by Casey Morgan
Everyone but Travis.
Chapter Twelve
Travis
“Oh, no. Thank you, Gwendolyn. I don’t need one of those,” I said, refusing her offered menu. As I did, I looked around at the other guys. Watched for the reactions. Theirs were about the same as Gwendolyn’s. Mildly surprised. “I already know what I want.”
You.
“Unlike the rest of these yokels, I already know what kind of food I want for lunch.”
A silky, velvety pause. “I’m Travis by the way.”
Gwendolyn’s face lit up. “I remember, Travis. You sure you don’t want a menu?” This question buried her features under sexy seriousness.
“Oh yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure,” I said, being sure that the other boys got the memo: out of your league, dudes. Totally and completely. You all should just give up right now, because I’m going to smoke each and every one of you. “I’m no stranger to these kinds of places.”
Eric raised an eyebrow at me. Gave me a dubious, accusing look. A new one for him, considering he is usually more of the open-minded, happy-go-lucky, don’t-judge-others-until-you-know-them kind of guy.
“Since when? You never like to go to different places other than what you’re comfortable with.”
“I didn’t see you around here before. Not until last night,” said Gwendolyn, though I know she wasn’t trying to back him up and throw me under the bus.
“My mother worked at a restaurant like this one. She was a bartender in the pub area. Like you have been, lately,” I said, looking directly at her. Pushing the rest of these dicks out of my peripheral vision.
I cleared my throat, trying desperately to not think about all the pain and sadness I had around my mother. Around the fact that she died a few years back, before I had a chance to accomplish anything of note.
“I used to do my homework in a back room while she served drinks.”
My voice and memory cracked over this, and I did my best to keep it back. Especially the part about my mother getting fucked in the nearby part of that back room, the storage area of it by the owner, just so she could be guaranteed a job. Guaranteed hours, even though she had a “snot-nosed little kid” like me. His words.
I’d always hated the fact that she had to put in that kind of “double” shift at a place where she should just be able to work, not be stared at by the boss and the patrons like a piece of meat.
But my mother, the good woman she was, never complained.
Not even when her health began to deteriorate, and she still had no other type of job to do, and no ability to consider anything else. That was when I was still going through school.
“Oh, so you’re used to this kind of joint, then?”
That was Gwendolyn, oblivious to the darker content of my memories.
“I certainly am,” I said, giving the other guys a run for their money again. “I’ll have a Reuben sandwich and some beer-battered fries, please.” One of my mother’s favorites, it took ages for me to finally see the appeal. Took these finally being served at her funeral to make me love them, actually.
Gwendolyn committed that savory bit of information to memory, while I tried to ignore the unsavory bits that have entered mine.
“Gotcha. Coming right up,” she said.
Yeah, along with a lot of memories I’d rather have kept buried.
Disgust and hatred roiled in my gut and soul for that man, even 15 to 20 years later. Which was why I wanted Gwendolyn to be into me legitimately. Why I was frustrated and saddened by the fact that, after taking my order, she immediately got busy with all of the others.
Perusing the menu and asking stupid, unnecessary questions. Questions that were more aimed at garnering more of her attention, less about filling in actual blanks in their understanding of bar food.
But I wasn’t paying attention to it too much.
My mind was squarely on my mother again. On how hard she had worked. How much she insisted that I go to college, study hard, make something of myself.
This had been on her death bed, shortly after going into my senior year at college. She told me not to hold out. Not to wait for someday in the future to follow my dreams, like she had done.
She exhorted me to go as far as I could possibly go. Dream as big as I could possibly dream, and to never let anyone tell me that I couldn’t. That I shouldn’t, because of where I came from. She also warned me to never let people take advantage of me, to never let them tell me my worth, the way she had done most of her life.
And I’d done that. I’d graduated college with the best grades I could muster. A top-of-the-class GPA. I’d gotten to go to a prestigious private school because of scholarships. Because of working my butt off to get there, and I excelled. I proved my worth to them, and everyone who taught or learned alongside me.
I had continued this out of college, even when I had to take a break for mother’s funeral. For her estate planning, which there wasn’t much of. I didn’t let her death get in my way. Instead, I let it fill me. Spur me onward to do something different and amazing with myself after college.
Which is why I jumped at the chance to start up this technology company with my small group of friends. That group of friends being comprised of David, Alex, Robert and later, Eric. I never told them about my mother. That she had passed away, or even been sick.
It was going to remain the same even now.
Why?
For one, I didn’t trust myself to remain strong. To remain in control of myself around that topic.
For two, I didn’t want anyone having any intimate information they might be able to use against me. Even my friends. I knew it was horrible to think this way about friends, about guys I was working with. Guys I made money with, but after the life I had had growing up—of being bullied for anything and everything I was stupid enough to disclose about myself that was less than perfect—I learned to never trust anyone with anything. Not my secrets, not anything vulnerable.
I’d probably be that way with Gwendolyn as well, though I yearned to be different.
