Best Jerk

by Lulu Pratt

  “As long as they’re hot, far as I could always tell.” Paxton agrees. “Hot comes in a lot of flavors. So what makes her different?”

  “I don’t fucking know.” I slam my fist against the top of the ring post. “I’ve been stressing over this shit for ages. I can’t fuck her out of my system.”

  “Have you picked up anyone else since you started banging her?”

  I shake my head once, definitively. I know what he was going to suggest and I can’t bring myself to do it. I saw the way she looked at me with lipstick on my cheek. That fucked with me for days and I don’t want to go back to it.

  “Maybe you should.”

  “No.”

  “Then you better figure that shit out soon. Fucking her because you hate your client isn’t a good enough reason anymore.” Paxton slaps my back and shoots a two-finger salute.

  I don’t have any answers so I hit the showers. Nothing in there, either. All I got is she’s some sort of magical combination of every girl I’ve ever liked… or I’m getting old. And I don’t feel that goddamn old just yet.

  The sun beats down on my way to the car and it doesn’t provide any resolution, either. I don’t like a lack of resolution. I like answers. I like something I can win.

  Just passed my car, I spy a familiar outline sitting on a bench in the park. My feet make an abrupt turn to her, drawn to her presence without bothering to confirm with the rest of my body.

  “All the gin joints in Los Angeles, and here you are.”

  “No gin.” Kate is a little stiff but not unfriendly. “What are you doing here?”

  “My gym.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “If I’m not at work or the bar, I’m usually here. What are you doing here?”

  “My gym.” She mimics my thumb over her shoulder. “If I’m not at work or the bar… you get the idea.”

  “You box?”

  “Yoga.”

  Makes a lot of sense. That woman is bendy as hell in the bedroom. I could turn her into a pretzel if I wanted and she’d still fuck like a queen.

  She doesn’t look like royalty today. It’s more than the I-just-worked-out thing she has going. Her fire is dim and I don’t like it.

  “You okay?” I keep a careful space between us on the bench, but I nudge her hand with mine. “You look like you need a friend.”

  “No.” Kate hasn’t looked at me once since I came to sit. I want to take her by the cheeks and make her.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “You know, they say I’m a great listener.”

  “Bullshit.” Her lips quirk upward at the ends. It’s a small victory. “You only like the sound of your own voice.”

  “Guilty.” I move in just a touch closer and soften my voice. “Come on, Kate. Something is bothering you and I want to help. Talk to me.”

  She cocks an eyebrow at me and the disbelief is heavy. It’s like the woman I bent over her couch has been replaced by someone scorned. It’s only then that I realize she’s probably got a lot on her plate and my dick isn’t helping much.

  Tinges of guilt ping at me, reminders that she’s dealing with her livelihood while I was dragging her off to be fucked good and proper. Except it’s clear she has feelings and I’ve witnessed that makes shit more complicated. Normally, that’s exactly the response I want.

  Not anymore. Not with her.

  “Nobody cares about me.” Her voice is ice. “I’m just someone to be used. For money, connections, sex. No one gives a shit. You don’t give a shit. You’re just like everyone else.”

  The weight behind that statement isn’t hidden. I want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not. I’ve spent weeks trying to pound her out of my brain but I’ve still fucked her. I’ve still used her for sex. For some unknown reason, it unsettles me.

  “Let me take you to dinner.” I grab her hand and squeeze it. “Tonight.”

  “What, like a date?” Kate scoffs.

  “I mean, I can fuck you first if you want. But then yes, a date. A real date.”

  She finally looks at me, those sad eyes probing me to see if I mean it. Surprises me just as much, but I do. I kiss her hand and watch the red touch her cheeks.

  “Okay.” She finally breathes heavily. “I guess that would be okay.”

  “Does this mean we’ll fuck first?”

  “Is that how you usually date?”

  I grin. “Yes. But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  KATE

  “Okay, just trust me on this.”

