“Really, Gwen? At a charity game?”
“Don’t doubt my loyalty.”
Seven
Jackie
More often than not these days, Olivia stayed over at her boyfriend Daniel’s flat with him and his roommates. Why she chose to sleep in a house filled with unwashed bachelors instead of in a nice, spacious house with her best friend was beyond me. Maybe that was what love did to people.
Now wasn’t that that terrifying as fuck.
Olivia had been dating Daniel long before I came along, but she’s been trying to get us to be best friends ever since. She was the kind of person who needed everything in her life to be in sync, whether that was planetary alignments or the people she cared about. She loved so much about everything that she wouldn’t rest until the things she loved loved each other, too.
So I humored her. Daniel really wasn’t all that bad a guy, and I could make small sacrifices if it made her happy. Going to tech conventions where he was debuting some new app I cared nothing about, or inviting him to the pilates classes Olivia made me sign up for that I secretly liked. They never hurt.
Today we were heading out to eat for his lunch break. Daniel had quit his job at Google to work at a friend’s startup company on the ninth floor of a building in the slummier parts of Silicon Valley. Part of me, the part that wasn’t overly protective of my best friend and worried she was dating someone who’d flushed a seven-figure salary down the toilet to chase a dream, admired him for the sheer amount of balls that took.
Today we were at a pop-up sushi bar where a coworker of his worked part-time. We grabbed our food and sat on a park bench under a shady tree. I bit into yellowtail of questionable quality but powered through it because even bad sushi was good sushi in California.
Before Olivia could nudge me to talk, I decided to take the plunge. “So Daniel, how’s work treating you?”
“Like shit, but that just means work is getting done, so I can’t complain.” He shrugged. Olivia cooed and rubbed his arm soothingly.
“This app you’re creating better be worth a billion bucks with how hard they’re working you,” she grumbled.
I pointed my chopsticks at him. “And that’s ‘billion’ with a B.”
Daniel shrugged as he stuffed a whole California roll in his mouth. “These things take time,” he said, voice muffled. “I knew going into this that there wouldn’t be a windfall overnight.”
She groaned. “If we talk about your lack of money any more, I might cry.”
He pecked her on the check apologetically. “Okay, okay, enough about me. Jackie, Liv says you’re seeing someone? Congrats!”
I rolled my eyes and groaned. “Olivia.”
She had the nerve to look offended. “Well you are, aren’t you?”
“What’s she like?” he asked.
Knowing he was probably only asking to seem engaged with me for Olivia’s benefit, and knowing how being on the end of that stick felt, I relented.
“Just a woman I met at this thing I’m kind of a part of.”
“Please, spare us the details, you’re saying too much,” Olivia drawled.
I took a long pull from my can of soda to make her wait even more. She kept her eyes on me, challenging. Daniel, for his part, seemed to be valiantly feigning interest.
I rolled my eyes and gave another shrug. “There’s actually not much to tell. We’re . . . hanging out.”
Olivia scoffed. “Hanging out? That’s what you call it?” She leaned into Daniel and stage-whispered, “She’s got a smile on her face every day now. She’s blown me off twice to ‘hang out’ with her mystery woman.”
I groaned and contemplated flinging seaweed in her face.
“Sounds serious,” Daniel piped up helpfully.
“It’s not,” I said a little too quickly. I ducked my head and pretended to inspect a suspiciously brownish piece of yellowtail. “I mean, it’s casual. Just having fun, you know. So. Nothing serious.”
An awkward silence fell between us before Olivia launched into a story about a her boss banning yoga balls from the office. I hunched my shoulders up to my ears and hummed along when appropriate, but otherwise, my mind was elsewhere.
Gwen had been clear when she’d said she considered this fun. At the time, I’d felt too embarrassed to ask her to define fun, but in reality, I was pretty sure I already knew. Fun meant we were good where we were, with the on-call hookups and occasional drinks. Fun didn’t allow for anything beyond that.
