
He makes a face. “No. Too cold.” He wiggles around. “And I think my balls would get too sweaty with the leather.”
I snort. “God forbid your man berries aren’t comfortable.”
“You have no idea.” He pulls me up and to the next model room. “This one’s better,” he says, dropping onto the plush navy-blue sofa and tugging me down beside him.
The fabric feels thin. “This one’s nice, but wouldn’t hold up to wear and stains as well as the leather,” I say, rubbing my palm over the nap of the fake suede.
“I’m not a total slob,” he says, feigning hurt. But when I look at him, I’m suddenly not so sure he’s feigning.
“Sorry,” I say.
“It’s OK. I guess I could be neater,” he says. “Where are we at with the maid?”
“I’m on it. But anyway, durability is something to consider.”
“So’s comfort,” he says, as he suddenly pulls me into his lap.
“Zach!” I laugh, but he’s undeterred.
“Indulge me. I need to know it’s comfortable for when you come over and we watch movies.”
“OK then.” I kick off my sandals so I can stretch out, my head on his thigh, as though the cardboard TV in the cabinet facing us is real. “Oh!” I exclaim, pointing at the TV. “I missed this episode of The Bachelor! Pass me the popcorn, will you?”
He plays along, handing me the bowl from the side table.
I dig in the bowl and then look up at him. “Empty! You ate it all?! Again?”
“I got hungry,” he says loudly with a casual shrug. “Making you come is hard work, Emma.”
I nearly choke on my fake popcorn. Especially when I hear muttering and turn to see a woman in her sixties standing right there, goggling at us. No way she didn’t hear what he just said.
It’s even more mortifying when her husband winks knowingly at Zach.
I sit up and shove Zach, but the way he’s grinning at me, combined with the sudden tingle between my legs makes it impossible to be mad at him. Still, I give him a half-hearted smack on the arm as I get up off the couch.
“So that’s a no on this one, honey?” he says loudly as he follows me to the next room, smirking all the way.
“That’s a no.” I lead him to a navy sectional that would look pretty good in his space. “How about this one?”
He drops next to me. “Hmmm,” He hums, doing a butt wiggle. “Nice and firm but not too hard for my balls. But I need to see …” He drapes an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. He arranges us so we’re pressed together, facing the fake TV.
“Pretty Woman again!” he complains loudly.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, again. You could learn something, you know.”
“I doubt that,” he says and then pulls me closer for a kiss. It starts innocently enough, but then holy Swedish meatballs, it gets hot quickly. Also: he’s right. He has nothing to learn from Richard Gere. If anything, he could give the movie star a few pointers.
“Get a room!” someone yells. “A real one!”
It breaks the spell. Mostly.
Zach gives me a long final kiss and then pulls away and pats the sofa with his free hand. “I like this one. It’s very conducive to my needs.”
“Your needs being?” I ask.
“You cuddling up with me. Even if it means watching Pretty Woman.”
“You might not hate it, you know, the movie, I mean” I say, even as I’m trying not to focus on how he wants to cuddle with me. “But yeah, this is a good couch,” I say absently.
He nods. “Room for a whole family. Two kids and a Labradooodle.”
I look at him. “You’re a dog person?”
He shrugs. “Isn’t everyone?”
“A kid person?” I ask, not sure I should even be asking.
“Sure.” Another shrug. “Someday, probably, if I get married again.” He pushes his fingers through his hair before he says, “Too soon to even be thinking about that, but never say never, you know?”
It’s more telling than what I would have expected. Especially after what I now know about his marriage. Not wanting to push him, I leave it at that.
Before we leave the room, I take a picture of the sofa’s tag just in case he’s serious and wants to o
rder it later. We continue on through the showroom, laughing and joking, touching and kissing as we go, playing house as we pick out furniture.
As we get to the beds, I start to feel slightly anxious. “So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Maybe we can look at beds another time?”
He gives me a roguish look and I have a sudden vision of us climbing on the beds and dry-humping to see if they are ‘conducive to his needs’. As I’m thinking this, a mom with a double stroller full of kids passes by. Zach must be thinking the same as me because he grins and shakes his head. “Yeah. One room at a time.”
