The Dating Game

by Avril Tremayne

  She kept telling herself that as she made her way over to Lane and Erica—but with each step the questions raced at her faster and faster. What had Erica told Lane? Whatever she’d told her, wouldn’t it be better for Lane hear it from Sarah herself? Was it prophetic that Lane had chosen a Wednesday for this first meeting? Did Lane know what Sarah had spent the past five Wednesday nights doing and with whom? If she didn’t know, wasn’t it time she did? Should Sarah go further, and subtly prepare Lane for the sexual bonanza that was about to come her way by hinting that David had talked about her? How could she bring Adam into the conversation? How could she subtly encourage Lane had to please, please, please take Adam back?

  Erica, looking as though she had not a care in the world, greeted her with ‘You’re late, Sarah,’ and pushed a full glass across the table to her.

  ‘Sorry. I just had … had to … er …’ have a meltdown in the bathroom at work ‘… sort something out.’ She hitched herself onto her stool and battled the urge to vomit. ‘Because I … I have news, actually.’

  ‘Me too,’ Lane said—and the unleashed excitement in her voice was a first for Lane, who was never less than calm.

  Sarah looked from Lane to Erica (who had a distinct air of cat-swallowing-the-canary about her) and back. Well, she was enough of a coward to welcome a reprieve. ‘Then by all means, Lane, you go first.’

  ‘Your brother is in love with me,’ Lane said, and positively beamed—another first; Lane only ever smiled slightly.

  ‘I don’t think that’s exactly news,’ Sarah said cautiously. ‘News would be— Oh!’ As she got it. ‘Ohhh! Oooohhhh!’

  ‘Yes!’ Lane said, beaming even more broadly. ‘I’m in love with him too!’

  Sarah stumbled off her stool so fast her cocktail was only saved by the prescient action of Erica, who grabbed it before it could topple. She raced around to hug Lane, then hug Erica, then hug them both together. ‘Why am I only finding out about this now?’ she demanded.

  Lane ran a hand over her ponytail to check that the hug hadn’t disturbed it unduly—a quintessential Lane action. ‘I only got back from China on Monday night.’

  ‘Yes, two whole nights ago!’

  ‘I wanted to tell you in person. That’s why I didn’t tell you on the phone. I wouldn’t let Adam call you either.’

  Erica stood. ‘You know, it occurs to me we should be drinking champagne instead of these ghastly cocktails, so if you two can bear to be left alone …’ with a speaking look at Sarah ‘… I’ll go and ask Glory for a bottle of the cat’s piss that passes for sparkling wine in this place.’

  Without waiting for an answer, Erica was gone. Sarah returned to her seat, at a loss for what to say for once in her life. She picked up her cocktail. Sipped … put it down … ran a finger around the rim of the glass.

  ‘Sarah?’ Lane’s voice had returned to its cucumber-cool best, but she was gripping her glass so hard her knuckles had gone white. ‘Are you happy about it or … or not? Because I know you never intended this to happen between me and Adam.’

  ‘Oh, Lane, if only you knew what I—’ But Sarah stopped herself there. This was about Lane being happy, not about her guilty conscience. No spoiling the moment! ‘I’m very happy, Lane. Elated, overjoyed, ecstatic. In fact, on Monday, I all but threatened to excommunicate Adam from the Quinn family if he didn’t bring you into it.’ She reached across for Lane’s hand, held it for a moment. ‘The only thing I’m not happy about is how it all started.’

  ‘No—don’t say that. If not for you we’d never have found each other. There’d be no happy ending. I’m not even angry with DeWayne Callaghan any more, because at least he spurred me to be … someone different. And there was Adam, waiting for me.’ She smiled, glowed at Sarah. ‘And now that I know you’re happy about it, it’s completely perfect, it really is.’

  ‘How could I not be happy?’

  ‘I kept thinking about that night at the gallery when I handled things so badly. It was fear, and … and pride. I was so afraid I was going to lose Adam, but I was trying not to show it, and it seemed to me that if he met David Bennett he might—’ She broke off as Erica returned and deposited a tray loaded with the champagne in an ice bucket and three flutes on the table.

  ‘What were you saying about David?’ Erica asked as she poured the champagne—and talk about guile.