That didn’t erase the fact that spending a night curled up watching The Good Wife while she did paperwork had been the best I’d felt in a while.
Fuck me, I couldn’t even do “casual” right.
I contemplated biting the bullet on a piece of tempura that was definitely on the wrong side of greasy, but sat it aside instead. “I don’t think this sushi is fresh.”
Daniel winced. “Yeah, it’s . . . not great. But Andy gives me a discount, so.”
We finished up lunch and bid Daniel goodbye. Lorne had scheduled me for an afternoon meeting, and I was already annoyed at the prospect of having to turn down another wannabe 30 for 30 cringefest from an overeager pseudo-fan.
“Think positive thoughts!” Olivia said when she dropped me outside of Lorne’s office. I mimed shooting myself in the skull.
I ended up texting Lorne to reschedule and booking it home instead. I knew she was going to want to walk about my decision for the bout and I, embarrassingly, didn’t have an answer to that. The thought of even discussing it in an official capacity made my breath quicken. I was fully aware I was running away from my problems instead of facing them head-on, but I promised myself I’d buckle down on it soon. Whether or not I believed myself was a whole other matter.
I had to text because I couldn’t face her wrath even over the phone. I set my phone to silent and made a mental note to remind myself to give her a hefty bonus check next pay period. I was pulling on my trainers when my phone buzzed. I groaned as I picked up, expecting Lorne, but an uncontrollable grin overtook my face when I saw it was Gwen.
It was a picture of a cup of coffee, the dark color of the liquid clashing with what was very clearly a kitten-themed mug. Below the picture, the text read I love a hot cup of not-dying-from-diabetes-related-illnesses in the morning.
I caught a glimpse of her painted toes and pajama pants at the bottom of the shot. She hadn’t spent the night, which was fine. It was fine. We weren’t anything to each other but a way to blow off steam and pass the time. I guess I was secretly hoping, after the last time, she might let me sleep close and bury my nose her curls again.
I quickly texted back.
how long did it take you to write out that entire text dashes and all? was it really worth it?
are those KITTENS???
I stared down at the screen as if I could will Gwen to text back quicker. After ten seconds of silence, I tossed the phone on the couch and continued to get ready.
By the time I had my running playlist ready to go and had my phone back in hand, I had a litany of reply notifications waiting for me.
Gwen:
It was absolutely worth it, do you know me at all?
Don’t say a word about the kittens
Gwen: It was a gift from a friend
Gwen: A dying friend
Gwen: It was their last wish I have this
Gwen: I’m taking your silence to mean you understand the pure sentimental value of this kitten-themed coffee mug
Gwen: I feel like I haven’t yet made it explicitly clear how off the table the kittens thing is
I threw my head back and laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Gwen had left me with over a dozen texts in the last five minutes She wanted my attention. My attention. The notion made me feel warm and giddy and stupid, in the good way.
I debated leaving her on read a little while just to play it cool and seem a little less eager, but because I was a weak woman, I called her instead.
She picked up on the first
ring.
“If you ever want to get your hands on my ass again, you’ll forget this ever happened,” she said cheerily.
“Good morning to you too! What are you doing up this early? World’s Greatest Campaign Manager stuff?”
“I was supposed to be getting a jump start on it, but the Bugle cancelled and the Girl Scouts of Northern California want to reschedule our photo op. Now I’m left with all this… free time.”
“Sounds horrible,” I drawled.
“It is, just awful. You can help make that better by buying me an anguish-screaming cup of coffee I don’t have to make myself, though.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I can’t this morning. Doing my daily run.”
“Can’t you just not and say you did this one little time? Say you’ve got more important, caffeine-related matters to tend to?”
“Excuses don’t make things happen, work makes things happen. That’s what my coach used to say.
“What was he, a sentient Wheaties box?” I could hear her eye roll over the phone, and it only made me grin more. “Fine, are you looking for some company on that run?”
