Dating-ish (Knitting in the City Book 6)

by Penny Reid

  “What do you mean?” Marcus asked.

  “It means he’s a snob,” Kerry grumbled. “A nerd purist.”

  I licked the sugar off the rim of my lemon drop, glancing between the three of them.

  “It means, in corporate America,” Matt’s gaze darted to my mouth, then away, then to his friend, “there is no benefit to solving a problem or finding the best solution to a problem. There is only benefit—monetary benefit—in making a problem less irritating, or less pressing. This is because if a company actually solves a problem, or solves it with the best solution, the company will ultimately lose money.”

  “Give me an example,” I asked, taking another sip of my drink.

  “I can give you hundreds. Take dating websites for example. Every time they successfully pair a couple, they’ve lost two customers. Therefore, it’s in their best interest to find the sweet spot of maximizing profit—by not pairing too many couples successfully too quickly—and being just slightly better than their competitors. Dr. Merek and I theorize, though we cannot prove it because we haven’t been given access to this data set, that these dating websites are using the same psychology that’s used by casinos to keep people coming back. Meaning, they match people even if they’re not actually a match, with random actual matches thrown in so customers have some good experiences, but not too many to actually pair someone.”

  “It’s like that experiment with those pigeons and the button, where pressing the button would randomly give the pigeons food.” I made the comparison to Skinner’s famous experiment in the 1960s, noting that my words were starting to slur.

  “Yes. Exactly. Casinos use that psychology with great success, as do most other for-profit companies, if they’re smart. Facebook’s algorithms don’t show you what you want to see; they don’t show you what you’ve explicitly told them you want to see. They show you what will keep you on their site for the longest period of time, so they can display as many ads as possible. For every one post you’re interested in, you’re shown thirty shitty updates. We’re all the pigeon, scrolling through our newsfeed for a random nugget of food.”

  “Ugh. That’s depressing. You’re depressing. Boo.”

  Kerry sent me a big grin. “Did you just boo Matt?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  She giggled.

  Matt’s gaze warmed as it moved over me and he bit his bottom lip briefly before continuing. “It makes us good consumers, and suspicious of solutions that actually work. Think about it. Drug companies make billions selling products that manage symptoms. But how many actual cures or preventative agents come from Big Pharma? Whereas, how many cures or preventative agents have come from government-funded research or through non-profit patient-advocacy groups?”

  “The March of Dimes funded the polio vaccine research, right?” Marcus asked.

  “That’s right,” I confirmed. “I’ve been researching the origins of vaccines for a series I’m working on.”

  “So this is why Matt left his cushy corner office in sunny Palo Alto for his cramped office in windy Chicago.” Marcus grinned at his friend.

  “And cheerfully pays the do-gooder tax,” Kerry added, tossing back the last of her margarita with flourish.

  Matt smiled at his ex, rolling his eyes at her good-naturedly. “We all pay eventually. I’d prefer to pay with cash now rather than my soul later.”

  “Ouch.” She gripped her chest, mock-wincing. “Be careful, Matt. You might force me to leave and cry on my big pile of money.”

  “So you’re not taking the job offer with Gamble?” I asked before I thought too carefully about the question.

  Matt’s gaze cut to mine, surprise flashed behind his eyes, and he frowned.

  “Who told you about the job offer?” He sounded irritated.

  “Um, Fiona did.”

  “When?” he demanded, his eyes somehow both wide and narrowed.

  “Three weeks ago, I guess.” I shrugged, waving away the topic because—even with the numbing cushion of alcohol sustaining my spirits—I still felt a pang of hurt that he hadn’t told me about it himself.

  His attention dropped to the table and he looked like he was doing calculations in his head, or trying to solve a puzzle, or sifting through memories.

  “Let’s go dancing.” Kerry tapped the table with her fingertips. “Is that possible? Can we do that? Is there a place to go?”

