Play by the Rules

by Frey Ortega

  Camille nodded. “Or spend time with you this past week to get you ready for your big date?”

  I sat there wondering what exactly to say. I didn’t have any words. Was there anything to say? What could I come up with that could tell them that they were wrong, when even I knew they were right?

  I was afraid. Hell, I had been afraid since telling them about the tryst Joe and I shared. I was content with knowing that my time with Joe Kaminski was just a fond memory I was going to share with my nieces and nephews when they figured out that cool uncle Emmett was a handsome, debonair homosexual who had probably regained his virginity from years of inactivity.

  Or maybe I was just deflecting with humor, like I always did.

  It was certainly easier.

  “It sounds a little bit like you’re all ganging up on me,” I replied, and I couldn’t help but notice the whiny way I said those words. I spoke so softly, and felt so raw and emotional at that particular moment. I couldn’t really say that I was hurt, because what they were saying resonated with me in some way.

  Joe scared me. The prospect of having to be so vulnerable—just another word for weak—was scary. And yet when I spent time with Joe yesterday, aside from that one moment near the end of the date when he told me something so trite as to trigger some form of alarm inside me, I felt better about myself than I had in a long, long time.

  Dating was hard. But then again, so was life, and I was doing so well with my life so far even though I was only twenty-five.

  Why was this different? Why did it trigger more alarms in me than, say, the prospect of being so poor as to not have anything to eat tomorrow?

  “You can certainly think of it that way, although we prefer to think that we’re trying to show you how silly you’re being at this moment. We all care about you enough to spend so much of our time trying to get you to see what you’ve been doing to yourself,” Talia said. “Isn’t it interesting how your only male friends are ones from your childhood? And how you’ve surrounded yourself with women?”

  “It’s probably because you don’t feel threatened by us,” Ysa said. “There’s no fear of falling in love, taking a chance, and being rejected.”

  I went back to tapping away at the document I was looking at, unable to look at my friends in the eye. Well, I couldn’t quite look at them on the screen while I processed everything.

  Taking a deep breath and clicking save, I looked back at the window to see Ysa eating a sandwich, Camille sipping on her coffee, and Talia filing her nails down, waiting for me to speak. It’s like they just knew me. Which, I mean, given how long we’d been friends, I knew on some level that they understood how I operated.

  “What do I do, then?” I asked, trying to make sense of everything.

  Talia leaned forward, looking straight into the camera, and in effect, right at Emmett. “That depends on you, Emmett. No one can tell you what to do. But if it’s just advice you’re looking to glean from us, the obvious question to ask would be this: do you actually like Joe?”

  “Yes,” I said. No questions asked. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, and I was beginning to realize that more and more each day. He had a tendency to put his foot in his mouth—or maybe I was just overly sensitive—but he was also a good guy. Probably a bit on the simple side, but that wasn’t an insult or a comment on his intelligence. He was probably the type of guy who didn’t have many complications, who said what he meant and meant what he said.

  Joe was a guy with desires that I could probably meet, and if he wanted something, he seemed to be the type to say it verbally instead of keeping it to himself. All of that added up to him being simple. He was…uncomplicated. Maybe that was just how I saw him.

  One date, one kiss, and one interview—as well as a week of reading up on information of him—did not a full picture of his person make. He could have been a totally different person from my first impression of him.

  How would I know, unless I actually took the chance to get to know him?

  “Do you see the possibility of something more happening with him?” Talia asked. I appreciated that she didn’t say future. It wasn’t like I could answer that at this very moment in time, after all.

  But, surprisingly, a small part of me did think that it was possible.

  “Yeah,” I replied. This time, I wasn’t so sure, but I wanted it to be true.

  “Then stop overthinking it. Stop trying to get out of it. Just go out there and have the experience. If it works out, then great! If it doesn’t, then it’s not any time wasted. At least you had a good life experience.”

  I offered a little smile and a sigh. I knew my friends were trying to be tough, but fair with me. I needed it. I needed the pep talk—in a sea of hundreds of these pep talks—and I was thankful their candor, even if I didn’t quite like the rawness of the subject matter.

  “I do just want to say that this isn’t some romantic comedy where I’m just going to do a complete 180 of my personality because you’ve all been helping me,” I said. “I do appreciate everything you’ve all said, though. I just…I don’t know if I can do this. If I can trust him.”

  “We’re not asking you for a total change, dear,” Talia said. “But you have to realize that if you don’t trust him, then there is no relationship. So at this point, after answering those questions, you have one big one to answer for yourself. Cutting past all of the bullshit, do you really want something with Joe? If you do, are you going to let your fear of the unknown stop you from figuring out if this guy could actually make you happy?”

