The Cheat Sheet: A Romantic Comedy

by Sarah Adams

  I pick it up and make a break for my bedroom. Nathan is right on my heels and trying to catch my arms, but I zigzag and evade his grip. Quick, someone put me in the NFL. We sound like a pack of elephants stampeding the apartment building, all while Vance’s voice continues on in a soft, monotone cadence. “I just wanted to let you know that all of the paperwork has been finalized—”

  “BREE! GIVE ME THAT PHONE!”

  “Not a chance!”

  I make it into my bedroom and try to slam the door in his face, but his big hand catches it and thrusts it back open. I lunge to jump over my bed, hoping to make it to my bathroom where I can lock the door. But Nathan grabs my hips mid-jump and hauls me down onto my bed. I grew up with an older sister, though, so I’m practically CIA level when it comes to protecting my stuff.

  I shove the phone down into my bra—the one place I know Nathan will never go.

  Just as he flips me over so my shoulders hit the mattress and he’s hovering over me, arms pinning me in on either side, we hear the final words from Vance. “…and you are the official owner of the building. I had my realtor pass the keys along to yours and will be calling Ms. Camden to let her know I’ve sold the building and she’ll have a new landlord from now on—but as discussed, I will not mention your name. If you or your realtor could call me back and let me know which name and contact you would like me to give her, I’d much appreciate it. Have a nice day.”

  The room goes eerily silent, except for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I’m looking down at where his cell phone is silhouetted under my sports bra, and when I lift my gaze, Nathan’s black eyes are staring at me. He looks like a man who just lost everything in a bad hand of poker.

  “You…?”

  He doesn’t need me to finish my sentence. “Yes.”

  Neither of us make an effort to move, and for a moment the shock of it all leaves me frozen. My eyes trace the line from Nathan’s shoulder down his bicep, to his elbow, over his tan forearm dusted lightly with hair, and to his hand pressed into my comforter.

  “You bought the whole building?”

  He sighs. “Yes.”

  “Wh—why?”

  The look on his face says he does not want to answer. “Because I’ve been wanting to invest in real estate?”

  “Nathan.”

  He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple go up and down. I can feel his body heat all around me. “Because he kept changing the terms of the lease agreement and it was just easier to buy it outright than negotiate again. The guy is sleazy.”

  I blink a hundred times. “Wait…why did you say the lease agreement, and not your lease agreement?”

  The fact that he takes several seconds to respond almost tells me everything I need to know before he even speaks. “Because technically for the last four years…it’s been our lease agreement.”

  The reality of it crashes into me and I shoot out from under him to pace the room. “NATHAN! Have you been paying part of my rent all this time?!”

  He swivels his legs so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his knees in front of him, watching me walk back and forth. “Yes. I have.”

  I groan/whimper as dollar signs suddenly start rotating through my vision like a slot machine. Nathan has been helping me financially for FOUR YEARS when I have explicitly told him I don’t want any of his money! This is one of my rules for being friends with him: No accepting monetary gifts. These rules are important to me because they help me keep our friendship in the right box. If I start letting him help financially, if I move in with him, if I attend fancy events and partake in all the perks girlfriends get, I’ll get confused!

  He might think it’s nothing because he doesn’t have feelings for me, but I will 100% get things mixed up in my head, and it will crush me when he never wants to be more than friends. Maybe I’m silly, but I’d prefer to not have my heart stuffed into a trash compactor if I can avoid it.

  “So the first time…all those years ago when Vance told me he was going to raise the rent and then had a sudden change of heart…that was you? You called him and negotiated to pay the part of my rent I couldn’t afford?”

  Nathan’s long lashes blink his answer in morse code. “Bree…”

  I whip around to him so hard I’m sure I’ll have a crick in my neck tomorrow. “What? Do you want to apologize now that you got caught? Now that you’re in trouble?”

  “No.”

  “No?!” Somehow that answer is even more infuriating.

  “I can’t apologize because I’m not sorry that I did it.” He’s so calm and collected. Mr. Cool Cucumber here to throw on his sunglasses and show us all up.