Of course, all bets are off when we get to the bathroom section and he kisses me senseless in the shower.
* * *
We leave IKEA a while later, but not before we stuffed our bellies with Swedish meatballs and cinnamon buns. We’re not empty-handed, either, Zach’s carrying huge bags filled with cushions, knickknacks, picture frames and other functional and sophisticated items, while I’m pushing a cart with bookshelves he’s going to have to put together.
I’m determined to make Zach’s place look less like a frat house and more like the abode of a legit grown up. He seems happy with his purchases and I’m actually impressed with his taste. I especially love that he’s thinking more about his home, taking pride in it now that he’s seeing it with fresh eyes.
He’s still in a good mood and we’re on a roll, so I suggest we stop in at Emilio’s. “It’s my favorite men’s clothing store.” I explain, as we load up the Jeep. “He’s old-school, this great tailor. But he carries regular clothing too, if you don’t want to splurge on anything custom,” I add quickly.
“Sounds good to me.” Zach grins. “Since we’re on a roll here. I would have done all this sooner if I’d known it was so easy.”
I laugh. “It’s only easy because you’ve got me,” I wink.
“True, true.”
Emilio’s shop is back in the city center, in a small storefront in Little Italy. The minute you step inside, you’re taken back in time, with mannequins outfitted in classic suiting, and lengths of fabric rolls stacked, for Emilio’s custom work.
“Look around, grab whatever you like,” I tell Zach. “He’ll tailor everything to your sizing, so it fits perfectly.”
“Come on,” a voice whines in the next room. “I said slim-cut, he’s swimming in those.”
I freeze. It can’t be …
But it is.
I’d know that disapproval anywhere. That’s Arielle’s voice.
There’s no time to get Zach out of the way before Arielle comes into the main store. She’s got a cute guy trailing behind her, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Wait. Is that her gross delivery guy?
Correction: her formerly gross delivery guy.
He’s still got the piercings in his ears, but his hair is buzzed close to his head and is no longer pink. His tattoos are covered up by a well-tailored dress shirt, and a snazzy tie.
Day-um. He looks goooood.
“Oh.” Arielle stops short. “It’s you.”
“Hi!” I say, faking a smile. “Small world, huh?”
“Tiny.” Arielle gives Zach a very long, assessing up and down. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“I’m Zach,” he says, oblivious to the unspoken battle being fought between us. “Nice to meet you.”
“Arielle.”
“She works with me at Styled,” I explain.
“Cool,” Zach gives her a friendly smile. “I guess this is the most fashionable spot in town.”
Arielle curls her lip in what might pass as a smile.
“Gemma, bella!” Emilio emerges from the back, with his tape measure looped around his shoulders. He’s in his late fifties and cute as a button—five-foot-tall if he’s an inch—with salt and pepper hair and kind brown eyes. He’s wearing perfectly tailored pants, natch, and a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up his forearms.
“How are you?” I ask as I return his hug.
“Better now that you’re here,” he says into my ear, which makes me smile. Vendors don’t always love working with Arielle. She can be nitpicky and demanding.
“What can I do for you today?” he asks. I point to Zach.
“It’s more what you can do for him. A couple of shirts, some decent pants. Maybe a custom suit?”
Emilio lights up. “Come with me,” he says to Zach. leading him toward the back of the store where the dressing rooms are.
“Why don’t you try that other outfit,” Arielle immediately says to her delivery guy.
He nods and follows Emilio and Zach. “You may as well just forfeit,” she says, the moment we’re alone. “Since it’s obvious I’m going to win.”
Is she kidding? I snort. “Do you need glasses? Because Zach has come waaaay further than your guy.” I actually think they’re neck and neck, but I’m not about to say that. I still have days left in this thing and once I get Zach’s apartment set up, it’s smooth sailing all the way.
“You don’t even know what I’ve been dealing with,” Arielle sneers. “He wore Fruit of the Loom underwear. And ate off plastic picnic tableware!”
“Zach inherited a futon!” I hiss back. “And wore Crocs!”
Arielle opens her mouth to respond but doesn’t get the chance, as Zach comes out in a pair of tan chinos and a bowling shirt.
