by Nella Tyler
But that wasn’t possible. I pushed my shoulders back and walked towards the entrance where I’d agreed to meet Zeke for our date. After a moment, he appeared, and I was almost certain that my heart was going to pound its way right out of my ribcage. “Hey, Zeke,” I said, forcing myself to smile as casually as possible.
“Good to see you again, Natalie,” he said, moving closer. He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and I felt my body go stiff with the sudden fear that he was going to go for my lips instead—and that I wouldn’t have the moral courage to prevent him from doing it. “Something wrong?” He straightened, looking down at me with concern on his face.
“I just…think…we need to discuss what happened between us,” I said, taking another deep breath as surreptitiously as possible.
“Oh—oh, yeah, we definitely do,” he agreed, nodding. He looked around and spotted a bench. “Do you want to sit down and talk about that before we head in?” He seemed so reasonable, so pleasant; I have to admit that it threw me for a moment.
“Okay,” I agreed, walking with him towards the empty bench. I swallowed against the tight, dry feeling in my throat and tried to compose my thoughts. I’d planned for every contingency except Zeke being completely upfront and polite about the situation between us. That had been my mistake. “I can’t invite you over anymore, and we can’t…” I glanced up, trying to gauge his reaction. “We can’t kiss, or have sex, or do anything like that again.” Zeke held my gaze for a moment before nodding.
“I’m moving forward in the program, and I’m going to be starting to actually date,” he said, nodding again. “We need to keep things between us professional.”
“Exactly,” I said, for a minute more than a little flustered. Was it… Surely it isn’t that he thinks I’m bad in bed or something? I should have been happy that he was being so cooperative, but the fact that he didn’t even put up a fight about no longer kissing or having sex gave me a moment of self-doubt that I couldn’t quite move past. “The most important aspect of this for me is that I really do need to keep my job,” I said, smiling again nervously. “And if Katie finds out about what we’ve done…”
Zeke grinned. “I assume she’d probably throw both of us out of the agency for it. You for breaking professional rules, and me for…” he stopped short. “Violating a boundary with one of her coaches. Not a good sign, I’d think.”
“Well,” I said, feeling my cheeks burning. “I don’t know for sure that she’d throw you out just like that, but she would definitely fire me.” I laughed, kind of forcing it, but I didn’t know what else to do.
“I wouldn’t want to see you fired over something that I can just as easily not do,” he said, smiling at me slightly. “So, now that we have that out of the way: laser tag?” I laughed a little more genuinely and nodded, standing up from the bench.
I still felt nervous somehow, with my skin tingling and my heart beating faster in my chest, but as Zeke led the way to the ticket counter, I could at least find it in me to be pleased at the fact that he hadn’t lived up to my worst nightmares about what our conversation could go like. He was being professional and polite—which I really should have expected of him, considering that my first criticisms were that he was too businesslike in his interactions.
We picked up our passes and went into the building, finding the outfitting station. For the first several rounds, we put ourselves on the same team together, and darted around in the black light darkness, shooting at the members of the other team, crouching under and behind the different obstacles, laughing and shouting with everyone else. I started to relax more and more as we went in together again and again, and then as we waited our turn for another room in the laser tag complex, or grabbed a quick bite to eat and a beer for our break. The place didn’t really have much in the way of food—chicken strips, some burgers, hotdogs and fries—but we scarfed down our meals and took the opportunity to wander around the smaller arcade part of the building for a few minutes while we let it all settle in our stomachs.
“What do you say we go on separate teams when we go back in?” I raised an eyebrow at Zeke in challenge, grinning up at him. Things couldn’t be the way that they had been before we’d ever kissed or had sex, but I thought they could almost—maybe—be better, with our deeper understanding of where each of us was coming from.
“Oh—I see how it is. You think you can take me?” I nodded.
“I absolutely do,” I told him. “I think I can take you out in five minutes flat.”
Zeke laughed. “I’ll see if I can pay someone to close down one of the smaller rooms for us later on, and we’ll go one-on-one.”
“Why don’t we just stick to being on different teams for now?” I strapped on the equipment again and grabbed the gun I’d put aside when we’d decided to eat, and grinned up at Zeke. “Then if you’re feeling ambitious, we can discuss getting a private room to ourselves.”
“Deal,” he said, looking at me with challenge in his eyes. We went into the laser tag section together and found a group that one of the employees was splitting up into teams. Zeke took one side, and I went to the other, grinning to myself.
“I’ve got the big blond,” I told the woman, who told me she and her friends were at the place for their bachelorette party. “I need to prove a point.”
We went four rounds with different teams, picking different sides each time. The first time, I got the drop on Zeke and tagged him out within three minutes of the round. The second time we went in, he managed to sneak up on me, letting his teammates pick out their friends on my side, while he devoted himself to dodging my team’s fire and getting to me while I was besieged. The third time we managed—somehow—to shoot each other at exactly the same instant, and we were both out of the game at the same time. “Okay, this one is the tie-breaker,” Zeke said, while we waited in line again. “If you win it, then we can grab another beer and relax and call the date done.”
