Crushing on You

by Jen Trinh

  From across the room, I heard Tom exclaim, “Oh HEY, it’s you!” Anna responded in an appropriate indoor voice, so I didn’t quite catch what she said. Tom’s booming voice continued, asking her about what she was doing here, though his voice grew fainter as they moved away. It sounded like he’d joined the tour. I shook my head. Poor Tom. She’s mine.

  Her last interview finished up at 4:30pm, when I saw the recruiter walk her out. We’d picked a restaurant not too far from the office, and we’d agreed to meet there at 5. So at 4:45, I packed up my stuff, much to the surprise of my colleagues, who knew that I almost never left before 7. They shot me curious looks as I walked out, but I just smiled and ignored them.

  Dinner was at a new French restaurant that had opened up just a few weeks ago on the third floor of a neighboring building. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a gorgeous view of the late afternoon sun. The interior was sleek, with endless glass and matte metallic surfaces surrounding a huge, fully-stocked bar in the center. Although there were dozens of tables in the large space, nearly all of them were occupied when I arrived. Luckily, I’d made a reservation.

  I found her sitting at a corner table. She’d taken out her ponytail, and her hair fell in long, loose waves about her shoulders. She saw me approach and gave me a brilliant, heart-stopping smile.

  “I take it that it went well?” I said, putting down my stuff and slipping into the seat across from her.

  “I think so. Everyone was so friendly, and the office is so nice. I can’t believe that you guys get free Flaming Hot Cheetos.”

  “We also get free ice cream on Fridays.” I laughed when her eyes sparkled wistfully at the thought. I’d learned over the weekend that she loved ice cream, as well as most other kinds of dairy. Girls like cheese, indeed.

  I asked her about the interview, who had interviewed her, what they’d asked, what she’d answered. She gave me the play-by-play. She was especially excited by the fact that the facilities manager enjoyed a lot of the same music that she did. She’d promised to check out Anna’s music blog, and said she’d be in touch soon.

  “Sounds like you knocked it out of the park.” We touched wine glasses.

  “I hope so. It would be so nice to have a job that actually pays well.”

  “Yeah, Stumpstash definitely pays well.” I took a sip of wine. “Honestly, I hope you make enough to get out of that area that you live in. It’s not the safest.” Saturday being a case in point.

  She sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m still a little shaken by what happened this weekend. I knew the neighborhood was kind of sketchy, but I’ve never had anything happen to me before. I guess it doesn’t seem like anything really happens until it does.”

  Our food arrived, and her attention turned from me to the sous-vide chicken breast and rosemary potatoes on her plate. She took a bite of the chicken, then fluttered her eyelids closed. I smiled and dipped a heel of crusty french bread into my steaming bowl of bouillabaisse.

  After a few more bites, Anna put down her utensils and said, “So I want to talk to you about...us.”

  I looked up, hopeful at her use of the word us. “You mean like, define our relationship?” She nodded.

  I put my own utensils down and wiped my mouth with my napkin before reaching across the table to take her hand. “I’d love to date you, if you’ll give me the chance.”

  She wriggled her fingers in my palm, then slipped her hand out of mine and picked up her knife to cut into her chicken. “I need to tell you something. About my living situation.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, using my fork to wrestle the meat from a mussel.

  She hesitated, took another bite of chicken, then said, “You remember how I told you that I used to live with my ex?”

  I paused in my eating and glanced up. “Yeah?”

  Her eyes met mine, then slid to the window. “I’m still living with him.”

  Good thing my fork had been made of metal, or else I would have snapped it in half. “So...he’s your roommate?”

  She glanced at my hand, then my face, and nodded. “And my landlord. He gives me a discount on the rent.”

  After a slow breath, I released my deathgrip on the fork and began to chew again. “I see.”

  She stared at me, tense. “You don’t care?”