“What do you think?” he asks, looking uncomfortable.
I shake my head. “I don’t love that on you. The bowling shirt is … too Charlie Sheen.”
“Ouch,” Zach clutches his chest and laughs. “Not exactly the icon I’m going for. Martin Sheen, on the other hand … that dude has style.”
“I think it looks great!” Arielle gushes. Zach gives her an odd look, then ducks back into the fitting room.
The second he does, Arielle turns on me. “Kent has come way further. Did you see his hair?”
I take a breath, but then the man in question emerges. He’s in dress slacks and a burgundy striped shirt, looking miserable.
“That color washes you out,” Arielle snaps. “I’ve told you, still with cooler tones. Next!” she literally snaps her fingers and points him back to the dressing room.
Kent shuffles off. I have a feeling he’s not going to put up with much more. Zach, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying himself with Emilio, laughing and joking with the older man. I can’t hear what they’re talking about, but there’s a big smile on his face.
“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Arielle whispers. “About the bet.”
“No!” I say, indignant. Even though my life would be easier and less filled with guilt if I had.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You better not have. That’s cheating.”
“I promise. Although, I don’t see what would be so bad if we came clean …” I add. “I mean, they’re both committed at this point.”
Arielle looks at me for a long moment. “What’s up with you? You look … happy.”
“I’m always happy,” I reply quickly, trying to wipe my smile off my face.
“No, this is different. You’re all … glowy.” Arielle’s eyes widen. “You’re into him!”
“I’m not!” I lie.
“You so are,” she smirks. “Whatever. All I care about is the job—you tell your new boyfriend about the bet, you forfeit.”
“He’s not my new boyfriend!” I protest again, but she’s already turned away, scrutinizing Kent.
“Better,” she says, and even I have to admit he looks great in the stylish button-down and dark grey pants. His shirt is open at the collar and though he’s a bit too skinny for my tastes, he looks great in a very lean swimmer kind of way.
I’m suddenly worried.
Until Zach joins us, and my grin is back. Because he’s wearing the exact same outfit—striped dress shirt, dark pants. But oh, he is wearing it so much better than Kent. He fills out the shirt better, a couple of very masculine chest hairs poking out the open collar. And
the pants. I probably shouldn’t even go there.
I might be biased, but when Arielle huffs loudly, I know she sees it, too.
I press my lips together to keep from smiling. A fist pump probably would be a bad idea, right?
Arielle glares at me. “Go get changed.” She barks at Kent. “We’re done here. This selection is so old-fashioned, it’s like you’re stuck in a time-warp.”
I cringe, thankful Emilio is in the back and didn’t hear her.
“See you at work, Gemma,” Arielle gives me a smug grin. “Enjoy your time with Zach. While it lasts.” She turns and flounces out of the store. Zach lets out a whistle.
“She’s a charmer.”
“You have no idea,” I sigh.
“So, what do you think?” Zach does a spin.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I tell him, not wanting to be like Arielle, bulldozing over his preferences. “How do you feel?”
Zach smiles. “Pretty damn dapper.”
“Then you should get it,” I say firmly.
The more like himself Zach feels, the more I can convince myself, this bet isn’t devious, or underhanded.
Because it’s not. Right?
17
Gemma
- Day 7 -
After we finish up with Emilio, Zach heads to the gym, and I go home and collapse. After the adventures of the past few days—camp, shopping, unicorns—I’m exhausted. But no sooner has my ass hit the couch than my phone buzzes with a stream of texts.
“Pitch Perfect!”
“No! Magic Mike!”
“Great music!”
“Great abs!!!”
I laugh as the bubbles keep popping up on my screen—Eve and Zoey arguing over tonight’s Chick Flick Film choice.
“G?” Zoey sends. Oops! They’re waiting for me to be the deciding vote.
‘Don’t forget,’ Zoey adds. ‘How much you love Matt BONER.’
I roll my eyes. “It’s Bomer! just for that bad joke, I vote for Pitch Perfect!”
Then I get a text from Zach.
‘Play w me 2nite?’
Oh. Boy.
I stare at my phone for a very long moment. I don’t want to bail on my friends, but …