  I, in comparison, feel like Ms. Erratic Woman Who Stuck Her Finger In a Light Socket. “How can you not be sorry? You went behind my back! You lied to me all these years. Oh gosh, I’m thousands of dollars in your debt!” My hands press into my cheeks.

  “You owe me nothing. Not a single dime. You’re not in my debt because I don’t need anything from you.”

  “Yes, I do owe you!” My voice is screeching. “How can you not see that this is horribly uncomfortable for me, Nathan? I told you I didn’t want to take your money, and I meant it.”

  Part of his cool and collected facade is cracking. He stands quickly. “Why? I’ve never understood! It makes no sense to me. You are my best friend, so why can’t I help you when you need money? I have more than I know what to do with!”

  “Because you won’t always be here for me, Nathan!” Okay, whoa, that was way too loud. My statement cuts through the air like a foghorn in a bar fight. People are poised with chairs over their heads, ready to crack them down on their fellow outlaws and all blinking at me.

  “Why the hell would you think that?”

  “Because it’s true.” I can’t meet his eyes while I say this. “We’re just friends. What happens when I start relying on you financially and then one day you get married and your wife suddenly doesn’t like it that you’re paying for another woman’s rent and all the other things you’d pay for if I let you?”

  He shifts from one foot to the other. “I…I wouldn’t marry someone who would be like that. I’ll find someone who’s comfortable with our friendship the way it is.”

  I laugh a short, sad laugh. “There is not a single woman who would ever be okay with it, Nathan! It’s an inevitable fact that we have to face. One day we will not be able to be so close anymore. You will fall in love and marry a kickass woman who wants you all to herself—as she should—and you will want to give her your whole heart too. That is why I cannot rely on you financially.” There’s an uncomfortable twisting in my chest. It’s only half of the truth, but it’s all I can reveal.

  I stare at him, hoping he will finally get it through his beautiful, benevolent head that I can’t let him be my sugar daddy.

  Finally, after a long, thoughtful pause, he says, “How come you’re not also falling in love and getting married in this scenario?” His tone is nothing but playful. “Seems unfair that I get to find my fairytale love and you’ll be over there penniless and lonely.”

  I growl and shake my fists in the air. “I’M PAYING YOU BACK!” I punctuate it with an indignant stomp. Ceiling drywall dust flits through the air like snow.

  He shakes his head. “No you’re not. I won’t let you.”

  “Yes. I. Am.” I blink furiously at him. “I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I will find a way to pay you back. And I expect a normal lease agreement to be settled between us! No deals!”

  “Can you stop yelling? Your whole ceiling is about to cave in. And seriously, Bree, that smell is getting worse. It might be more than one dead raccoon.”

  He’s lost all reason! Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs! I’m over here telling him our friendship has a ticking clock on it and negotiating a fair rent, while he’s in la-la land talking about raccoons.

  “You will not distract me.” I jab a finger right in the center of his taut chest. “It’s time for you to p
romise me you will stop meddling in my financial affairs. Promise me right now or I’m not going with you to Jamal’s party tonight.” I cross my arms and jut my hip out. There. I’m in charge of this show, buddy.

  A dangerous glint slowly enters Nathan’s eyes as he steps closer, forcing me to press my finger harder into his chest. “Sorry, but no.” He steps a little closer. “Do you know what it’s like to see your best friend care for every single person under the sun but herself? I watch you pour everything into those girls and their families, going above and beyond to not only give them incredible dance instruction but also make them feel loved in the process. And for some reason, you think that same kindness shouldn’t be extended toward yourself.”

  His smile turns defiant now.

  “Well, tough, friend. I have millions of dollars and I will spoil you with them if I want. You’re going to have to throw me off a bridge if you don’t want me meddling in your life, because that’s what friends do. So get used to it. Oh, and you’re getting a good deal on your damn rent from now on. So are the people in the pizza parlor below the studio.”

  I gasp. “Not fair! You don’t get to go all soft-squishy-teddy-bear Nathan on me!”

  “I just did. And if it helps you sleep at night, pretend I only did all of this as charity for your girls. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “That’s it. I’m not going with you tonight. End of story. You need to be taught a lesson.” I fold my arms. I am a solid, immovable stone. I will not be swayed!