  I poked a shrimp with my fork and shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Obviously, I didn’t like the idea of them living together, but she’d made it pretty clear to me that she hadn’t had sex in a really long time. And she’d called him her ex, not her boyfriend. If they were still dating, she didn’t have anything to gain by telling me. “What’s there to say? I’d still love to date you and I already said that I hope you find a better place to live.”

  A pause. Then, “What if I just want us to be fuck-buddies?”

  I put my utensils down again and sat back, coolly meeting her gaze. “No.”

  She frowned. “Seriously? Wouldn’t most guys prefer that?”

  As a gorgeous woman, she was probably used to holding all of the cards in a relationship. Too bad for her—I knew that I was a catch, too.

  I shook my head. “You should know by now that I’m not the kind of guy who messes around like that.”

  Her leg skimmed against mine under the table as she silkily whispered, “Are you sure you don’t want to just go to your place after this?”

  I sat up in my chair and reluctantly moved my leg away from hers. “I mean, we can go back to my place. But is that your answer? You just want us to be fuck-buddies?”

  She looked down and fiddled with her napkin. “I think that would be for the best.”

  I arched an eyebrow at her and tried a different tactic. “So I assume we’d have a lot of sex. But would you be willing to get dinner with me sometimes?”

  “Yes?” She frowned.

  “Would you maybe want to go climbing with me?”

  “Uhhh, sure.”

  “So you’re down to hang out, outside of the bedroom.”

  She slowly nodded.

  I leaned in and gave her a meaningful look. “That doesn’t sound like fuck-buddies to me.”

  She rolled her eyes and threw her napkin onto the table. “Fine. Just forget about it.”

  Maybe it would be better to say yes and just pretend. The way she’d looked at me the previous weekend, after our sex marathon, I was sure that I could seduce her into an actual relationship. We’d be dating in all but name.

  But I really didn’t like playing games. I wanted us to be fully on the same page, 100% honest with each other. I shook my head and reached for her hand again. “Anna. I really enjoy spending time with you, and I think you enjoy spending time with me, too. I’d love to get to know you better. Whatever reservations you have about being coworkers or about wanting space so that you can work on stuff...we can figure it out together.”

  From the purse of her lips and the way her brows drew together, it was clear that she was reluctant to say yes. I kneaded her hand in mine, trying to massage her doubts away, then lifted her hand to my lips and opened her fingers, planting a kiss on her palm. Her eyes slowly softened, and after a moment, she finally nodded. “Okay.”

  “So you’re my girlfriend?” I asked, hope glowing in my chest.

  She nodded again. “But I really want to take it slow. Really. I don’t want us to see each other everyday. I want space, and I want time to work on my music writing.”

  “Of course.” I beamed and lifted my wine glass. “Cheers to us.”

  She smiled and raised her own glass. “Cheers.” We each took a sip, and I savored the taste of merlot. And of victory.

  “So can we go to your place after this?” she asked. “I’d like to keep celebrating with you.” Her face flushed slightly...from the alcohol, or from her thoughts?

  Part of me wanted to go to her place and meet her ex-boyfriend. To make her moan loudly enough for him to know that she’d found a new man. But, one step at a time. “Of course.”

  “Do you have any roommates?
”

  “No. I live by myself.”

  “Where?”

  “In Williamsburg.”

  “That’s a cute area.”

  “It is. You’ll fit right in.” She smiled charmingly in response, nibbling delicately at a piece of chicken.

  We ate in relative silence after that, with only the occasional question or comment on our meals. Afterward, we glanced at the dessert menu, but found only French vanilla ice cream, which Anna declined—she only liked interesting, adventurous flavors. So I offered to take her out for ice cream after and she happily accepted.

  When the check arrived, I reached for my wallet, but Anna grabbed the server book first.

  “I want to pay.” She opened the server book and glanced at the amount, expressionless, then put her credit card inside.

  “This restaurant is expensive, and I’m the one who picked it. You don’t have to pay for this.” I left out the obvious—that she didn’t have a job.