“Um. You mean you?”
“Why do you sound like that? I’m no Usain Bolt, but I’m pretty sure I know how to put one leg in front of the other in quick succession.”
“Okay, but only because this sounds hilarious. Meet me at my place and I’ll take you on my normal route around the neighborhood.”
I let her huff a few token curses before I hung up. Since I’d be waiting until she got ready, I decided to do my stretches outside on the porch.
Gwen showed up almost an hour later. She was dressed in a pink-striped running outfit with matching pink tennis shoes, neither of which looked like they’d seen a drop of sweat in their lives. I felt underdressed in my ratty tank and basketball shorts. How was she always so much more put together? At this point it was just mocking
“You’re not much of a runner, are you?” I asked.
“How can you tell?”
I tugged the fresh Lululemon tag off her jacket and held it up. “Just a hunch.”
We started off uphill and toward the park. Impressively, Gwen stayed on par with me for the first leg, but soon enough she began to flag. I had to slow down way more than I usually did to keep pace with her, but I didn’t mind. Watching sweat bypass the brand-new pink sweatband and stream down her miserable face was worth it.
How she managed to still look fucking glowing like that would stump sports scientists for ages.
On a normal run, I wouldn’t break until I reached the park five miles away, but since Gwen looked close to collapsing, I navigated us over to a shady tree near an open house. Not an ideal place to cool down, but I was afraid if we took another step, she would pass out.
She fell against the tree and slid down slowly, smearing dirt and bark on her tracksuit. I slapped her on the shoulder with a grin.
“Looking good, Crawford.”
“Rot in hell,” she panted.
“I have to say, I’m used to getting you sweaty and worked up, but this is ridiculous.”
“Are you just going to throw out one-liners to torment me until I leave?”
“Maybe.”
I wanted to ask why she’d agreed to come run with me. This wasn’t sex, it was just . . . hanging out together. That had to mean something. There had to be more, right?
Or maybe I just seeing what I wanted to see.
“So,” I said casually, watching her catch her breath and subtly checking out the curve of her ass. Okay, maybe not so subtly. “How’s things going for the World’s Greatest Campaign Manager?”
She gulped in air and straightened—no, dramatically fell back—against the tree. Sweat glistened at her temples. I noticed she was still wearing lipstick. Rose red.
“Well,” she started grudgingly, “I might have to murder my ex-father-in-law.”
“Uh, you probably shouldn’t share that with me. I will rat you out to the police in a heartbeat.”
She shoved me. “No you wouldn’t.”
I grinned and rubbed my arm. “No, I wouldn't. So why are you going to kill him? I should at least know what I’m going to be an accessory to.”
“Osten, our opponent, invited us to debate him. Debates are a great resource for candidates to put the issues they care about at the forefront, but they’re only useful if they benefit you and not just your opponent. If you We did three with McGillicutty last year, and we’ve gotten a few requests from organizations this year, but we decided as a team against taking Osten up on it. His campaign wants to increase his credibility by roping up into debating him as an equal. We didn’t even know he’d win the primary.”
“Yeah, I’ve looked into that dude’s stuff. Doesn’t he want to install metal detectors in all California schools?”
“And arm preschool teachers,” she grumbled. “Anyway, it’s all vanity. The Osten camp want us to validate their candidate by painting him as someone with respectable ideals who deserve to be debated instead of letting people see him as he is, which is an alt-right car salesman in an ill-fitting suit.”
“Mmm, and how does the ex-father-in-law factor into all of this?”
“He’s convinced Jeffrey we should accept the offer. Apparently now he’s Jeffrey’s campaign manager.”
I winced. “Ugh, that sucks. And it sucks that I can’t come up with something more sympathetic than ‘That sucks.’”
She smirked and bumped our shoulders together. “No, that’s exactly what I need to hear. It does suck.”
When she didn’t pull away, I settled more firmly against her side. Her skin was warm and smooth against my own.