  Lane gave a bemused little laugh. ‘It’s funny, but I can’t believe I ever conceived the notion that I was ever interested in David when what I feel for Adam is so—’ Another abrupt break as Erica snort-laughed. ‘What did I say that was funny?’

  ‘I just have this feeling Sarah’s happy to hear you say that,’ Erica said, handing around the champagne flutes.

  They clinked glasses, Lane glancing from Erica to Sarah’s stricken countenance. ‘Okay,’ she said in her usual calm way, ‘can one of you please fill me in so I’m not back to being the only one who has no idea what’s going on?’

  ‘Sarah’s seeing David Bennett,’ Erica said.

  Sarah choked on the sip of champagne she’d just taken. ‘Did you have to just blurt it out?’

  Erica shrugged. ‘It’s Lane we’re talking to. You know the way her mind works. Clear, concise, just the facts.’

  Sarah turned to Lane. ‘I’m not seeing him. Not like … like that. David is … is painting my portrait to enter in the Langman Portrait Prize. That’s all there is to it.’

  Lane took an unconcerned sip of champagne. ‘I knew he was interested in art, but I didn’t know he painted.’

  ‘He asked me to pose, that night at the gallery, after you and Adam left. I didn’t tell you because … Well, I don’t know why, really.’

  ‘Because you liiike him,’ Erica put in.

  ‘No! Not because of that!’

  ‘You’re blush-ing,’ Erica sang gleefully.

  ‘It was supposed to be a very straightforward arrangement,’ Sarah said, wishing she was close enough to pinch Erica. ‘I would pose in return for … in return for …’ Oh, God. She felt the heat in her cheeks deepen. It was not going to sound straightforward.

  Erica turned to Lane. ‘In return for giving her dating advice, with the objective of breaking that curse she’s always moaning about. He was supposed to teach her how to land and keep the right guy. Which appears not to have worked—am I right, Sarah?’

  ‘Yes!’ Sarah wailed, and covered her hands with her eyes.

  ‘But I’d say the reason it hasn’t worked,’ Erica went on, ‘is because you like David.’

  ‘All right, yes!’ Sarah said, and dropped her hands. ‘I like him! I do!’ She grabbed her champagne flute, drained it, slapped it down on the table. ‘I’m sorry Lane, I’m the worst friend in the world, but I like him. A lot. And I had sex with him, too, because I simply couldn’t help myself. Just once, but I did it. And now I really am in trouble, because I can’t even think about another man, even Kyle, who’s a doctor and perfect. So there! I’m done!’

  She poured herself another glass of champagne and downed half of it. ‘Whew, I can’t tell you how good it feels to get that off my chest. I have been feeling so monumentally guilt-ridden over it.’

  Lane was frowning, ‘But why did you keep the painting a secret?’

  That was Lane’s first question? ‘Um … because you were crazy about him?’

  ‘I thought I was crazy about him,’ Lane corrected. ‘As it turned out, I wasn’t. But even if I was, why would that mean he couldn’t paint your portrait?’

  Sarah regarded Lane curiously, head on one side. ‘You wouldn’t have been jealous?’

  ‘About him painting your portrait?’

  ‘About the whole thing.’ No reaction from Lane. ‘The painting, the dating advice.’ Still no reaction. ‘I’ve been alone with him, just the two of us, every Wednesday night.’ Nope—brick wall. ‘Because I was with him, alone, when you wanted to be with him, alone.’

  Lane pursed her lips. ‘I don’t think I w
ould’ve been jealous.’

  This was taking cool-calm-collected to the extreme. ‘What about the sex?’ Sarah asked, unable to leave it as it was; she deserved to be made to feel bad about it, to drown in the shame of it.

  Lane shrugged. ‘What about it?’

  ‘Aren’t you angry with me about that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I violated the girl code. You know? The girl code?’

  ‘No, I don’t know what the girl code is.’

  ‘Um … thou shalt not covet the guy in whom thy friend is romantically interested?’

  Lane nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay, I get that. So … when did you do it?’

  ‘Three and a half weeks ago. The tenth of June. Well to be accurate it was more like three in the morning on the eleventh of June.’

  Erica laughed. ‘That’s very specific, Sarah. Must have been quite memorable.’