  Eric’s voice doesn’t do much to assure me as we zip through traffic in his tiny sports car. I am more than grateful I can’t see the undoubtedly narrow spaces he fits through. The blindfold over my eyes was funny at first, then nauseating, and I am now settled on life-saving.

  “Trust you? That doesn’t sound very promising.” I clutch my stomach as we veer around another set of cars. “Where are we going? The moon?”

  “Better.”

  “What’s better than the moon?”

  “Glendale.” I can practically see the cheeky grin on his face.

  “Glendale? Seriously? What the hell is in Glendale besides hipsters?”

  “Great fun awaits us in Glendale, Kate. You just need a little faith.” Eric slides his hand down my leg, spreading chills across my body in rapid succession, and grasps my hand. It’s surprisingly intimate and I’m glad he can’t see my full reaction right now.

  Mostly because I don’t know how to feel.

  He tells me about his grandfather as we go. The fish they’d catch, how he learned to fillet a trout for his seventh birthday, and how they would eat popcorn on the back porch at night while watching the sunset.

  “That sounds beautiful.”

  “It was.” Eric squeezes my hand and lets go, leaving me cold. “I spent whole summers just eating popcorn with the dude and plumping up the resident squirrels. End of the summer, they became target practice.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Kidding.” Eric laughs. “Well, sort of. The neighbors really liked shooting BBs at the squirrels.”

  “What about you?”

  “I was too busy playing baseball.”

  “I pictured you as more of a soccer player with that physique.”

  “Oh, you’ve noticed?”

  “A time or two, just a glance here and there. It’s very elusive.”

  “Well, I’d hate to look like a braggart.” He squeezes my knee and my stomach flips again.

  I’m not supposed to be here, but he’s treating me like I’m important. Everything is upside down, a modern version of Wonderland. Only I don’t want the little cake that will make me grow and finally escape like Alice. I want to stay here forever, in this weird little land, because it’s the only place I feel I fit.

  The car comes to a stop and he kills the engine. Anticipation is killing me. Glendale is not what I would call the most thrilling place in Los Angeles, and definitely not where I expected him to take us.

  “I’ll get your door.” Eric says. A few seconds later my door pops open and he leads me out of the car and in a few circles before finally removing my blindfold. “Surprise.”

  Instead of looking at anything, I’m staring straight at him. We’re so close I can feel his breath on my neck.

  “You brought me out to Glendale to see you?”

  “I knew you’d love it.” He winks and spins me around once more. “Ta-da!”

  “Roller skating?” I laugh. “Wow, this is surprising. I haven’t done this since I was… well, very small.”

  “What better way to get handsy in public without drawing a lot of attention?” Eric winks again and takes my hand.

  We walk inside like it’s a date. We rent skates like it’s a date. We order cokes and cheese fries like it’s a date. He tells me jokes, real ones that make me laugh and snort soda up my nose. It’s so surreal, all of it, that I half expect the Cheshire Cat to pop up out of nowhere.


  “Come on.” Eric pats my knee and jumps up. “Let’s go for a spin.”

  “I’m going to have to cling to you for dear life. I am many things, but graceful is not one of them.”

  “That’s exactly what I was hoping for.”

  Those first few steps on the rink, full of teenagers holding hands and little kids zooming in and out on roller blades, are terrifying. The total loss of control makes my stomach drop to my knees, but Eric remains by my side, an anchor in this fast-flying world.

  “I also dabble in hockey.” He pulls me back upright as I drop into accidental splits. “Wow, you really are terrible.”

  “I’m a fast learner.” I shoot back, laughing at my embarrassing skating performance. “Give me time. I’ll show you.”

  “Anyone who doubts you is an idiot.” Eric says it almost tenderly.

  It’s hard to focus on skating because I’m so busy staring at him. To see if this is all real. But a few more laps around the rink, more falling, more splits and I forget to watch him. Instead, it’s stupidly fun.