  “Yes. There are lots of places.” I pushed the remainder of my drink aside, deciding it was best if I cut myself off from the teat of liquid recklessness. “What do you like? Club music or what?”

  “How about eighties? Do you know a place like that?” she asked excitedly.

  “Yes. I do.” I licked my lips of the residual sugar, deciding to take them to Club Outrageous, a club that switched themes every season. I remembered my friend telling me that the summer theme was yuppie chic of the eighties.

  “Cool. Let me run to the restroom and we’ll take our car. It’s a limo, so there’s room for all of us,” Kerry whispered as she stood. “Do you need to go?”

  I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

  Marcus stood. “I’ll go with you.”

  My mind was still on the logistics of dancing as Kerry and Marcus departed. Quinn’s company handled the security of Club Outrageous. All I’d need to do to gain entrance was drop Quinn’s name.

  I glanced at Matt, again finding him watching me.

  Maybe it was all the sugar and vodka and good food flowing through my system, or maybe it was the dark, intent look in his eyes. Or maybe it was all the pent-up emotional, intellectual, and sexual frustration I’d been carrying around, hiding from him for weeks.

  Who can say what inspired my recklessness?

  All I knew was, I wasn’t feeling cautious as I leaned forward, slowly licked my lips, and found his foot under the table with mine. I then slid the pointed toe of my shoe up the back of his calf.

  His eyes flared, his eyebrows hitching subtly with surprise.

  “Do you like to dance?” I asked, sounding husky to my ears. If I’d been totally sober, I would have had a hard time keeping a straight face.

  But, I wasn’t.

  Inhibitions were lowered.

  And he was in a suit.

  And I was in a dress.

  “I’d like to dance with you,” he responded, lowering his hand beneath the table and catching my ankle, his hot palm cutting through the warm fog of inebriation.

  He’d touched me before, but this was different. This touch felt intentional in a new way, like the difference between a high five and a caress.

  “Do you know how?” I teased, feeling breathless as his fingers lightly skimmed halfway up my calf. “Or will I have to show you?”

  “I know how,” he said easily with dark confidence. “But I’d also like you to show me.”

  Matt held my hand as we left the restaurant, both of us making a pit stop at the restrooms prior to leaving, which earned a reprimand from Kerry.

  “We could have all gone together and saved time. It would have been more efficient,” she said, earning her a quizzical smile from her husband, like he thought she was cute.

  I gave directions to the driver, although he indicated he knew where it was.

  Once in the limo, Matt and I sat next to each other, his arm resting along the back of the bench seat behind me. Kerry and Marcus sat across from us in a mirrored position and we spoke of random topics—movies, books, advances in AI technology—during the short drive.

  As I suspected, gaining entrance to Club Outrageous wasn’t a problem. In fact, I recognized the bouncer as one of Quinn’s security team, Stan Willis. He was a nice guy who’d done his best to provide unobtrusive security to Janie and all her friends during Janie’s bachelorette party in Vegas.

  Things hadn’t gone as planned, but that’s a different story.

  However, the shenanigans in Vegas did mean Stan remembered me. As soon as he saw me, I smiled and he stiffened.

  “Marie.” I
saw his mouth form my name. He stood, stepping away from the other bouncer as I approached.

  “Hey, Stan.” Waving, I gave him my biggest smile, seeing that the line to enter was wrapped around the block. “Do you think you can get us in?” I asked as soon as I was within earshot, a club mix of “Funkytown” booming from the building behind him.

  “Yeah, yeah. Absolutely.” He backed up a few steps, opening the latch for the velvet ropes. “How many people you got?”

  “Four.” I turned, planning on motioning my companions forward, but Matt was standing directly behind me.

  “Okay, I need wrists.” Stan’s eyes moved over Matt, then he reached behind the podium, extracting four armbands. “And I’ll radio the guys inside, have them open up a VIP booth for you.”

  “Hey, thanks.”

  “No problem. Tell Mrs. Sullivan I say hi.”