  Sarah wanted to both laugh and pinch her. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact it was.’

  ‘Clearly—wouldn’t you say, Lane? You’ve been having some memorable sex yourself, after all.’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Lane confirmed—absently, because she was deep in thought. ‘But … the tenth of June?’ She came back to the moment. ‘I can definitely confirm I’d lost interest in David by then, so why would I mind?’

  ‘Er … because I didn’t know you weren’t interested in him.’

  ‘It’s still the truth.’

  Sarah looked to Erica at that point. ‘Can you believe this?’

  Erica was grinning. ‘You know she’s weird like that. Analytical not emotional.’

  ‘Yeah I could do with a little “analytical” myself,’ Sarah murmured into her half-empty glass, as all her own problems rushed at her. She now had to tell David he was not allowed to hit on Lane, if he’d even listen to her on that subject, since she’d been banned from saying Lane’s name; she still had to try and head off the launch of World War III when she explained to Adam the appearance of her portrait in the Langman Prize, since for all she knew Adam was still jealous over David; and of course, there was the whole agonizing ‘farewell’ scene in a few hours’ time at David’s apartment to contend with, now their time was officially up.

  ‘Well, we’re here to help,’ Erica said. ‘Lane can provide the analysis, and I can offer you the benefit of my vast dating experience.’

  ‘Dating I can do,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve been dating like there’s no tomorrow these past few weeks.’

  ‘And yet you’re still cursed.’

  Sarah knew she should be confessing that her last break-up, with Doctor Kyle, was her own doing, and that therefore it might not be strictly correct to say she was still cursed, but she didn’t have the energy to listen to why she was stark staring mad for dumping a supremely wonderful man! So, ‘Yes, thank you, Erica, I’m still cursed,’ she said, and concentrated on sucking the last of the champagne out of her glass.

  ‘What was the breaking of the curse supposed to entail?’ Lane asked.

  ‘David was supposed to guide my …me efforts, so that I lasted three weeks and one day with a guy.’

  Lane paused in the act of raising her champagne glass to her lips. ‘Then isn’t the solution obvious?’

  Sarah looked at her because no, it wasn’t obvious to her.

  Lane lifted one shoulder. ‘Use David to break the curse.’

  Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, that’s what I was doing.’

  Lane shook her head. ‘No, I mean use David to break it. You said you can’t bear to think about another man, so don’t think about another man.’

  ‘You mean …?’ Sarah began, but nope. ‘What do you mean?’

  Another shoulder lift. ‘Clearly you and David get along well, since you’ve already been together longer than I can remember you being with anyone else—longer than three weeks and one day. Six weeks, if we use the gallery event as a starting point. And if he was supposed to break your curse as part of your arrangement and didn’t during that time, surely he remains beholden.’

  ‘We’ve been together but not together,’ Sarah said, and then winced. ‘Well, except that one time.’

  ‘So make it together again,’ Lane said—and glanced doubtfully between Sarah and Erica when they both simply sat there, speechless. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  Erica smiled and raised her glass to Lane. ‘Only to you, my darling, and that’s why I love you.’

  ‘And I love you,’ Lane said. ‘I love Sarah too.’

  ‘And Adam?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I’ve already told you I love him.’

  ‘No, I mean, what will he say?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Me and David.’

  ‘Why should he say anything?’ Lane asked.

  Words trembled on Sarah’s lips—Because of you, because of your relationship with David. But she knew the time had come to stop hiding behind that argument. Stop using that argument as an excuse to run away.

  Erica was watching her closely. ‘Do you not want David, Sarah? Because if we’re relinquishing the girl code, I wouldn’t mind going there myself.’

  And do I get Erica while I’m at it? No, you do not, David! ‘Over my dead body!’ Sarah said.

  Erica laughed. ‘So that’s a “no”?’

  ‘That’s definitely a “no”, a negative, a veto, an outright ban,’ Sarah said firmly. ‘And anyway, what about Jeremy?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Erica, uncharacteristically bland.

  Lane’s eyes popped. ‘No?’

  ‘Well … yes,’ Erica said. ‘But when I see you two girls going all gaga, I wonder if I might be missing something.’

  ‘Consuming, intense, overwhelming and ultimately annihilating,’ Sarah said.

