Tamyra came in and put a suspiciously healthy-looking sandwich on his desk before plopping herself down on the couch and tucking into a salad of her own.
“Tam, have you ever dated anyone with kids?”
“No. I’m not really good with kids.”
Gabe lifted the top piece of whole grain and seed bread on his sandwich and squinted at the sprouts under it. “Me neither.”
“My niece was about five when my sister started dating again. Seriously, though, James’ kid is practically an adult.”
Gabe shoved the sprouts aside to find dandelion greens. “I know. I just want to keep in his good books, and I don’t want James to feel like he’s losing time with Dylan to be with me.”
Tamyra shrugged. “My sister used to do these family dates every month or so with her, Julia, and her boyfriend. They’d go to the zoo. Stuff like that.” Gabe pushed aside the dandelion leaves to reveal grilled vegetables. “Stop playing with your sandwich and eat it.”
“Only if I find bacon on the bottom.”
“You have a meeting in fifteen minutes and you don’t have a free second between then and seven. Eat it.”
Gabe started chewing on the top slice of bread. “Why are you still my PA?” It was a question he asked himself regularly but only actually asked Tamyra a few times. He’d yet to get a good answer.
“Because you’d die without me.”
Gabe pushed aside the rest of his sandwich. He’d swing through marketing later. They always had good leftovers from some department party or networking lunch. “I’m serious. You were supposed to be in the job, what, a year? You have more degrees than I do. You know the fine minutiae of every deal we make. Anyone else would have quit or demanded a transfer after six months of putting up with me. You’ve never even asked for a raise.”
“And yet you give them to me.”
“Seriously. What are you doing here?”
Tamyra set aside her salad, which looked about as appetizing as Gabe’s sandwich. “Do you remember the state you were in when I started working for you?”
No, Gabe thought. “Vaguely,” he answered.
“Exactly. You’d had six PAs in five months. They were all either trying to get into your pants or were praying for your soul. My first day you’d had about three hours of sleep in three days. You were trying to shift around the budget so dependents of employees got free flu shots, in the middle of a bidding war for a half-dozen patents, you were fighting with Frank and Nate over if you should even be trying for the patents, and then a bunch of school kids were dragged in, and you were supposed to give them some sort of inspirational talk.”
“Was I inspirational?” Gabe had not a single memory of that day.
“No. You mumbled, babbled, threw in some analogies that made no sense whatsoever, and forgot the name of your own company. The impressive bit was that you pulled yourself up there in that state when any other executive would have just pawned the whole thing off onto someone further down the ladder. I figured at that point you needed someone who wouldn’t try to get into your pants, knew your soul was just fine, and would knock you on the back of the head with a two-by-four if that’s what was needed for you to get some sleep.”
“I wish I could argue with any of that.”
“You’re good at your job, you run a good business, you’re good to your people, but you are crap at taking care of yourself. I’ll move on when I find someone who can take care of you half as well as I can.”
“Or I shove you out the door.”
Tamyra laughed. “Like that’s ever going to happen.”
James bent backward and listened to his spine crack. Despite the noises, his back was in better condition, or at least a few decades younger, than Mrs. Gonzales’s, which was why he was helping her lug bolts of fabric up the stairs. It was her second granddaughter’s quinceañera in a couple of months, and she was sewing all the dresses, which meant stitching up about a million miles of pink satin and tulle.
At least Mrs. Gonzales’s granddaughter was shorter than he was. With Mrs. Maldonado’s granddaughter’s prom dress the previous year, he’d been roped into acting as a living dress stand while it was hemmed, instead of just helping with the hemming. Dylan still had the photos hidden somewhere. He didn’t actually mind helping out with things like hauling groceries, rolling tamales, or handstitching a million seed pearls onto white taffeta. The women of the building had acted as Dylan’s aunties and grandmothers over the years, providing babysitting, hand-me-downs, advice, and more than a few meals when he and Dylan got truly desperate.
Mrs. Gonzales let them into her apartment where the Virgen de Guadalupe stared at him from at least three walls.
“¿Dónde los quieres?”
“Con los demás.”
James put the bolts of fabric on the table with a half dozen others while Mrs. Gonzales went into her kitchen to make them both some coffee.
He followed her into the kitchen, which was identical to his, where she poured them both thick black coffee, then stirred in condensed milk until it was nearly white. “James, I’ve been seeing you with a man lately? The women are saying you have a boyfriend?”
He accepted a cup of coffee. “I might.” He supposed it had to happen sooner or later. Every other person had been the center of gossip in the building at one point or another. James had managed to avoid it, mainly by being the most boring person on earth.
“You might? I think you do. He looks handsome.”
James pretended to think about it. “I guess. If you like that type.”
“And he looks rich?”
James blew on his coffee. Mrs. Gonzales always made it nuclear hot. “He might be, a little.”
“Rich is good.”
“It’s not important.”
“Rich is good. Rich can take care of you and Dylan.”
James rolled his eyes. “I don’t need anyone taking care of me. I’m not looking for anyone to take care of me. And I take care of Dylan just fine.”