“I suppose you’re going to fight this in true World’s Greatest Campaign Manager form?”
She sighed and shook her head. “Not this time. Jeffrey agreed we should do it, and when it comes down to it, this is his campaign. So that’s that.”
She looked off into the distance, a hard set to her face. I mentally kicked myself for souring the mood. I knew Gwen’s job was stressful—the lines in her face weren’t only from age and laughter. Even though I was conscious our the intimate setting, I couldn’t bring myself to lean over and kiss the frown off her ruby-red lips.
She smiled apologetically. “Sorry, boring politics talk.”
“Not boring at all. I’m just conscious of how bad my advice is.”
“And what’s your advice?”
“Honestly? The first thing that popped into my head was ‘burn everything.’”
She laughed. “Okay, you’re right, your advice is bad. I see where you’re coming from, though.”
I straightened jutted my chin toward the street. “Come on, let’s get back. It’s almost time for Grey’s Anatomy.”
Gwen wrinkled her nose in distaste. “The horny hospital show?”
“Hey, I watched, like, two seconds of The Good Wife with you even though I’m still not entirely sure what’s going on. You have to watch Grey’s with me. Olivia’s usually my watch buddy, but she’s at her boyfriend’s.”
“I’m so touched I’m your second choice”
“Come on, you know you’re a much better watch buddy than Olivia.”
“How’s that?”
I leaned in slightly and smirked. “I don’t shower with Olivia beforehand.”
“Which one is Grey again?”
“Her, the hot blonde.”
“The one who was sucking face with dimpled, not-Patrick Dempsey?”
“That’s Nathan Riggs, and yeah. Don’t get too attached to them, though. There’s trouble ahead for those two.”
“I don’t think normal hospitals have this much sex happening.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
Gwen conceded the fact with a shrug and popped a piece of caramel popcorn into her mouth. We were curled up on the couch, freshly showered. Her hair was still damp and tangled from where I’d twisted my fingers it in while she ate me out in the shower. Not even her complainin
g about my lack of natural hair care products took away from the way she looked in my faded UCLA jersey and basketball shorts.
Stacks of magazines and soda cans were pushed to the edge of the coffee table to make room for the three giant bowls of flavored popcorn I’d made. When she’d mentioned in passing a couple of months back that the only kind of sweet she liked was caramel, I’d vowed to make her as much caramel shit as she could eat. So what if the only caramel-based food I could make was caramel-coated popcorn, and I’d never learned how to portion properly?
Gwen’s soft breasts pushed against my side as she snuggled further against me. I tightened my arms around her and pretended not to be jealous at the appreciative look that came over her face whenever Abigail Spencer came on screen.
Just as Meredith and Not Patrick dempsey were about to hook up in the back of a car, Gwen’s phone buzzed on the table, and she groaned and grabbed it. Her mouth pulled deeper into a frown as her eyes scanned the message. I knew from the slump of her shoulders that our impromptu date was coming to a close.
“Judging by the look on your face, either someone smashed your favorite kitten mug or you’ve got work to do,” I joked.
“I told you, that was a gift from a friend.” She scrubbed her hand over her face. “There’s a tiny fire, a budgeting issue. They want me to come in and fix it.”
“A campaign manager’s work is never done,” I said, unsuccessfully keeping the disappointment from my voice. “Your clothes are still in the washer, though. I’ve got some clothes you might be able to squeeze those hips into, if you don’t mind stripes.”
“Oh, I mind.” She tilted her head so she was looking up at me upside down. Through the hooded gaze of her dark-brown eyes, I could practically see the thoughts flying rapid-fire through her mind. It hit me then, like it had hit me before: that even though I knew her so well, there were still parts of Gwen that were mysteries to me.
Mysteries I fully intended on uncovering, if she’d let me.
With the sort of care I’d only seen her take in local news interviews, she shrugged a shoulder. “They can wait. At least until my clothes are dry.”
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