“If you get me out?” I crossed my arms over the sensor covering my chest.
“Then we get a private room and see who’s really the best, when there isn’t anyone else to interfere,” he told me matter-of-factly. I considered it; I was starting to get tired from the running around, but I thought I might have a couple more rounds in me.
“Deal,” I said, extending my hand to shake. Zeke’s fingers closed around mine and I felt that hot jolt through my body—that feeling that I’d felt every time I’d come into contact with his body. I pushed it aside, reminding myself that we had both agreed to keep things strictly professional and platonic, and pumped his hand twice before letting go.
We plunged into the darkness with our teams, and I immediately found the best hiding spot I could get to without being tagged out by one of the members of the other team. I tried to spot Zeke, but it was impossible in the darkness. I shot at anyone whose vest was red instead of the blue my team’s vests showed, not really caring who I was tagging out—except that I wanted to make sure to get Zeke.
I had to dart out of my hiding spot at one point, and I heard Zeke’s voice off to the side of me, a few yards away. I shot in that direction and hoped for the best, knowing it would be next to impossible to find him again until the crowd thinned a little bit. All at once, my vest lit up—someone had hit me. “Shit!” I went off to the sidelines to wait for the round to be over, fuming to myself. I wasn’t sure who it had been—and as soon as I saw Zeke, walking towards the benches in the “time out” area at the same time as me, I smirked.
“You didn’t get me out,” Zeke said to me tartly.
“And you didn’t get me out, either,” I pointed out. He laughed.
“Call it even, then?” I nodded. I was panting from running around so much, and my thighs were starting to ache from crouching, jumping, and tumbling around. We waited for the round to end and turned in our gear to head over to the bar on the other end of the facility.
We chatted for a little while longer before I realized I only had about fifteen minutes before Bra
dy’s sitter would need to go home. As I gave Zeke a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried out of the laser tag arcade, I hoped against hope that it was a sign of good things to come: we’d go back at least mostly to the way things had been before and I could keep my job and my conscience intact.
Chapter Twenty Four
Zeke
Two days after my date with Natalie to laser tag, I decided to go out to dinner by myself rather than staying in; I felt restless, anxious for my date to come and irritable from impatience. I went to one of my go-to restaurants, Mise en Place, a little bit before the dinner rush was set to start.
“Good evening, Mr. Baxter,” the hostess said, smiling at me.
“Have you got a table open? I’m alone this evening—I will take anything.”
“You’re right on time; we have a two-top that’s available and unreserved,” the cute, young brunette told me. She grabbed a menu and led me through the dining room. Glancing around, I saw that I wasn’t the only one that had had the idea of coming in before the rush—there were a few married couples, who I assumed probably had kids they needed to go home to early, and a few elderly couples and groups at the tables. The hostess stopped at a two-seat table and pulled out one of the chairs for me and I sat down, continuing to look around me for a few more moments.
My gaze landed on a table along the same wall where I’d been seated, and I stared in shock at the sight of Natalie, seated opposite a tall, middle-aged man in a suit. She had her hair pulled back into the trademark bun I usually saw it in, and she was wearing a blazer and blouse. Immediately, watching her, I felt jealous. Who was that man she was with? Balding…the suit doesn’t fit that well on him…he’s not nearly good enough for her. In the quiet of the dining room, I barely caught the sound of Natalie’s voice saying, “I’m glad you were able to meet with me so soon, Mr. Giles…” Oh. I could have slapped myself—of course, Natalie was meeting with a client. I took a deep breath, turning my attention once more onto the menu. I had come to the restaurant to eat. I had no claim on Natalie, and even if I had, she was on a professional date, a first meeting—or so I assumed—with a new client.
The waiter came and I tore my attention away from Natalie and her client long enough to figure out what I wanted to order: pan-fried trout with roasted potatoes and sautéed green beans, with a mixed vegetable salad to start, and a glass of wine to go with it all. The waiter left the table, and I tried to occupy myself with my phone, but I couldn’t help glancing at Natalie every few moments, wondering how she was doing.
As her date with her new client went on, I could tell it wasn’t going nearly as well as my first meeting had been. She was seated just far enough away that I couldn’t hear most of what was happening, but I caught the sight of frustration on her face, along with a few expressions that looked pretty dismayed. I started to wonder if I shouldn’t intervene, but for all I knew, the guy she was coaching, her new client, was just saying some particularly terrible things about women in general.
My salad and wine came and I tried to make myself mind my own business. I doubted that Natalie would want me to interfere with her work—even if it didn’t seem like a very pleasant meeting for her. She told you she’s used to handling clients, and she’s been doing it for months now—I’m sure she’s figured out ways to deal with even irritating or terrible people. I couldn’t help glancing her way as I heard her date’s voice beginning to rise over the muted murmur of the dining room though. I caught a fragment of a sentence from him here and there: “…it’s not like you have any authority over me…” “…You’re just someone the agency hired…” “We both know that you’re just…”
I glanced at Natalie’s face—she was looking more and more upset the longer the date went on, and I was starting to get angry for her sake. It was pretty obvious to me why the man she was meeting with would need a matchmaker to find a girlfriend or wife: I couldn’t imagine anyone who would treat someone who was supposed to be helping him so poorly would have much luck with women in general. How many of her clients are assholes like this guy?