  Nathan’s laugh is the last thing I hear before I’m scooped up and tossed over his shoulder, butt aimed up toward the sky.

  “NATHAN! Put me down!” I screech as he carries me out of my room.

  “There is nothing wrong with getting a little help in life. Friends help each other get ahead. In fact, I think my next project will be getting you out of this dump.” He knocks a knuckle on the wall and paint chips fall.

  “Don’t you dare buy my apartment building and renovate it!”

  “I might. I’ve got money to blow, baby.”

  Who is this man?!

  “You’re unhinged!” I yell at his butt.

  “Yep. Feels good too. Now, come on, yell at me some more in the truck. I really don’t want to go to the party tonight without you, and I know you don’t want to miss it.”

  I kick and flail. “No way! I’m not going with you. We’re fighting! You don’t get to get your way right now, you big brute!” He gives my behind a single gentle pat after I say the word brute, which makes me gasp with outrage and also want to die laughing. UGHHHH I hate Nathan. Why can’t we just fight like normal people?

  “You can’t touch my butt! That’s against the rules,” I say as he walks me back toward the front door, stopping to turn out lights as he goes. My hair dangles in the air below me like a weeping willow.

  “I never did see a list written out anywhere.”

  “I’ll make you one and laminate it! Why are you acting so weird tonight anyway?” It’s freaking me out. Something about Nathan feels different. He’s always been playful with me, but now he’s… I refuse to let my brain finish that thought.

  “I think I’m acting normal.”

  “No, you’re not, and I’m not going with you to the party! PUT ME DOWN! Wait, can you grab my tennis shoes? They’re down there beside the couch. And don’t forget my sweater!”

  With me still draped over his shoulder, Nathan sumo squats and retrieves my shoes before turning out the final light, picking up my sweater, and taking us into the hallway. He swings me around so he can lock the door behind us, and I find myself face to face with my sweet elderly neighbor Dorthea. Her curlers are in her hair for the night, and her eyes are as wide as saucers.

  I smile like everything is normal. “Hey, Mrs. Dorthea. Did you get that stack of coupons I slipped under your door this morning?”

  Mrs. Dorthea is a widow, and I know she struggles financially. Since I also fall in the category of struggling financially, the most I can do is clip coupons for her and share my leftovers. More than once, however, she’s thanked me for the hundred-dollar bill she found in her mailbox even though I never gave her one. I thought maybe her memory was just beginning to slip, but now I see the truth. Nathan. I need a paper bag to breathe into. In how many other areas of my life has this man secretly Mother Teresa-ed me?

  “Well, yes, honey, I did…but…” She’s at a loss for words since I’m casually thrown over Nathan’s shoulder like this is a normal way for a woman to be carried around in the twenty-first century. Some part of me says I should be appalled to be hauled around by a man like this, but I can’t hear her because the larger part of me is too busy yelling, YES! Carry me back to your cave and make sweet, sweet love to me!

  Suddenly, I’m swung around the opposite way, and now my butt is aimed at my poor sweet neighbor.

  “Hi, Mrs. Dorthea. Looking pretty as always. Do you have everything you need tonight?” Nathan asks—with a big charming smile, I’m sure. I bet all those pearly whites are completely dazzling her.

  Yep. He totally smiled, because now Mrs. Dorthea is tripping all over her words trying to thank him for his compliment, assuring him she’s as blessed as the Pope and congratulating him on another win this past weekend. I roll my eyes.

  I’m then carried down three flights of disgusting stairs. I can hear Nathan’s shoes peeling off the sticky floor with every step. Yuck. You’d think this apartment would come with super low rent for how disgusting this building is, but NOPE. That’s LA for you. I pay way too much to live in a building that smells like armpit.

  Before we make it to the lobby, I decide if Nathan can touch my butt, I can touch his. I scrunch my nose then move my finger and thumb toward his butt cheek with the intent to pinch the daylights out of him so he’ll put me down. The first attempt, however, is unsuccessful. He only laughs and flexes his rock solid glute, making it so there’s no padding I can grab to inflict damage.

  “Do less squats,” I tell him with a put-out tone and fold my arms, resigned to drape over him like a coat until he puts me down, wondering where I went so wrong in our fight tonight.