  No pretenses are required while roller skating in a room full of families and kids. There are no cameras, no sequins, no twenty-dollar cocktails. It’s just laughs and smiles and holding hands under a disco ball. It’s the best night of my life.

  A Whitney Houston song comes on and the DJ announces time for couples skate. My thighs and calves are killing me, but Eric pulls me out for the song. He spins me around in front of him and holds me like we’re dancing. I panic, but he holds tight.

  “Trust me.” He whispers.

  So I do.

  In his impeccably strong arms, he holds me up so we can dance through the song, even throwing in an occasional spin. We’re so close our noses touch but our lips never meet. It’s a never-ending tease, all this touch with no payout. I love it.

  We shut the place down, enjoying the last bits of amazingly terrible nineties music and mirrored ball lights until they kick us out. The whole drive back, we laugh about the other people there, and, of course, my terrible skating.

  “I told you, though, I’d come back in the end. Did you see my spin at the end? That was Oscar-worthy.”

  “Put that on your résumé. They next time they need someone for a terrible roller derby movie, they’ve got their girl.”

  “It’ll be my Cinderella story. From socialite to derby girl.”

  “I could see you rock it. It’d be pretty sexy, too.”

  Heat spreads across my chest and I look away so he can’t see the stupid grin on my face.

  “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun, Eric. This was easily one of the best nights of my life.” We are standing outside my apartment and I don’t want the feeling to go away. I want it to last the whole night and then some. “You want to stay for a while?”

  Eric cups my cheek in his hand and grasps my hip with his other. He pulls me in for a kiss that makes my toes curl and my knees go weak. It is cliché and delicious and beautiful. It is exactly the lead in I want for a night of passion with him.

  “I can’t.” He whispers against my lips. “I don’t want to use you.”

  “Please use me,” I counter. “Use me hard.”

  “You deserve more than that.” He kisses me again, softer this time, and taps my nose. “I’ll see you again soon, Derby Princess.”

  I watch him walk away, held up by my front door. This evening was more than anything I could have hoped for, but it left my heart more twisted than ever. A darkening area of my brain knows this can’t go on and can spell ruin, but a bigger, brighter part wants to get lost in him and never find the way out.

  I don’t know where to go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ERIC

  A bright white envelope sits on my desk when I walk in Tuesday morning. Our interdepartmental envelopes are a disgusting yellow, so it’s not another note from Hazel in accounting. Her “memos” are nothing more than a thinly veiled plea for a date.

  Not interested. Not with Kate in my life. Whatever is going on with her. I haven’t told a soul and don’t plan to. I don’t understand what happens to me when I’m around her, but I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of busting my ass in the gym and in the courtroom to sweat her out. It hasn’t worked.

  Time to just embrace it.

  “Sophie, do you know what this envelope is?” I call over my shoulder. “Who brought it?”

  “No idea, Mr. Stevens.” She pops her head in the office. “Want me to ask around?”

  “Nah. I’ll just have my coffee first. Wanted a jump on it.”

  I pour a cup and study it. As a habit, I don’t like opening envelopes first thing in the morning. Anything could be in there, and I mean anything. A client’s ex once mailed me her used panties. Another time, an attempt at blackmail.

  Never try to blackmail a lawyer unless you’ve got something really, really fucking good. That guy didn’t.

  Caffeinated, I sit down and slice it open with a pocket knife, expecting the worst. Hell, for all I know it’s an announcement that I’m a daddy or some shit. Never sticks, though. God love those condoms, ladies.

  I pull out a stack of photos that take me only seconds to recognize. It’s the prints from my fake date with Kate at Descanso. I’d almost forgotten about them at this point and have no idea what took Paxton this goddamn long to print them.

  There are at least three dozen here with the film taped to a signed form, assuring there are no other copies floating around. Standard procedure every time we do this shit.