In spite of how hard I could tell Natalie was working to maintain her composure, as the date continued, and her client started to get louder, I started to hear her speaking to him as she pitched her voice to be heard over his ranting. “Mr. Giles, I need to insist that you remain professional right now…” “Then yes, I will absolutely be making a report about your current inability to work with a coach…” “I would really rather we came to an accord in terms of how we’re going to proceed, but if you insist…”
My main dish came, but even though it smelled amazing, I couldn’t quite make myself eat it. I was too wrapped up in the unfolding drama of Natalie’s date with her new client. It seemed impossible to me that she should—or would—put up with the kind of comments I could hear him making. If it had been me in her shoes, I was sure I would have already left the restaurant, but somehow she managed to mostly keep her composure and keep going through the date. The rest of the dining room started to get quieter and quieter as the man that Natalie was with became more and more obstreperous.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Baxter?” I looked away from the couple a few tables down and glanced at the waiter.
“Isn’t there something you can do about the man at that table?” I nodded in the direction of Natalie and her client.
“I think one of the waiters has asked him to keep his voice down, but unfortunately…” The waiter shrugged, indicating his helplessness. “He’s an investor in this restaurant, so he’s a little more difficult to kick out than the average customer.” My stomach twisted with disgust at the sight of the man.
“Since I’ve paid for you, you might as well come home with me,” the man said. My heart beat faster in my chest at the loudly spoken words.
“Excuse me?” Any pretense that Natalie had shown of being calm and collected evaporated. “I think you have a really, really mistaken idea of the services that my agency provides.”
“I’m not mistaken,” the man said, and I could hear the sneer in his voice. “Don’t worry, sweetie—I’ll pay you a generous tip.”
“You won’t, because that’s not what this is about,” Natalie said firmly. I couldn’t help but smile slightly at the strident tone of her voice. “Not only am I not going home with you—now or ever—but I am going to contact the agency right now and make sure that you’re barred from our services, as well as the services of any other agency in the state and as many of the other agencies in the country as we can reach out to.”
“You bitch!” I saw the man stand up, towering over her. “You wouldn’t dare, you fucking whore.”
“This meeting is over,” she said, standing up herself. “I’m calling the agency as soon as I walk out of the door.” She started to move away from the table, and the man grabbed her.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I heard him say, cocking a fist. The sight of it made my blood boil, and before I knew it, I was on my feet, as well. I barely had time to watch as the client started punching and kicking at Natalie, throwing her onto the table, screaming and shouting obscenities about her being a slut and a whore and good for nothing but a cheap, easy lay.
In an instant, I was at the table. I grabbed the man’s hand and pulled it around to his back, using the leverage to shove him away from Natalie. I threw him against the chair he’d gotten out of and held him there while I looked around—everything had turned to chaos. The Maître d’ appeared out of nowhere and hurried over to where I stood. “Okay, asshole,” I told Natalie’s client. “You’re done. If the management here won’t call the cops, I will.”
“My deepest apologies,” the Maître d’ began, looking as if he’d swallowed a few dozen thumbtacks. “We’re calling the police right now, sir.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll restrain this…” I shook my head. “Person, until they arrive. I don’t want him to attempt an escape.”
“That would be very kind of you, Mr. Baxter,” the Maître d’ said, nodding enthusia
stically. “I apologize again that your evening has been interrupted.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” I told the man, irritated. “There’s a woman a few feet away from me who’s probably had a much harder time of it than I have right now.” I looked over to where Natalie had fallen onto the floor. She was conscious, but I could see the bruises beginning to form on her face, some blood spotting the tablecloth, the carpet, and her clothes.
“Of course!” The Maître d’ looked around and the hostess came over as if on cue, kneeling down next to Natalie and beginning to quietly ask how injured she was, whether she would need an ambulance, all of the standard questions. The client I’d manhandled began to struggle underneath me, and I had to focus on him, keeping him pinned against the chair, arm held against his back so he wouldn’t be able to get away from me without dislocating his shoulder.
It seemed to take an hour for the police to arrive, but I found out later it was only fifteen minutes. They hurried into the restaurant, and I let the man go as soon as they told me I could. I knelt down on the floor next to Natalie, who looked dazed and injured, but not seriously. “How are you?”
“I didn’t even notice you come in,” Natalie said, smiling and then wincing at the pain from a split lip. “God, I hope they actually charge him with something.”
“I am going to raise so much hell that they’ll charge him with whatever they possibly can,” I told her. One of the clients I had worked with in the past had helped to organize the annual Police Ball, and through that client, I had managed to forge a few relationships within the Union, as well as an acquaintance with the District Attorney. I made a mental list of people I needed to call, and told myself to take care of it as soon as I left the restaurant.