  Matt stepped to the side, allowing Kerry to go after me, then Marcus, and then he extended his own wrist, and we were good to go.

  I still felt a little hazy from my four lemon drops, and also from the way Matt continued to either hold my hand or pull me close to his side, so I didn’t take much note of our surroundings. To my mind, it looked like any other high-end dance club, with flashing lights, loud music, and a lot of bodies.

  But Kerry and Marcus seemed to be pleased, grinning and dancing their way over to the bar area. Matt and I followed, and I made a mental note to drink only water from this point forward.

  A server dressed in hot-pink leggings and an off-the-shoulder sweater approached us just as we reached the bar. “Are you Marie Harris, party of four?”

  “That’s right.” I nodded.

  “Okay, come with me.” She waved us forward and began walking toward an area blocked off from the rest of the club with another velvet rope.

  Beyond the rope was a half flight of stairs that led to a corridor with doors on one side and the wall at the back of the club on the other. We walked past several doors until we reached the very last one.

  “Here, this one is for you. Your party is the first to use this room as it was just finished being redecorated this week. And please accept the champagne on the house.” She smiled brightly and handed me a slip of paper. “Here’s your access code. You can enter directly from the dance floor, but you have to type in the code. If you want drinks, just press the red button on the side of the table. Enjoy.”

  The server motioned for us to enter and we dutifully did so, trading perplexed but pleased glances. Inside was a small-ish room with dark velvet thickly cushioned couches lining the walls. Tables were on either end and another table was in the middle of the space. On top of the table was a champagne bucket, bottle, and four glasses. Just as she’d said, a red button was in the center of the table.

  “This place is awesome.” Kerry turned to me abruptly once we drew even with the table.

  I noticed another door on the wall facing out toward the dance floor. Both the wall and door appeared to be made of reflective glass or high quality Plexiglass, which allowed the room’s inhabitants to look out over the dance floor, but which—I guessed—obscured the room from the partygoers outside of it.

  I glanced at the access code, then passed it to Matt, who read it and passed it to Marcus. Kerry was opening the champagne while checking out the lay of the club beyond the room. The music was muted, not nearly as loud as it had been in the main club, but Marcus found a switch on the wall that increased the volume or lowered it.

  “It’s dark in here,” Kerry remarked, lifting her chin toward me. “Do you want some champagne?”

  “No. I’m good. I think I might go find some water.”

  “Should I press the button?” Matt asked, like the button was magic. Blarg! Must he be so cute? Must he?

  I realized my sobriety was returning faster than I’d expected, and with my sobriety came awareness of how close he was standing to me. “No, it’s fine. I’ll go grab it from the bar.”

  “Let me go,” Matt offered, leading me to one of the velvet couches and encouraging me to sit. He bent and brushed a kiss at the corner of my mouth, holding my gaze as he stood and untangled our fingers. “I’ll be right back with waters for everyone.”

  Kerry deposited her champagne on the table, “I’ll go with you. I’m supposed to convince you to take that job.”

  “It’s not going to happen.” Matt shook his head at her, opening the door for his ex, loud music from the club spilling into our little room.

  I didn’t catch what she said as they left, but I thought it sounded like, “I don’t expect it to.” Or something like that.

  Once the door shut, the sound from beyond once again muted, leaving me alone with Marcus and the poured glasses of champagne.

  He was wandering around the room, as though looking for more switches. “Do you think there’s a light switch?”

  “I think there must be. Why? Is it too dark?” Some of my earlier unease was reemerging now that the alcohol was leaving my system.

  Had I really played footsie with Matt at the restaurant?

  And why did I feel mostly obstinately pleased about it, rather than concerned?

  “Nah.” He turned from his search and reclined on the couch across from mine. “Just curious. This is comfortable. I want one of these.”

  I examined him, thinking, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’s going to be happy with once-a-week missionary.

  Yeah, it was a weird thought.