Mrs. Gonzales patted the air in front of James. “Of course you do, but it’s good to have help. If someone wants to take care of you, you should let them. If they’re also kind, and handsome…?”
James sipped his coffee, having no desire to respond to that comment.
“What’s his name?”
“Gabe. Gabriel. Juarez.” He figured the best thing to do with gossip was to feed it as much detail as possible. It seemed to burn out quicker once there was less to speculate on.
“And where’s he from?”
“He grew up in the Bay.”
“Have you met his family yet?”
That was something that hadn’t been brought up except for a quick mention of his sisters. He’d heard more about Gabe’s godchildren. “No, no I haven’t.”
Mrs. Gonzales gave a slightly disapproving squint. “Make sure he does that soon. A man who is ashamed of his family is not a man you should be associating with.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“Good. Now, what does he do? He better have a good job. Rich without work is begging the devil for trouble.”
James took a deep breath. He was surprised Dylan hadn’t blabbed it around the building. He was as bad a gossip as the rest of them. “He’s the chief financial officer of TechPrim Industries.” He got a slightly questioning look. James pulled his phone from his pocket and showed her the logo on the back. “TechPrim.”
Her eyebrows went up. “He better be taking care of you, then.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of.” James tried not to raise his voice. “I am not a child. I have a job. I manage.”
“Doesn’t mean you should turn him away if he offers. It can be nice to have someone who wants to be helpful.”
“Fine.” He didn’t want to start a fight.
“And if he causes you trouble, you send him to me.”
James stuffed down a laugh. Facing Mrs. Gonzales was a proper threat. Every male under the age of eighty feared her disapprovin
g gaze, which could leave even the most hardened soul squirming like a child.
“I’ll be sure to warn him.”
3
An animatronic pirate laughed and warned of the curse of Blackbeard’s treasure as Gabe parked his car under the sign that read, Pirate Pete’s Mini Putt. “Mini golf, really?”
“You asked me to pick someplace fun that I haven’t been to in a long time, and I haven’t been here in years.”
Gabe climbed out of his car, never believing he’d feel dread at the idea of minigolf. “You do know that I am the worst putter in history? Seriously.”
“I’m out of practice myself.”
When he’d called James to see if he wanted to go out that Saturday, he’d been reading too many articles about blended families and dating in the twenty-first century. He took the advice of some blogger and told James to pick someplace fun that he hadn’t been to in a while and keep it a surprise.
“You could be blind with one arm and still putt better than I do.”
James laughed. They were heading across the rough gravel of the parking lot when he spotted an old yellow Volvo and an attractive young blond man leaning against it.
“Dylan?”
Dylan looked up from his phone, startled. “Hey! Gabe, Dad? What are you doing here?”
“On a date,” James answered. “Thought we’d try something different. What are you doing here?”
“I was waiting on a date.”
“Was?”
Dylan held up his phone. “Stood up.”
“Temporarily or permanently?” James asked.
“Permanently.”
Gabe cringed. “I’m sorry.”
Dylan shoved his phone back into his pocket. “It’s okay. She was a placeholder really. They’re all placeholders until the love of my life comes to her senses and takes me back.”
“And how is Catherine these days?” James’ tone was completely conversational.
“She’s doing really well. Got into the Boston University music program. It’s very prestigious and her first choice, so she’s excited about that.” Dylan actually sounded like someone excited by a friend’s success instead of someone whose unrequited love was moving across the country.
“Boston’s not exactly close.”
“If people can make relationships work long distance, then keeping a temporarily broken-up relationship going should be a piece of cake.” Dylan gave a firm little nod in punctuation.
James patted his son on the arm. “I’m sure she’ll come around eventually.”
“Thanks.” Dylan looked between them. “I guess I’ll head home, then. You two have fun.”
“Wait.” Gabe had been considering suggesting a family date at some point in the future, per Tamyra’s advice, but this seemed like it might be the perfect opportunity for it. They both turned and looked at him. “Why don’t you join us for a round?”
“I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
James looked between the two of them, then gestured to the course. “Come on. We haven’t played a round since you were little. Let me wallow in nostalgia a bit.”
Dylan gave a little shake of the head that made him look like James for a moment. “You do that enough already, but okay.”
They picked up balls and putters from a bored-looking teenager in a polyester pirate costume. Before Gabe or James could step forward to pay, Dylan pulled out a card covered in punched-out holes.
“I’ve got a couple of free games.”
The teenager took the card and handed Dylan a fresh one, along with their scorecards and little pencils.
“Thanks.”
They headed to the practice putting area so a family of six could get a few holes ahead of them. Dylan dropped the red ball he’d picked onto the green and with hardly a pause, knocked the ball into the hole. James took the time to adjust his grip and set his feet but managed to get his in as well. Gabe took a deep breath, adjusted his grip, tried to remember what a dozen pros had attempted to teach him over the years, and proceeded to knock his ball from one side of the green to the other, passing by the cup by at least a foot.
He looked to James. “Told you I was bad at this.”
Before James could answer, a phone rang. Gabe reached for his, only to find it quiet.