She was already different. Special to me in a way I couldn’t quite describe, and in a way I didn’t want to quite admit. Magical. She did remind me a bit of my mother, but not in an uncomfortable way. In a comforting one, like she was somehow here with me, reminding me that there was still beauty and kindness in people. In women, even without her here to approve or disapprove of some of my Playboy-like behavior in the past.
I wanted Gwendolyn more than I had ever wanted a woman before.
Part of me knew this was probably due to the very present, very real competition of three other men, but I ignored that in favor of her specialness and the way she was beginning to make me feel already.
My thoughts were just about to turn to where I might take her to on our first date when I was able to secure it with her before leaving the pub to go back to work, when I heard her say yes to Eric. Yes, to something I was already afraid of knowing what it was.
Immediately, I popped out of my head.
“Did I miss something?” I asked, afraid of what it was, even as Gwendolyn finished taking David’s order. He was the last to finally decide, and apparently had finally decided.
“What did you say yes to, Gwendolyn?” I asked again, leaning forward. Grabbing for her attention desperately.
Gwendolyn turned with a smile and a flourish to me, holding all of the menus close to her like precious little things.
“He asked me to dinner. Eric did,” she adds, when I have an unspoken question about who would dare to do such a thing. “He asked, and I said yes.”
“Well, then I want to ask you out for dinner too,” said Alex.
“You have to let me take you out to dinner one night as well if that’s the case,” said David, reaching forward to touch her head.
Gwendolyn just laughed. Giggled again at all of us.
But it was no laughing matter to me. I was angry all over again.
Goddammit, I hated being pushed to
the side. I hated feeling like I was being washed down river, even only a few inches away from her. I reached for her as well, taking her hand firmly in mine.
“Forget all of them, Gwendolyn. If they’re going to ask you out to dinner, then so am I. I should get deferential preference to be next, since I actually knew what the fuck to order here, without having to be waited on like some sort of preschooler.”
Eric kicked at me, so does Alex, but I kicked them back.
“Where’s the last one of you?” Gwendolyn asked. Her eyes lit up, as if she had been wanting to ask this all night. “Robert?”
“Not here,” Alex said. “The pussy.”
She looked a bit crestfallen. I had to admit that made me jealous.
“Don’t worry,” Eric said, “I still want you.”
“And I do too,” Alex added.
Not wanting to be out done, I said, “Don’t forget, I wanted you first. I showed up here before any of the rest of them did today.”
“Oh my God, boys,” said Gwendolyn, murmuring that like we were her best and worst headache all in one, “since you all want to take me out on a date, fine. I’d like it if Robert joined you but if not, then the rest of you will do. How about you all come to the pub tonight and have dinner with me, okay?”
She moved away, setting the menus down on a different part of her bar. To each of us, she gave a real smile. A promise of another good time. Good round of conversation.
“That way, you don’t have to fight each other for me, and you can all feel like you get to take me out on a date.”
I groaned. I was not happy with this arrangement. I didn’t want all of them to have a date with her. I wanted all of her to myself, and yet again, I was being forced to share her. Be a part of a group thing, and possibly get drowned out.
While the other guys readily agreed to this idea, I was feeling moody. Sulky. But as she stopped by to brush my fingers, before leaving to go tell the cook our orders, I decided I could and would fight for her. Be patient with her a little bit longer, even if it meant having to share.
Even if it meant possibly having to play third or fourth fiddle again tonight, I would show up for her. I would be there for her, if only until I could get some time alone with her, to differentiate myself from the others.
Take my time to shine, and win her over once and for all.
Chapter Thirteen
Eric
Buyer’s remorse wasn’t something I’d ever experienced much in my life; not ever with the women in my life, but I guess I shouldn’t call it that, the feeling I had about the possible date tonight with Gwendolyn. It wasn’t so much remorse, as it was uncertainty. Unease. Two things I didn’t like, and also hadn’t experienced much in my life. For the most part I lived in a bubble full of confidence, good luck, and a general readiness and lust for life.
But, as we each finished our lunches at The Lucky Spell Pot, renewing our promises to Gwendolyn to come by in the evening for our “group date” with her, I began to question whether that was a good idea. As we left, I could see how much she really did want all of us. How much that want of us seemed to trouble her. Burden her.
I wasn’t sure if the other guys saw it the way I did, or saw it at all (hell, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were ignoring that I-love-you-so-much-it-hurts look she was giving all of us), but they all seemed to be happy. Elated at their prospects for later tonight, eagerly planning what they would do. What they would say.
They didn’t say anything, of course. But I didn’t need them to say anything.
I saw it in their eyes as they bid Gwendolyn goodbye, as they went out the doors one right after the other, leaving me last in line, and last in her sights.
“Thanks again for everything, Gwendolyn,” I said, feeling my spirit and heart buckle under her sweet, strained gaze. “I know the lot of us can be a lot to handle, but I really appreciate all of your effort. All of the time you spend on us.”
Which is why I’m not sure I should be coming along to the group date with you tonight. I know you’ll probably miss me. I know you’ll probably ask the others where I am, why I didn’t bother to show up, when I seemed so eager before, but four of us is just four too many for only one of you. No matter how big and sweet your heart is.