  We make it to the truck and Nathan plops me into the front seat, shuts the door, and then gives me a Stay look through the window. I search my pockets and find a used gum wrapper to toss on the floorboard of his truck out of spite.

  Nathan slides into the driver’s side of his blacked-out truck—the windows so dark no one ever knows who’s in here, which is lots of fun—and gives me a look that says, Alright, let me have it. So I do the opposite because I’m in a mood to make him pay for his good deeds. I raise my brows in a sassy mocking expression then pull out my phone and settle into my seat to ignore him for the entire drive.

  He groans. “The silent treatment? Oh come on! Anything but that.” I don’t answer, just turn my gaze out the window like I can’t be bothered by his distraction. “Fine. Make me pay. I deserve it.” He leans over the center console and retrieves the gum wrapper. It goes in the tiny trash can he keeps in his driver’s side door.

  I’ll be honest, though, it’s tough to feel justified making a man pay for being too kind. I know it was underhanded and manipulative and deceptive, but dammit it was so sweet I could cry. It’s so Nathan that the only thing he’s guilty of is having too big of a heart. I wish he would stop making me love him more. It’s annoying.

  After scrolling through Twitter for a few minutes and trying to block out Nathan’s ridiculous attempts to draw me in by rapping to 90s hip hop songs about big booties, I come across a retweeted article with Nathan’s face on it. Now, I’ve been friends with him long enough to know not to read any of the tabloids about him, but this one stands out for reasons I can’t ignore.

  “OH MY GOSH, I’LL MURDER HER!” I yell so loud I’m surprised Nathan’s windows don’t shatter.

  “Who?!” he asks frantically while pulling his truck into the parking lot of the restaurant where we’re meeting up with the guys.

  I blink d
own at the article. “Kelsey! Your horrible ex! She wrote an article about you…and…” I look up at him. “Have you not seen it?”

  “Oh.” He’s not concerned. “I heard something about it, but I haven’t cared enough to check. I figured Tim would call me if it was that bad.”

  “Okay, well I guess you don’t care that she’s deemed you the lousiest lover in LA, then?”

  “What?”

  That got his attention.

  Nathan takes the phone from my hand, his eyes scan down the article, and then he relaxes and tosses the phone back into my lap. “Eh, not so bad. Ready to go in?”

  My mouth falls open and I peer down at the article that would have me burying myself alive. “Not so bad? Nathan, she shamed you for…” I let that sentence die off because Nathan and I have NEVER talked openly about our sex lives before. We treat the topic like it’s a building on fire and give it a wide berth. Instead, I let my eyes drop to the forbidden area of his jeans and hope this conveys the words I’m too embarrassed to say. “Not being able to…well, you read it, so you know.”

  He’s trying not to smile. “It’s not a big deal.” He reaches into the back seat and a crisp, white dress shirt materializes. He shrugs it on and buttons it up. Not a care in the world.

  I don’t understand his nonchalance right now.

  “How are you not upset? I’m practically shaking with rage! I want to go put red ants in her underwear drawer! Put hot sauce in her coffee creamer! Duct-tape her car doors shut!”

  “Ooo, how devious. Do the feds know about you?”

  I lightly smack his shoulder. “Don’t laugh! This is serious.” For some reason, I’m blinking back tears right now. “She—she publicly shamed you for having erectile dysfunction, Nathan. That’s a horrible thing to do! And humiliating. And you’re the nicest guy in the whole world! And I HATE HER!”

  Nathan barks out a laugh and his head tilts up to heaven like he’s praying for wisdom. His big hand rakes through his hair then he turns his eyes on me again. “Bree, thank you for your concern, but I don’t have erectile dysfunction. She blew the story out of proportion and was just trying to dig at me for not having sex with her…and probably for choosing you over her the day we broke up. But the joke is on her because, as you’ve pointed out, it’s very insensitive to shame anyone for the condition.” He gestures toward my phone. “Just look at the comments at the end of that article. She’s getting terrible backlash, and men are saying they feel better knowing an athlete struggles with the same condition they have.” He shrugs again. “All in all, not a terrible outcome.”