  I flip my desk phone over to Do Not Disturb and go through all the glossy photos slowly, taking my time to savor each one. Paxton is getting pretty good after this many stings. He really knows how to angle it so things look convincing.

  If I recall properly, though, not much convincing was needed on the part of Kate McArthur. She had walls up, but she willingly knocked them down to let Sir Eric on over. It’s fun, though, to see her reaction to my flowers and picnic. I spent so much time vying for angles in the beginning, I missed most of it.

  The way she looks at me in these stirs more feelings in my gut. Feelings I can’t ignore any longer. I touch her face in each of them like I’m touching her in real life and feel an overwhelming sense of… happiness? Pride? Joy?

  “I see you got the pictures.”

  Paxton materializes in front of me and I nearly jump out of my skin at the surprise. Hastily trying to restack them, I cough and shrug.

  “Not bad, Pax. You’re on your way to a Terry O’Neil award.”

  “Shame I couldn’t get the naughty ones later. Your floor was too high up.” I shoot him a look but he laughs. “I’m kidding, bro. Kidding. Though it would have made for some great evidence. Unfortunately, I think most of the judges know what your bare ass looks like.”

  “I just know how to work a crowd. What can I say?” I shove the pictures back in the envelope. “Thanks for the help.”

  Paxton knocks his knuckles against the table and stares at me hard. “Going to use them?”

  “I’ll have to look them all over again. Most of them make it pretty clear it’s me in the shots and I need plausible deniability. Don’t need to get fined again, you know? I like my job.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I like getting paid by my job.”

  “Better.”

  I kick my feet up on the desk and sip my coffee. Paxton does the same. We’ve been friends for a long fucking time and we both know this is just a front we’re putting up. He doesn’t say anything, though, and neither do I.

  Now that he’s said it, I am disappointed he didn’t have photos from our first night together. That is a memory I wouldn’t mind reliving a time or five. Kate was clearly looking for something to fill a void and I just so happened to have a dick that did the job.

  After a long dry spell of terrible bar hookups, that was the first time in a very long time I’d enjoyed myself in the bedroom. Everything about her was intoxicating, from her scent to the way she moved o
n top of me.

  A video would be even better than photos.

  “Ready to cut the bullshit yet?” Paxton clears his throat and takes another sip of his coffee. “There are at least four fucking amazing shots in there you can use. You had her eating out of your palm and there were plenty of branches in the way to hide your identity. Everyone looking will know it’s not David. That’s fucking talent right there.”

  “I guess I’ll have to look again.”

  “I said cut the bullshit.” Paxton sit back up and stares me down. “I know you’ve got your dick twisted around this girl, Eric. It’s fucking weird, but I get it. Trust me when I say I do. However, I also know your career is riding on this shit and if you let her derail you—”

  “I know, man. Shit.” I sit up, too and wave him off. “Get the fuck out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

  “You need to put that shit in David’s file. Right now. While I’m watching.”

  “I need to find these pictures you bragged so much about first.”

  “I’ll pull them out for you.”

  “Paxton.” I’ve hit my limit and then some. Paxton stands, his hands in the air and nods. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ve got this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “If you say you got it, I’ll trust you to have it. Don’t let yourself down.”

  “I won’t.”

  He shuts the door and leaves me with a headache. I go back through the pictures and find some of the shots he mentioned. They really were convincing. Her lips were pursed and her eyes hooded, like she was waiting to be kissed. Flipping through them takes me back to that evening, under a tree, surrounded by flowers and birds with a beautiful woman.

  It was fake, that whole meeting. But it didn’t feel fake after a while.

  I shove the photos back in the mix and throw them all in a bottom desk drawer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  KATE

  Things are finally coming together for the charity gala in the ways I like to see: finalized plans, confirmed reservations, venue decorations boxed up and ready to be hung, and more lattes than the eye can see. Lily and I have been plugging away for weeks and it’s finally feeling complete.