  She pursed her lips. “I know that I don’t have to pay, but I want to.” Her tone was final.

  “Alright then. Thanks.” No need to patronize her.

  She placed the server book on the table and the waiter promptly came and took it away.

  “But I’m paying for ice cream,” I said.

  She smiled. “Deal.”

  ◆◆◆

  We took the subway to my neck of the woods, where there was an amazing ice cream parlor not too far from my condo. To my surprise and delight, she ordered three scoops stacked one on top of the other, each a different flavor, in a huge waffle cone. I didn’t order anything—there was no way she’d be able to finish the whole thing by herself.

  “You’re not afraid you’re going to fart a bunch tonight?” I joked.

  Three scoops was a lot. I watched as she stuck her little pink tongue out and slowly licked from the bottom to the top, then put her lips on the small peak that she’d formed, pulling it into her mouth. Then she offered it to me and said with a straight face, “I’m a lady. Ladies don’t fart.”

  I laughed and followed the trail that her tongue had taken. “I guess we’ll see.”

  And we did. Her lovemaking that night had been decidedly unladylike. And much to my glee, she did fart.

  Chapter 15

  -Anna-

  On Wednesdays, Asher and I liked to work on music together—me on my playlists, him on his song writing. He was the lead singer and keyboardist for Spice Dust, and he composed most of their songs, too. So while I sat on the couch with my headphones and laptop, hunting for new music, he sat on the floor with his headphones and keyboard, composing new music.

  My phone buzzed beside me. Check your email. That’s all Cassie’s text message said. Curious, I opened my browser and navigated to my email inbox, as directed.

  There were two new emails waiting for me, one from Cassie entitled, “Wedding Photos <3” and one from the recruiter at Stumpstash with the subject, “Regarding Your Candidacy.”

  I wasn’t sure if she’d wanted me to check her wedding photos email or the Stumpstash email. Possibly both. She’d referred me, so she’d likely gotten a notification about my job candidacy, about whether or not we were now coworkers.

  With a small sigh, I opened her email first.

  Hey Nana,

  I shared my wedding photos online—you probably saw them already! But I’m sending you a few special photos that I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to see ;)

  You guys are so cute together!

  Love,

  C

  When I clicked on the link she’d sent, I noticed right away that by a few, she’d really meant way too many. I adjusted the screen so that I could more discreetly view the dozens of photos of me and Ian.

  The photographer must have been keeping a close eye on us that night, because he or she had captured nearly all of our moments together.

  Walking together to the ceremony, my arm looped through his, our smiling faces affectionately turned to one another. The sun to my flower.

  The moment he’d pressed his lips to my hand, my soft gaze meeting his quiet smolder.

  Standing together during the ceremony, when I’d become teary-eyed. He’d been studying my face (and not the ceremony) with a small smile playing about his lips.

  The little girl knocking me over (which would have been hilarious, if I weren’t the subject of the photo) and the infamous lap dance that followed. The photographer had captured the slight arch of my back as I struggled to stand, my mouth forming a little ‘o’ as I encountered Ian’s bulge. He was smirking and not helping me one whit, the jerk.

  Our dance together, bodies crushed against one another, mouths teasingly close as we whispered into each other’s ears.

  There was even one of us kissing on the moonlit terrace, passionately embracing, my bare toes curling on the bench.

  I quietly groaned. Cassie had seen all of these, maybe Michael, too. What kind of ninja paparazzo had she hired? How many photos had this person taken that night, and were any of them of anyone else? I was surprised there weren’t also images of Ian going down on me in the bathroom. Geez.

  Even so, I couldn’t help clicking through the photos again to study the details, especially of Ian’s face. In every single one of them, his eyes, the tender, playful way he looked at me...sigh. I wanted to melt and just soak into the couch.

  My boyfriend.

