Her Cherry

by Bloom, Penelope

  "Good thing you don't have a choice, then." His eyes flicked up to the balcony behind me. He looked back at me, gave me a distracted smile, and then looked up again. I turned to see where he was looking, and there she was. Zoey the ice queen, queen bitch of the William Chamberson ex-girlfriend club. Black dress, black hair, a dark lace choker around her neck, and a mask with subtle cat ears. Jealousy stabbed through me like poison, and my heart sank. Maybe she wasn't lying, after all.

  “Well,” he said. “I’d planned to dance with you here. Serenade you. Eventually lure you back to someplace private and take the euphemism out of the whole deflowering act I started this morning, but… I unfortunately have to deal with something else. So, next time it is.”

  He didn’t wait for me to respond. I was left standing there with a stupid expression on my face. He walked straight for the balcony, and I realized I didn’t want to know what the truth was. I just wanted to get away and hold on to whatever shreds of magic still lingered from the blinding exchange I’d had with him. If I fled now, I could still look back and think that maybe I was wrong. If I knew Zoey was right, I’d wind up even more withdrawn than I already was. It would just be one more experience to scare me away from the penis-swingers of the world for all of eternity.

  I felt very stupid for coming. He was charming and gorgeous, but I was probably an idiot for even imagining that I could be any more than a brief detour in a man like William’s life. Had I waited this long to be a detour?

  I was just the girl William had met that morning in the bakery. All the attention he gave me today might have been special for me, but maybe it was just an ordinary day in his life. I couldn't even be upset, so I settled on feeling stupid and naive. Yes. Stupid and naive. If my life was one of my recipe books, it'd be a long list of all the combinations of those two emotions I'd tried out for the last twenty-five years. Spoiler alert: no matter how you mixed them, the result was always a healthy dose of disappointment with a dash of embarrassment.

  The recipe of my life. Yum.

  4

  William

  I’d meant to go harass the baker girl the morning after the party, but time had gotten away from me. My hardass brother was actually making me do work at the office while we tried to set up yet another big marketing deal with yet another big, powerful client. Bruce got off on the whole organizational aspect of our company. Research, network, coordinate, plan, execute. The guy probably had wet dreams about it all going off without a hitch. For me, it was more about the risks.

  I liked trying things that no one in their right mind would. Even better if we risked losing millions or the reputation of our company should it fail. I was basically a badass at what I did, so we never failed.

  Okay, my ideas occasionally flopped. I’d lost us a few million here or there and pissed off some big companies.

  But that wasn’t the important part. I was an idea guy. To be a creative genius, you’ve gotta take a risk here, ruffle some feathers there, accidentally catch your office on fire once or twice. The last one probably wasn’t as necessary as the former two, but when your creative process sometimes involves a little bit of the sweet and sticky, you might have to toss a blunt in the trash can when your brother comes bursting in the office. Apparently, if there’s enough paper in said trash can—yeah, you get the point.

  Still, Bruce even admitted I was good at what I did. He had to. When the prick got too uppity with me, I’d threaten to quit if he didn’t kiss my ass a little. I think I’d probably shaved a few years off his lifespan by now with that alone. The guy liked to say he was going to live longer than me. We’d see about that.

  Work and my brother could wait. I’d given them two days, or maybe it was three. The baker girl was probably starting to think I’d lost interest by now, and I needed to fix that before some other asshole came by and tried to get his hands on her cherry pies.

  As if on cue, Bruce let his ugly face into my office at that precise moment. And yes, we may have been identical twins, but his face was ugly and he could deal with it.

  “What?” I asked. “I was about to go have a little bit of a life, or did you plan to shit on that?”

  Bruce gave me a look if distaste. “I actually came to ask you about the girl at the party. A couple nights ago.”

  I gave him a skeptical look. I took in the way he was standing in the doorway instead of storming my desk like he normally would, along with the hands stuffed in his pockets. Very un-Brucie. Something was going on.

  “Natasha put you up to this?”

  “Yes.” He looked even more uncomfortable now.

  “She tell you not to tell me that?”

  “Yes,” he sighed.

  I slapped him on the shoulder. “Just blame it on the twin telepathy thing. Everybody believes that bullshit. You don’t have to tell her you’re a terrible liar who could lose our fortune in a poker game full of toddlers.”

  “Poker is just about getting lucky. Anybody could lose their fortune playing it.”

  “And that’s why you suck at poker. It’s okay though. You’re good at other things. Like… organizing people’s refrigerators. You love that, right?” I asked, trying to sound encouraging.

  “Yeah. I love it about as much as you love stealing purses from old ladies.”

  “Never once,” I said. “For the thousandth time. It was a tote bag, and she stole my parking spot.”

  “So?” he asked, moving into the office finally and taking a seat in the recliner by my desk. “The girl…”

  “To be determined. I was about to go bother her before your ugly ass walked in here.”

  “Well, what happened after we left you at the party? Did you chase her away?”

  “Why is Natasha so interested in her, exactly? She’s never sent you to spy on me for any of the other women I’ve wasted my time with.”

  “She didn’t seem to think you were looking at this one like the others.”

