by Nicki Elson
“My story is that I’m nobody to be laying judgment on anyone else’s approach to romantic relationships.”
“Aha! You have a girl in every port; is that it?”
“That’s not it.” His expression clouded, and he looked down at the table.
“You said I’m too young to be jaded about love. Aren’t you a little young to be so morose about it? How old are you, anyway?”
“Thirty-four. Which I agree is too young to be so morose.” He sighed, scrunching his mouth into a sad attempt at a smile. “But sometimes we have little control over these things.”
Asking about his life seemed to be a minefield. Trish took a gulp of her martini and switched the subject back to herself. “Tell the truth—you think my three-date plan is nuts, don’t you?”
“Nuts? No, not at all. I think it’s rather brilliant.” When Trish tilted her head and quirked a disbelieving eye, he continued. “I’m serious. What question do people always ask a couple that’s been together for a long enough time? ‘How did you meet?’ They may eventually inquire about the things beyond third dates, but that’s not what they’re most curious about. By limiting every romantic relationship to its tingling beginnings, you’re keeping the sweetest part and sloughing off the tedious, difficult, heartbreaking aftermath. Like I said, it’s genius.”
“You said brilliant, actually.”
“So I did.” His eyes stayed steadily on her as he lifted his glass to his lips.
Under his scrutiny, Trish showed an uncommon instance of shyness, dropping her gaze to the table. It wasn’t normal for her pulse rate to increase this much from just a look.
“There’s one element missing from your plan, though,” he said. “Assuming I heard correctly.”
“What’s that?” she asked, watching her fingertip circle the rim of her glass.
“Sex.”
Trish let out a shocked squeak as her eyes snapped up and onto him.
He flushed immediately. “I’m sorry. That was too bold.”
“No, no. I’m impressed. I’m usually pretty tough to embarrass, yet you’re shockingly good at doing it.”
“Since you’re smiling, I guess I’ll push my luck.” Eyeing her cautiously, he ventured forth. “Are you serious about not sleeping with any of the men you date?”
She nodded. “I know my hiatus won’t last forever, but I’m not interested in racking up a big number while I figure this out, so I consider myself revirginated for the foreseeable future. It’s freeing in a way. The decision’s automatically made for me, none of that nagging questioning: should we? Shouldn’t we?”
He pressed his mouth into a small smile, seeming pleased by whatever assessment he was making of her. Sitting back, he looked more relaxed than he had since emerging from the corporate wing.
Noticing his glass was already empty, Trish drained the rest of hers. “Have I successfully helped you unwind from your horrible day, Mr. Helms?”
“Yes, I believe you have.” He pulled out his phone and looked at it. “Now it looks like it’s time for me to turn into a pumpkin. Where’s our waitress?” He slid the phone back into his jacket and pulled out his wallet.
“Nope. This is on me.” Trish hopped off her chair, not giving him a chance to stop her from going to the bar to pay their tab. When she returned to the table, he was standing with his blue jacket back on and his hands in his pants pockets. He stuck out his elbow in invitation, and Trish accepted, looping her arm through. “Will you be back in Chicago anytime soon?” she asked as they moved toward the escalator.
“My business here is nearly wrapped up, but I’ll likely have to return next month.”
“Give me your phone,” Trish said, stepping next to him on the descending step. When Adam raised a skeptical eyebrow, she explained, “The way I figure it, we’ve got two dates left. I want to add my number to your contacts so you don’t have to send me smoke signals from behind the giant plant.” In case he wasn’t catching her drift, she added, “It’s probably best for me to be covert around the office about spending personal time with clients.”
He hesitated, but when they emerged onto solid flooring, he pulled out his phone, pressing the screen a few times before handing it to her. It was open to a blank contact form.
Chapter 6
THE PROSPECT OF A BLIND DATE no longer carried the same level of anxiety it used to for Trish. As she and James stepped into the cramped entryway of the Turkish restaurant where they’d arranged to meet Cliff, she didn’t worry about how her side of the date would go. There were no long-term ramifications, either way. She was more interested in how Cliff and James would hit it off.