  My cheeks hurt, and I had to force myself to stop smiling.

  Okay, maybe nice wedding photos weren’t so bad. Not when they were this cute.

  I sighed again, suddenly missing Ian, wondering what he was doing. Given the time, he was probably at work.

  Oh yeah. Work. Stumpstash.

  I clicked back to my inbox to check the other email.

  With a long, deep breath, I clicked, then stared.

  It took me a few seconds to read and reread the first line. Then I put my laptop down and did my happy dance, pumping my fists from side to side while bobbing my head in the opposite direction.

  When Asher looked up and saw me dancing on the couch, he slipped his headphones off and asked, “What’s up?”

  I flipped my laptop around and showed him what it said, though from that distance, he probably couldn’t read it. “I got the job!”

  “Hey, that’s great, congrats!” He hit a button on his keyboard and put his headphones down. “When do you start?”

  “I have a call with the recruiter to discuss, but probably next week!” I scanned the contents of the offer letter and squealed with excitement.

  “Nice. So I can start jacking up the rent?” he asked, giving me a wry look. I laughed, but I knew that he was only half kidding. He was charging me well below market rate for the room.

  “Nice try, but I’ve got student loans to pay, buddy. When you start seeing me walking around with Gucci bags and Louboutins, maybe then you can consider raising the rent. And only after you fix this shithole, too.” Asher’s family owned the building, but he was too lazy to deal with the repairs that were so desperately needed. It was one of the things that I regularly nagged him about.

  I turned my attention back to the laptop and started drafting my acceptance email. Asher’s eyes stayed on me, though. He didn’t go back to his music.

  He slowly stood up and came to sit next to me on the couch. “Anna.”

  “Hmm?” I kept typing. I didn’t want to hear what was surely coming next. We’d already had the same conversation multiple times before, and I wasn’t sure how many more times we could...especially now that I was with Ian.

  Asher was a good guy. He was smart and charming, and he loved having a good time. We’d partied a lot while we were together, going out night after night, weekend after weekend. He was there for me when I needed him, didn’t bat an eye at helping me out with cash or letting me skip out on rent when I needed a little extra time to get him the money. And we knew how to deal with each other. Whenever I got mad about something, he’d argue half-heartedly, then shrug and let
me have my way...or if it was bad enough, he’d leave until our tempers cooled, then come back and apologize and move on. He was generally laid back and didn’t really push me for anything.

  Until earlier this year, when he’d asked me to marry him. Of course, I’d said no. I’d repeatedly mentioned that I never wanted to get married, but he’d taken my sticking around for three years as a change of heart. It wasn’t, and his pressuring me had backfired. He’d left me high and dry in an expensive-ass restaurant, to fend for myself, to remind me of how dependent I was on him. I needed him, but I didn’t want to, especially if he couldn’t respect what I wanted, couldn’t respect me. It made me realize that I didn’t want to be with him anymore. We were good friends, but we weren’t good for each other.

  But I couldn’t just end things. Asher was my best friend in New York, and his friends were the closest thing I had to my own friends. I didn’t have anywhere to go, no one else to turn to. So I’d asked him for space, and for time to get my shit together. Coward that I was, I’d asked him for a break, not to break up, even though I already thought of him as my ex.

  He was tired of waiting.

  My hands shook slightly as I continued to type. He sat silently for a moment, just watching me, then put his hand on my back and said, “It seems like things are going well for you.”

  I kept my eyes on the screen. “Asher, can we not talk about this right now? I’m still figuring shit out.”

  “Anna. I don’t...I can’t keep waiting around.” He put his other hand on mine.

  I turned and looked at him, removing my hand from under his and placing it on his shoulder. “Hey. Seriously. I can’t talk about this right now.”

  He huffed in annoyance. “Sorry it’s so inconvenient for you, Anna. I’ve just been waiting over here, celibate as fuck, giving you discounted rent. When are you going to be able to talk about it?”