  “Well, what makes her an expert? Last I checked, the only thing Natasha was an expert at was being accident prone.”

  “Careful,” he growled. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

  I threw my hands up, giving a small smile of apology. “Just saying. She’s got the wrong mixture of bad luck and bad timing. I’m surprised you let her out without a helmet on.”

  Bruce gave me a healthy glare, but knew it was as close as he’d get to an apology from me, so he plowed forward. “She never claimed to be an expert, especially not on you. Nobody who met you would be dumb enough to think they understood you. Even you don’t understand you.”

  “Compliment taken.”

  “She was just curious. So she sent me to investigate.”

  “That was her first mistake. She would’ve been better off sending in a trained rat. Much less conspicuous.”

  Bruce cringed a little at the mention of a rat, which I knew he would. He’d never admit it, but he was terrified of the little guys. I guess it made sense. If Bruce was a superhero, he’d be Mr. Clean, and rats symbolized the clutter and mess he hated so much.

  “So?” he prompted. “How’d it go with her at the party? You need to give me something, or Natasha is just going to keep sending me back. Save us both the misery. Please.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back against the wall. “Well, Zoey happened.”

  “Fuck,” Bruce hissed. “Zoey Styles?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Think it was mom and dad who sent her?”

  “Could be,” I said. “I give them handouts when they want, but maybe they’re tired of the song and dance. I don’t see why they think they could trust Zoey to pay them a cut if she actually managed to trick me into marrying her.”

  “Because our parents are idiots.”

  “Bruce, come on. Those are our folks you’re talking about.”

  “I’m aware.”

  I grinned. “They may have a long and staggering history of failures, but they are… Well, they’re go-getters. Gotta give the
m credit for having the old American spirit.”

  “Yeah. They’ve been trying to “go get” our money ever since we made it big.”

  “The devil is in the details, you know.”

  “Then you two have never met?” Bruce asked.

  “And you could tell me how many fingers he likes in his ass.”

  Bruce cringed. “Sometimes I forget how immature you are.”

  “If maturity is banana worship, strict schedules, and color-coated organization schematics, then yes, please count me out.”

  “If you’re done… What are you going to do about Zoey?”

  “The same thing I always do,” I said simply.

  “Fuck her a few times, let her swindle tens of thousands of dollars out of you, and then take way too long to realize you’re an idiot?”

  “Uh, no,” I said. “That was only two or three times. I’m talking about all the other times when I told her to get lost.”

  Bruce gave me a level stare, like he was about to clarify something he didn’t believe he just heard. “You have a history of being a dumbass with this girl. Call me crazy for wondering if it’s going to happen again.”

  I looked at the ceiling and tried to think of a way to poke a hole in his assessment, but failed. “Look. I have attachment issues. Okay? Besides, that was months and months ago. I didn’t even kiss her on the mouth. And now I’ve got my sights on the baker girl.”

  Bruce broke into a wide smile, then shook his head. “Is that how it works with you? Doesn’t count if you don’t kiss them on the mouth?”

  “It’s not just me,” I said. “It’s a known thing. Or maybe that’s just with hookers. But shit, man, I didn’t go up to talk to her at the party for that. I’m into the cherry pie girl now. Yes, I shouldn’t have slept with Zoey. Ever. But that was all in the past. The distant past. And hey, I told her to fuck off this time. So I’m learning.”

  “Does the cherry pie girl know that? Does she know you’re into her, or that you told Zoey to get lost?”

  “What are you, Dr. Phil?”

  “I’m the guy who is going to get grilled by his wife as soon as he goes back to his office and calls in the report on how this went.”

  I gave him a sideways look. “If the baker girl doesn’t know I’m into her by now, then someone might need to tell her Santa Claus isn’t real.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it. Point is, yes. She should know.”

  “And does she know why you were talking to Zoey?”

  “What, am I supposed to get a fucking permission slip from her to talk to another woman?”

  “No. But you’re not supposed to be so clueless that you don’t realize what that must’ve looked like. What’d you do, just ditch her and charge on to confront Zoey?”

  “Something like that,” I said slowly. “But I knew if Zoey figured out I was interested in Hailey, she’d find a way to screw it up. I didn’t have a choice. The woman is relentless.”

  Bruce sighed as he stood up. “Got it. So the report for Natasha is that my brother screwed it up with the girl Natasha liked.”

  “Easy there. You’ve got your ways and I’ve got mine.”

  “And your way is?”

  “High risk, high reward,” I said. “I mean, think about it. If she was scared off by such a little thing, I’m just saving myself annoyance down the road. You’ve got to put a woman through her paces to find out if she’s a keeper.”

  Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Since when do you look for keepers?”

  I blew that off with a dismissive noise, even though his question unsettled me. He was right. I didn’t look for keepers. I never had. I looked for distractions. Most importantly, I looked for temporary. “Okay, Mr. Spy. That’s enough for now. If Natasha’s reporter instinct isn’t satisfied after all that, she can come complain to me directly. Are we good?”

  “Not usually,” Bruce said. “But I actually have work to do.”