A beaded length of fabric shielded the rest of the restaurant from view. “Reservation for Walsh,” Trish said to the hostess.
The woman smiled. “The rest of your party has already arrived.” Holding back the curtain, she gestured them through.
Trish immediately spied Cliff as he half stood and waved. She tilted her head toward him. “There he is. He’s cute, right?” she whispered to James as they wove between the tables.
“Adorable,” James answered. “You sure do know my type.”
“Your verbal observations at the gym make it difficult not to.” She wasn’t sure whether Cliff had a type, but she couldn’t imagine he’d be disappointed in toned, six-foot-two James with his smooth, dark skin, beautiful smile, not to mention his abundance of personality. It wasn’t until they were at the table that her attention drifted to the person who Cliff thought would make a good match for her. Redhead. Interesting. Attractive. Nice. Female. What the…?
Cliff and the girl sat next to each other on one side of the table. Trish supposed she should let James sit across from Cliff, but she instinctively stepped to that chair and let James pull it out for her. Her mind scrambled to identify any signals she might’ve given to her college friend to make him think she was gay.
She noticed her three companions looking at her, apparently waiting for introductions. The strain in her cheeks indicated her smile was blessedly still in place. “James, this is my friend Cliff.” The men shook hands, and James took his seat next to Trish.
“Nice to meet you, James,” Cliff said. “This is Abby. Abby, this is Trish.”
Trish was careful to not make her nod of greeting too inviting. She didn’t want to lead the girl on.
“I know Trish and Cliff’s story, but Abby, how do you know Cliff?” James asked.
“We went to high school together and sort of reconnected last weekend at an informal reunion,” Abby answered.
“Reconnected?” Cliff said. “More like connected for the first time. Abby was little miss cheerleader slash homecoming queen—”
“Just the court!” Abby protested.
“Whatever,” Cliff continued. “I was the AV volunteer slash total dork who she never even noticed.”
“Lies, lies, lies.” Abby shook her head. Her delicate, pointed features reminded Trish of a fairy. “The more we talked the more we realized how much we have in common these days.” She reached over and gave Cliff a teasing pinch on his cheek.
“I’ll bet that was a fun discovery,” James said, sliding a conspiratorial wink at Trish.
Great, now he thinks he’s discovered something about me. She wanted to set the trio straight on her sexual preferences, but considered how mortifying an abrupt announcement would be to Abby. She elected to continue polite conversation for the moment. When she got the opportunity, she’d claw out Cliffy’s eyes in private.
Why does he think I’m gay? She pointed the conversation in the direction of a band she knew both James and Cliff liked. While the men compared notes on concerts they’d seen and favorite songs, she stayed silent and pondered the question. Cliff had seen Trish with boyfriend after boyfriend in college. Hell, he’d even kissed her himself. On a dare. The whole thing had been terribly awkward. They’d had an audience of gawking friends, and she’d very recently inhaled a gyro as big as her head. It had been impossible for her to p
erform at the top of her game with her breath reeking of garlic and onion. That must have been it—the stiff, awful kiss was why he thought she didn’t like men.
They ordered their meals, and while they ate, the conversation flowed smoothly. Yet every time Abby laughed a little too enthusiastically at one of Trish’s jokes or her eyes lingered for too long across the table, Trish’s nerves frazzled a bit more. As the entrées dwindled on their plates, Cliff excused himself to use the bathroom. Half a minute later, Trish left her remaining kebab to congeal and followed him.
Brushing past a lush tapestry curtain held to the side by a braided cord, she entered a narrow hallway. She positioned herself directly in front of the men’s room door, waiting for Cliff to come out. Within a few minutes, he emerged into the cramped space, nearly slamming into her.
“We have to talk,” Trish said.
“Here? Now?”