As if she could read these thoughts, Gwendolyn erased the fatigue from her face. Smiled broadly at me.
“You guys are a bit of a handful, but I don’t mind. You give me a lot of good things to think about, at a time when I don’t have as many of those as I would like.”
Around this, I watched as her brows knit together. Her eyes darkened, and her lips tensed, but I didn’t ask about it. I just made a mental note of it, thinking again that it might be the weight of our company. The energy tax of us on her heart, despite what she just told me about enjoying the company. The distraction.
“Good to hear, Gwendolyn,” I said, making my way out the door, conscious of Alex lingering. Travis as well, since I already knew they didn’t like the idea of me getting any extra time with her that they weren’t also getting. “I’m glad we’re a good thing to think about.”
“Four good things,” she said.
I just worry we might be too much for you, and that you wouldn’t even say anything, even if we were. I get the feeling that’s just the kind of girl you are: that you would put others before yourself always, even if you were about to collapse.
“I’ll—we’ll—see you tonight,” I corrected, conscious of the others listening as I pushed more through the door. “Don’t work yourself too hard.”
Like we probably already did with you, but you won’t ever tell us.
This was the beginning of the rest of my hellish afternoon.
After returning to work, I kept thinking about the date tonight. About how I probably didn’t need to be going to it if Alex, Travis and David were going. They would be enough for Gwendolyn to handle. She didn’t need me in the mix.
As it was, David, Alex and Travis had big enough personalities for the entire pub. Me? Not so much. Perhaps I should have just sat all of this out, like Robert was being wise enough to do.
Though I wouldn’t say I had any confidence issues, I didn’t like to take up space. I didn’t like to impose my energy on people more than necessary. Even though I often got told how pleasant and warm my energy was. How much people enjoyed hanging around me, even if I never said or did anything.
But, just as quickly as I had these thoughts, they were replaced by yearning for her. Desire to see her again. To hang out with her, even if I knew the degree to which it might tax her, might drain her energy. I still wanted to see her badly. Wanted to be in her energy. Wanted to be the counterbalance of calm, cool and collected, with Alex being too much of a goofball, Travis too much of a bad boy at times, and David… Well, David was just too serious.
And Robert was probably the smartest of all of us, knowing to stay away. Who knew what all of this could lead to?
But as long as the rest of us were in this, I knew that this motley group needed me. They needed my calm reflective influence, my down-to-earth nature.
Gwendolyn did too. I’d be remiss, leaving her to the other three.
Go figure, though. Just as soon as I would be confident and sure in these thoughts, I would again be beset by insecurity. Worry over how much one extra person was going to be on Gwendolyn’s energy. Her time and willingness to serve us, when she’d already spent all day serving other people,
I spent the hours between one and five p.m. oscillating between these two extremes. For a while, I didn’t think there would be any end in sight. I didn’t think I would come to a decision I was really happy with.
At around four thirty, I’d almost convinced myself not to go. To spare Gwendolyn my extra bit of energy and presence, only to have it change at five thirty. Right as the other men were disconnecting from their computers, their phones, and the demands of our business in general, right then, my decision changed again.
I decided I would go.<
br />
That I needed to go on the group date, even if it would be on her for me not to be present. I couldn’t stay away from her, not even for her sake. How fucked up was that?
Pretty fucked up, I thought, as we all walked to David’s car and got in. But even more fucked up, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d want to be with her, even if I wanted it so much it might hurt her.
Chapter Fourteen
Eric
Riding in the back of David’s luxury five-passenger car was the longest and shortest ride of my life. Though The Lucky Spell Pot was no more than five or ten minutes by car, it still felt like an eternity. One I enjoyed and hated it, as it gave me time to think about Gwendolyn. About how it was going to be for her tonight, having us all there again, all eager for every scrap of attention she could spare.
But, despite whatever I’d been worried about when it came to “sparing her” any extra burden, that quickly went out the window the moment we pulled up to The Lucky Spell Pot. There was barely any place to park. All of the street parking was already taken up, as was the nearby parking lots and parking structures.
So the four of us had to drive a way’s down to find anything available, but we finally did and parked. Before anyone else could steal that precious opening.
From there, we each had to make the couple-block walk to The Lucky Spell Pot, where Gwendolyn was already anxiously waiting for us. And with good reason. If the cars outside weren’t an indication of how swamped this place had become, the interior left no doubt. It was practically swarming with patrons. I’d never seen it this busy. Not in the past few days that we’ve been here, nor in the past when I walked by. Stopped by to have a little nibble or a little sip of something.
It was so crowded I could barely hear myself think, let alone my other companions try to talk to me.
As it was, Travis and Alex were already shouting something at me and David.
“What?”
“We should help her,” said Travis. “I know we were here for a date, but she’s got way too much on her hands, Eric. We need to give her a hand if we want to have any time with her at all.” I nodded, still cringing over all that extra noise. “I’m going to go see what I can do. You do you. Whatever that is, but I’m not going to leave her hanging. Not after Mom had me helping her bus and clean, and telling me what a godsend I was for helping when there was no other help.”