  ‘What the hell?’ Erica said, awed.

  Sarah shrugged. ‘That’s how David described being in love with his first wife.’

  ‘First wife? How many times has he been married?’

  ‘Twice, but the second time was to a lesbian.’

  Erica laughed. ‘Holy shit!’

  Sarah grinned. ‘Pretty much.’

  Lane nodded sagely. ‘That description of love does sound about right, though.’

  Erica reached for the champagne bottle. ‘Okay, I am definitely missing out. So, let’s not let the divine David Bennett slip through our fingers. What do you think of Lane’s brilliant solution, Sarah?’

  Sarah sighed and held out her hand for the bottle. ‘Just one problem,’ she said. ‘How do I get David to agree?’

  Eric boggled at her. ‘Er … by offering him unfettered access to sex for three weeks and one day?’

  ‘But he can have sex with anyone.’

  Erica laughed. ‘Call me clairvoyant, but I have this feeling he wants to have it with you.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that.’

  ‘Oh for the love of God,’ Erica said. ‘Then let me put it this way: do you want him to have sex with “anyone”—if so, stay here drinking with us, by all means. Or do you want him to have sex with you?’

  ‘With me,’ Sarah said, and the certainty of that settled into her bones and cemented itself there. ‘I want him to have sex with me, only me.’

  ‘And yet you’re still sitting here.’

  Sarah stared at Erica. Long, long moment. And then she grabbed her bag and jumped off the bar stool. ‘Just one thing,’ she said. ‘No telling Adam! Give me time to work out how to break the news that his arch rival is his sister’s temporary lover. And it’s not like three weeks and one day is forever so maybe he’ll never have to know.’

  ‘Secrets are dangerous!’ Erica warned.

  Sarah grimaced. ‘I know, I know. And he’ll have to know something eventually because of the Langman exhibition, but not necessarily everything. And my brain’s too exhausted to worry about the details at the moment. For now—adieu, girls, I am off to take the advice I gave to Adam: I am doing the universe a favour and going to get my man.’
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br />   ‘That’s my girl,’ Erica said proudly.

  ‘If he turns me down flat, I’m going to kill you both.’

  Erica laughed. ‘Somehow I think we’ll live to see another day.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  David looked at Sarah’s half-finished portrait and felt like smacking his head into the studio wall. He’d been on an emotional roller coaster all week and he was over it, frankly.

  And then it struck him that ‘emotional roller coaster’ was a cliché Sarah Quinn would never use, and he thought maybe he should upgrade his head-smashing to aim for the window instead and do some real damage. Cliché—platitude, banality, inanity, insipidity. And bullshit, whichever way you cut it, because a roller coaster had ups and downs, and he sure as hell wasn’t having any ups. It was downs all the goddamn way.

  Down number one was the existence of the perfect Kyle. (In fact, he wanted to punch Kyle’s mother-fucking head in.)

  Number two was David’s impending sexual encounter with Lane. In his wilder moments, he’d been telling himself to scratch ‘ho-hum’ and have such incendiary sex with Lane and Erica and anyone else he could find who knew Sarah, that when reports filtered back, Sarah would be kicking herself for passing him along. But if he couldn’t actually get it up (and with the newly limp state of his stubborn penis whenever it was around other women—indicating he may need to resort to Viagra—that seemed a real possibility) he was going to be suicidal.

  Third came the prospect of getting steamrollered by Sarah’s human tank of a brother for painting a portrait so innocent in its composition, it was almost an affront. Maybe he should have bargained for a nude; that would have made the beating worthwhile—not that he needed any new images of Sarah to add to the pornographic thought jukebox in his head.

  Coming in at number four on the list was the fact that tonight was the last time he would see Sarah. A fact he couldn’t seem to make his brain accept.

  And number five was the reality of the painting itself, which by some strange mental contortionism, he couldn’t bear to look at, and yet couldn’t stop looking at. Sarah’s hypnotically blue eyes staring at him from the canvas (and how sexless was a freaking eyeball!) seemed to have the ability to make his dick leap and his pulse whoosh, whipping him into a frenzy of futile longing to have that one sexual experience over again. To do it right. Make it last. Savour it, since it would never happen again.