A woman stepped into the hallway, and Cliff moved toward the curtain to let her pass. Trish was afraid he’d go back into the main part of the restaurant. As soon as the woman squeezed past her, Trish grabbed his biceps and pressed closer to him, forcing his back to the wall. They were hidden from diners by the swag of fabric.
“I’m not gay,” Trish said. “That horrendous kiss we had back in college—I’d had gyros earlier that night, so the garlic breath held me back. Plus everyone was watching. It was far from my best work.”
“What are you talking about?” Cliff’s mouth was only inches from her face, and the rich, Turkish spices wafting on his breath elicited an even clearer memory of that night.
“Abby’s great,” Trish continued. “Very pretty and sweet, but I’m not interested in her romantically.”
Cliff scrunched his dark eyebrows together, hitching one of his pale, rounded cheeks upward in uncertainty. “That’s good…’cause she’s my date.”
“Your date?”
“Yeah. Who else’s would she be?”
“I thought…I thought you brought her for me.”
“You?”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant by double blind date,” Trish said. “You bring someone for me; I bring someone for you.”
“You never said blind.”
“I didn’t?” Their hushed tones grew increasingly tense.
“No, you didn’t. I thought it was a bring-your-own double date. So—wait a minute. You thought I brought Abby for you, which means you brought James for me?”
“Ehhh…”
“You think I’m gay?” His breath blew hotly onto her face. His deep brown eyes flashed.
She loosened her grip on his arms and let her hands fall limply to her side. “You’re not?”
He raised his hands to the side of his head and pressed his balled fists to his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. His jaw was stiff as he said, “No, I’m not. Why did you think that?”
Her mind raced over all the clues, landing on the one that had convinced her he was now open about his homosexuality. “You said a few good men had earned the right to call you Cliffy.”
One eye snapped open, and he glared at her through it. “My maternal and paternal grandfathers.”
“Oh.” She cautiously moved a hand to the hard knot of his balled bicep, not quite able to reconcile with the new concept that her gay friend was straight. His muscle relaxed and softened as she rubbed her fingertips slowly back and forth over it. “Please don’t be mad.”
Gradually, he lowered both arms and rested them on her hips, pulling her close to make room for the same woman as she exited the ladies room. “We have to get back to the table before they come in after us. How do we handle this?”
Trish groaned. “Poor James. He was so looking forward to tonight, and he’s such a great guy. Most men would die for a chance to go out with him. Are you sure…”
Cliff’s hands clamped around her hips, and he gritted his teeth. “Don’t even.”
“All right, all right. But you should really be a lot happier about this situation.”
“Happy?”
“You’ve got two people out there who want to be on a date with you, while I’ve got exactly zero. I’m the one who should be grumpy.”
His head bent forward, the side of his hair brushing across Trish’s forehead as he glanced beyond the curtain. Keeping his eyes turned away from her, he said in a low voice, “You had one person who wanted to be on a date with you. But then you suggested a double.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “You?”
One corner of his lip twitched up as he swiveled his face toward her. “Yeah me.”
She stepped back and playfully swatted his chest. “We can’t date! It’s against company policy.”
“It is? Nobody’s said anything to me about it.” His hands dropped from her hips.
“It’s one of those unspoken rules.” Trish peeked through the fringe toward their table, seeing James and Abby engaged in conversation. “Let’s skip dessert if they haven’t already ordered it, then you make an excuse to get Abby out of here, and I’ll let James down easy on the way home—or at a bar so he can drink off his disappointment. Sound good?”
“I guess. Give me a second to screw my brain back together before we head out there.”
Trish held in a laugh and shifted her gaze to see him scowling.
He stared hard at the wall across from him and chewed his lower lip. After a moment of silence, he asked, “For how long have you thought I was gay?”
“That kiss sort of confirmed it.”
He let out a rough exhale and refocused his stare toward the ceiling, tapping the back of his head against the wall.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Trish said. “Next weekend I’ll take you to Second City. My treat.”