“Oh!” James fished his phone from his pocket. “Hello?” He took a few steps away from the green while Gabe gave the simple practice putt another try. He only missed the cup by a half foot this time. Dylan was leaning on his club, a smirk on his face.
James finished his call and rejoined them, his brows pulled together. “Um…. Mister McFeely died.”
“Who?”
“Our primary mail server crashed. It’s called Mister McFeely. Apparently there was actual smoke coming from the box and no one on campus can get their e-mails. I… um….” James gestured back to the parking lot. “I laid out half the server room as it stands now, and I’ve got the admin passwords for the backup, and—”
“It’s okay. Work happens.” Gabe had never been the one to say those words to a date. It felt odd.
“I’m really sorry. This has never…. You know, you two should stay. Not waste the round. I mean, it’s your night out.”
“It’s our night out and—”
Dylan pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them at James. “Here, take the Lemon Drop. Gabe can give me a lift back. We can bond.”
A cold thread of fear slinked up Gabe’s spine, but he still smiled. “Sure, no problem.”
James nodded, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I don’t know how long—”
“It’s fine. Go.” James hurried off. “Well, now I know how my dates feel,” Gabe mumbled once James was out of earshot. He could not even begin to guess how many dates he’d left due to work (sometimes made-up work), but it had never gone the other way.
“Don’t worry about it.” Dylan gave him a slap on the back. “It won’t happen often. Besides, this way we can chat.”
“You want information on the Budusie tehnologii deal.”
“Can you blame me?”
Gabe tried for one more practice putt and watched it go wide. At least James wouldn’t be around to witness his abject humiliation. “And what would you do if you had the information?” Gabe picked up his ball and headed toward the first hole, where a plastic alligator swam around a scummy pond.
“I wouldn’t sell it or spread it around. I’m just really curious.”
“I’m sure you are. You can keep being curious with everyone else.”
Gabe watched as Dylan placed his ball, then hopped it up over a plastic log, landing it inches from the cup.
“How often do you come here?”
“It’s the perfect date location.”
Gabe tapped his ball, sending it racing across the green and a mile past the cup.
“It’s cheap, which is good. It’s cute, and girls like cute.” Dylan tapped his ball neatly into the cup. “You can talk fairly privately, but you’re not sitting in the dark like some pervert. And if you let them win, they’ll put out.”
That last comment ended what little concentration Gabe had, sending his shot wide and right off the green, where it landed by Dylan’s feet.
“Wow, you can’t putt, can you?”
“No, no, I can’t. Though by your logic, I should be able to get girls that way.”
Dylan laughed at him. “Oh no, it works completely the other way.” Dylan set the ball back onto the green. “See, if you just play bad, the girl will either think you’re lame, and you won’t get any, or she’ll know you’re letting her win, get mad, and you won’t get any.”
Gabe tried one more putt before giving up and putting a six on the card under his name. They strolled to the next hole.
“What you have to do is let them win by two or three, but you can’t just crap out at the end.” Dylan placed his ball by a plastic rock and took a swing. The ball raced down the green, bounced off another plastic rock, and went right into the
little cup. Gabe sighed. “You have to let them start off ahead, gain on them in the middle, then fall back in the last four holes.”
“And to do that, you need to actually be really good.”
“Yep.” Dylan pulled his ball from the cup while Gabe placed his. “You can do that twice, but then you have to win one, but not by too much so they won’t get suspicious, then let them win again. Guaranteed way to get lucky.”
Gabe stared at Dylan. It was brilliant in its own oversexed way. “I know men who’ve had golf listed on their divorce papers, and you’ve figured out how to use it to get teenaged girls to sleep with you.”
Dylan took a grand bow.
“Jesus Christ. No wonder your father is terrified to let you out of the house.”
“I’m always careful.”
Gabe took his putt and watched it hit a fake rock and roll right back to him. “There are guys at the club who would make you their god.”
Gabe took another putt with only marginally better luck.
“Would you like some help?” Dylan offered.
“Every pro the club has ever had has spent hours trying to teach me how to putt. It’s a form of hazing for the new guys now.”
Dylan grinned. “Yeah, but how many of them use it as a way to get laid?”
“That is a fair point.”
“Great. Okay, first off your grip is all wrong.” Dylan grabbed Gabe’s hands and twisted them around. “It’s all about clean lines. Think basic physics. Levers, pendulums. And you’re twisting your hands around before you get to the ball. That’s why it’s going everywhere. Here.” Dylan stepped behind him and reached around, gripping Gabe’s wrists.
“Dylan. Never tell your father we did this.”
“What? Oh.” Dylan laughed. “It’s okay, you’re not my type.”
“That doesn’t make this look any better.”
“Chill. Now spread your legs a little wider, and put your head down.”
Gabe locked his jaw, absolutely certain that Dylan knew exactly what he was saying.
“Now, you don’t want to change your speed when you swing. Just think of a pendulum, nice and smooth.”
Gabe took a swing with Dylan guiding his stroke. The ball still ended up a mile away from the cup, but at least it seemed to go in a slightly straighter line.
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