  But it was also true.

  Marcus seemed laid-back, but he was clearly smitten with his wife.

  And before I could stop myself, I said, “I can’t believe how cool you are about Kerry and Matt spending time together.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Aren’t you concerned about residual feelings? They were married for a while, right?”

  “Six years I think. Maybe seven.”

  “Exactly.”

  “The answer is, no. I’m not worried. Not at all. They still care about each other, I know they do, but it’s purely platonic. Like, waaaay platonic. He’s not hot for her and I guarantee, she’s not hot for him.”

  “How do you know?” I agreed with him based on what I’d witnessed thus far, but perversely, I wanted his perspective. Needed his perspective.

  “Dudes know.”

  That made me chuckle. “Sorry. That’s not going to cut it.”

  Marcus inspected me as though debating whether or not I was trustworthy. Seemingly making his decision, he sat up on the couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Okay. So, you didn’t hear this from me, but Kerry told me, during the last few years of their marriage, they didn’t have sex. And before that, they only did the deed—like—once a month.”

  I blinked once, slowly. “That’s it?”

  Matt had said they were indifferent to each other, and watching them over the course of the evening I saw mutual respect and admiration, but I hadn’t seen any signs of longing. So I didn’t know why I was pushing this issue now.

  Other than maybe . . . I was trying to understand Matt better. And here was a rare opportunity with someone who had access to the inside scoop.

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  “No, I mean, that’s why you think their feelings are platonic? Matt said they were both too busy, they never saw each other. Of course they weren’t humping like rabbits, they didn’t get a chance.”

  Marcus was already shaking his head before I finished. “Her schedule isn’t any different now than it was then, and we’ve been together going on three years. I see her every night. Sure, she might get home late or work most weekends, but if she’s in town, I see her every day. And whenever we see each other, we’re humping like rabbits.”

  I caught myself mid-eye-roll, instead closing my eyes and sighing.

  “I’m telling you,” he continued unprompted, “neither of them wanted to do it with each other. Neither could relinquish control. The way she tells it, he’s a boss in the bedroom, and so
is she—which is fine by me. But it didn’t work for them. It’s no fun fucking a control freak if you’re a control freak. What he needs is someone who’ll lie back and enjoy the ride,” he finished with a suggestive grin, though it wasn’t pointed at me. Clearly, he was thinking of himself and his wife.

  Embarrassingly, my muscles had tightened when Marcus said, “he’s a boss in the bedroom,” and my mouth had grown inexplicably dry.

  I lifted my eyes and found Marcus giving me a speculative look. “You two never . . . ?”

  In comparison to Kerry’s earlier questions about doing it doggy style, I considered Marcus’s indirect question now relatively tame.

  Yet I still felt a measure of embarrassment when I shook my head. “We’re just friends.”

  He looked not exactly surprised, more like I’d revealed something critical about myself. “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “You dig him, right?”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “No. You’re not, actually.” He chuckled. “That was a blind guess. Matt said you’re the kindest person he’s ever met. Friendly with everyone. I can’t get a read on you one way or the other.” He shook his head, then added under his breath, “But he is.”

  That had me sitting straighter in my seat. “Matt? Is what?”

  “Nah-ah. I’m not selling him out.”

  “Matt? Selling Matt out?”

  Marcus pressed his lips together, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

  I was about to threaten him with a champagne bottle-related injury when I spotted Kerry walking up the stairs to the room, Matt trailing behind her; they both held four water bottles.

  Marcus stood to open the door, giving me a teasing look and shaking his head, mouthing, “I’m not telling.”

  “Oh man, we have to go dance. I demand we dance for the next two hours!” Kerry dumped the bottles on the couch where Marcus had been sitting, then grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room.

  Meanwhile, Matt strolled in after her, moved to the side as she tugged Marcus out, and then crossed to one of the tables next to where I was sitting. He deposited three bottles on the table and uncapped the fourth, handing it to me.