  I showed him my palms and wiggled my fingers, not even knowing what the gesture was supposed to mean. I think I was going for something that said, “we’ve got a big shot over here who works, fancy schmancy." Bruce rewarded me with an annoyed groan as he left my office.

  I normally used my driver to get around. It was the fastest option, and I paid the guy a yearly salary to be on call at all times, so I should probably try to get my money’s worth. I decided to take the subway today, which was definitely out of the ordinary for me.

  Maybe I just wanted some time to sort through my thoughts. Bruce’s comment had rattled me a little, and I wanted to try to get to the bottom of why I’d said that. You’ve got to put a woman through her paces to find out if she’s a keeper.

  I took a seat on the train, which wasn’t crowded because it was too early for lunch and too late in the morning for commuters.

  I wondered if it had been a simple slip of the tongue. One of my favorite hobbies was irritating my brother, so I usually said whatever popped into my head if I thought it’d get under his skin, true or not. But that little nugget of trouble had slid right across my lips so easily. It didn’t feel like a well-crafted lie or jab. It was just…

  I leaned my head back against the window, staring at the handholds that gently rocked as the train rattled through the subway tunnels.

  I got off the train a little while later and had to shove through the smelly station to get to the surface. The streets of New York seemed sweet and pure to me by the time I made it out of there, and that was something I never thought I’d think. I heard rustling in an alley between two buildings as I walked toward her bakery. I must’ve still been looking to stall, which was also completely unlike me, because I broke away from the foot traffic and took a few steps into the alley.

  I got closer until I saw a stack of soggy cardboard boxes move.

  I jumped back, then stepped closer again, narrowing my eyes. The boxes burst open as a small, filthy puppy came out from beneath them. It was holding a chicken bone that it'd picked clean already. The image reminded me of the dog we'd had as kids—which had been a miracle, since our parents were so poor they could hardly feed Bruce and me, let alone a dog. My dad had given him a chicken bone after dinner one night, and he didn't realize they weren't safe for animals. The bone splintered, and it ended up cutting something inside our dog's stomach that left him unable to eat, and we had to put him down.

  I took a cautious step toward the little dog, hoping I could wrangle the bone from him.

  He growled at me. The little asshole actually had the nerve to growl? He looked like some kind of mutt. No clear breed, just a generic, brown dog with black ears and a light beige patch under one of his eyes. He couldn’t have been more than a few months old.

  “Listen, you little shit,” I said quietly, not wanting anyone walking by to hear me arguing with a dog. “You give me that, or I’m going to take it.”

  He took a step back, hackles raising as his ridiculous little growl deepened—and by deepened, I mean it went from songbird high-pitched something a hair deeper.

  “We can make this easy, or we can make it hard. Your choice.”

  He ignored me, still backing away with his prize clamped between his teeth.

  “Give it to me!” I yelled as I lunged and made a wild grab for it. I was fast, but he was faster. He yanked his head back and spun, setting off at a scampering pace down the alley that turned his short legs into a blur of motion.

  I wasn’t about to be beaten by a homeless puppy, so I ran after him.

  I was gaining on him. He thought he was going to get the best of me, but he was a dumbass. I jumped over trash cans, old boxes, puddles, and dodged a dumpster as I made my wild chase. He was about to burst out into the street on the other side of the alley when he came up short. There was a crowd of people passing by, creating a human wall that left him right where I wanted him.

  I reached from behind him, got a hold of the bone, and yanked it free.

  I held it high over my head, looking down at him in co
ntempt. “Your first mistake was testing me, you little asshole.”

  He cowered a little, making a pathetic noise.

  “Yeah, screw you. I’m not falling for the puppy dog act. You smell horrible and you’re probably full of diseases, but I’m not going to let you off yourself over a fucking chicken bone.”

  He whimpered again, big eyes set on the bone.

  I sighed. I didn’t do pets. If I had to be completely honest, it was partly because I was worried I’d forget to feed them or let them out. So I gave him a slight shrug and then pushed my way into the crowded street. There was enough scrap food in New York City for him to live off of. Hell, maybe after a really rainy day, he could pass for cute and trick somebody into taking him home. It wasn’t going to be me, though. I’d already done my good deed for the day by saving his smelly ass.

  My wild chase through the alley had actually gotten me closer to the bakery, which meant all I had to do was cross the street now.

  Once I reached her store, I felt a slight nervous tingling in my stomach. I couldn’t even begin to count all the times I’d done something similar, and I’d never felt nervous before. Then again, I guessed this was actually outside my usual behavior. I’d sometimes barge into a woman’s life and let it be known that I was interested. Interested, yes. Showing up to her shop after she hadn’t made any effort to get in contact with me though? That admittedly pushed past the interest barrier. I was somewhere inside desperate territory, and it was an unexplored frontier for me.

  The idea brought me uncomfortably back to the end of my conversation with Bruce. When did I decide I was done fooling around with a new woman every week? I knew just hours before I met baker girl that first time, I was already planning on calling back a girl I’d been stringing along for a couple days. Now that I thought about it, I’d never called her. I hadn’t so much as flirted with another woman since I deflowered the baker girl. I hadn't even technically gone on a date with the woman, and I was already trying to be exclusive?