“I’d like that.” Finally, he looked at her. The intensity of his warm brown gaze rendered her momentarily mute. Flicking a glance toward the tables, he let out another breath. “Let’s do this.” He pushed off the wall, and as they passed beyond the curtain, he added, “Just so you know, I’d had onion rings that night. Wasn’t my best work, either.”
Keeping her expression as natural as possible, Trish led Cliff back to the table. “Look who I found wandering around back there,” she said with a nervous laugh, realizing it might seem strange for them to be returning at the exact same time.
“I’m really full from dinner,” Cliff said, resuming his seat and glancing around the restaurant, Trish presumed for the waiter. “If you haven’t already ordered us dessert, mind if we skip it?” He didn’t waste any time setting Plan Get the Hell Out of There into motion.
“Why would I have ordered dessert without asking if you wanted it?” The pitch of Abby’s voice was a note higher than Trish had heard it all night, magnifying her fairy-like impression. Now, however, she seemed more like the angry Tinkerbell variety as she leveled a hot look at Cliff. “I’d never assume your preferences without talking to you about it first.”
Trish flicked her eyes toward James. His lips drew tight and his eyebrows arched in an expression that very clearly said, Wuh oh. Trish suddenly wondered what the two of them had been talking about while left alone at the table. She turned her attention back to Cliff to watch him stammer.
“I…uh…appreciate that. So, then, we’re good?” His hand shot into the air, flagging down the waiter.
“I was better fifteen minutes ago when I thought you were actually interested in me,” Abby said.
His hand stayed awkwardly suspended, but his fingers stopped moving. “I am.”
“More like interested in whoring me out to your lesbian friend so you can get a piece of James’ ass.”
The waiter approached, his eyes drifting to Cliff’s elevated hand. Cliff glanced up and slowly lowered his arm as the waiter asked, “Would you like to see the dessert menu?”
“No. Just the check, please,” Cliff said, a note of desperation in his voice. While the waiter flipped through the papers at his waist, Cliff shot a burning scowl at Trish.
James blocked her from the heat w
hen he reached between them to snatch the bill. “I’ve got this,” he said.
What little color Cliff had in his face drained, and his eyes went straight to the table.
“It’s my way to apologize for speaking out of turn,” James explained when the waiter left. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t yet told Abby of your intentions.”
Oh, James, Trish thought as she watched him. He was so kind, so diplomatic, so damn freaking sexy as he took charge to diffuse the situation. She knew she needed to stop him before he said something that would make him feel foolish later. But she had nothin’.
“Listen,” he continued, “I know a great little club just up the street. We can grab a cozy booth there and have a laugh about all of this.”
Trish dared a glance at Cliff, who looked very much as if he was in danger of never laughing again. She opened her mouth to say something, but again—nothing.
“My intentions,” Cliff said slowly, “were to go on a date with Abby.” He lifted his eyes to James and shifted in his seat to throw a stiff arm around the confused girl next to him.
The wrinkles on Abby’s scrunched forehead smoothed and her mouth melted into a soft, satisfied grin. She turned sheepish eyes up to Cliff. He pulled her a little closer, smiling down at her.
While those two exchanged a tender moment, James snapped his face toward Trish. “You set me up with a straight guy?”
“Sorry,” Trish said. Every tensed muscle in her face backed up her sincerity. “I honestly thought he was on your side of the fence.”
James shook his head, giving her a pitying smirk. “Trisha, Trisha, Trisha.”
“Hey! You thought he was, too,” Trish argued.
“Mmm…that’s not quite true,” James said. “I wanted to believe he was, so I let some things slide. But he definitely has straight guy tells.”
“Like what?” Cliff asked, breaking into the conversation. His tone carried a hint of challenge.
Trish snickered. “Why do you sound offended, Cliffy?”
“I’m not offended. I…” He gave his hand a nonchalant wave, looking at James. “I’m curious, is all. What were my tells?”