  “But what about when he says something like that to me again?” I asked. “I can’t help that I get…doubts, sometimes.”

  “Then talk to him about it. Don’t be confrontational, try to be conversational and tell him about how you feel about those words. Try to get to know him. Do things normal people do!” Camille said.

  “Everyone has doubts,” Ysa added in. “You can’t always let them dictate your actions.”

  “And stop listening to that voice inside your head that’s always trying to ruin everything for you,” Camille said, the exasperation clear in her voice. “You have an inner saboteur, and you need to curb it.”

  “On a less serious note, can I ask you something, Emmett?” Talia leaned forward, raising her eyebrow. I looked up at the screen and blinked.

  I blinked. “What is it?”

  Talia smirked. “Does it ever get tiring for you to keep hearing us give you a pep talk? Because darling, I’ve known you for a couple of years now, and there’s never a week where you haven’t been anxious or obsessed about something. I just want to know if maybe, just maybe, you’re aware that sometimes we just rehash old advice and throw it at you over and over.”

  I grinned. “That’s rich coming from the woman whose relationship troubles have kept us up over the past couple of years while you drank your sorrows away. You know I love you all, and I also think that the advice you give me is something I already know. It’s just nice to hear it from other people and be reminded.”

  “Don’t you sass me, Yang. I know your secrets.”

  We all shared a laugh, and one by one, my friends dropped the call until I sat there, looking at my screen. A little message popped up, from Camille.

  You can do this. It seems hard now, but when you’re there and you know for sure that he’s the one for you, you’ll be laughing at this moment in the future.

  And I smiled, more reassured than I have ever been.

  I could do this. I didn’t need to do a 180. I just needed to stop listening to that voice telling me that the other shoe is just about to drop.

  All I needed to do was listen to that voice inside me that told me the kiss was real, that he wasn’t making fun of me, that he actually just wanted me for who I was.

  I wouldn’t be able to stop it completely, but maybe, just maybe, I could stop letting it get to me as much as it does.

  That’s about the best I could hope for.

  Chapter Thirteen

&nbs
p; It hadn’t been two days since our date when Joe suddenly called me asking if I wanted to go out somewhere that same night. Instead of telling him no, I was busy—which I was, because I was just about to put the finishing touches on his article—I told him we could maybe have a night in at my apartment.

  The immediate reaction made me grin, but I wouldn’t admit that.

  “You’re inviting me over already?” he said, always so full of confidence. His voice was almost saucy, and I could hear the smile tinging his voice. There was the sound of the outside world, the honking of car horns, and a throng of people passing him by. He was probably towering over people while he walked down the street as he talked to me. “I thought you wanted to take it slow.”

  “Well, first of all, calm down. We’re still taking it slow,” I said, trying to contain my laughter. I leaned back against my desk chair and rubbed my eyes. “Second of all, it’s just a night in. We can stream something, watch a movie or binge a season of good TV, and maybe I can cook for you. If it ends up being too late for you to go home, you can stay with me. But like, no inappropriate touching. We’re being strictly PG-13.”

  “PG-13 for the evening—so I can kiss you, then?” he asked.

  I visibly blushed. Not that he could see that. “I mean…yeah. If you want to.”

  “I do,” Joe said. “But only if you want to, too.”

  That was nice. He was trying to tell me he only wanted to do things with me if it was consensual. That at least earned him some points in the invisible tally I ran in my head that I was trying so hard to slap away.

  I figured if I wanted to give him a chance to really know who I am and see if we were actually as compatible as we were when we went outside, I’d have to be completely comfortable. And I was most comfortable in my little sanctuary away from the world. Hell, maybe he had more than a snowball’s chance in hell now if I were actually feeling like myself instead of having to impress anyone other than him tonight.

  I didn’t invite many people over often, but it wasn’t like it was closed from everyone. I just rather invite people in than go out. Maybe it was a comfort and control thing, or maybe it was just because I spent so much time making this small apartment a part of who I was. Either way, I didn’t care about it right this very moment.

  I needed to seize the day, stop letting my inner saboteur win, and give this thing with Joe a fighting chance.

  My friends’ words rang through my head. Sometimes, we all needed to take a leap of faith. And I needed to quiet that voice in my head that told me all about what was wrong with Joe. There would always be something wrong, especially if I listened to that voice inside of me. I would always notice something imperfect, and instead of accepting it, I’d obsess over it. And sure, I might not completely lose that part of me—it’s as ingrained to my personality as my self-deprecation and inability to do math—but I can at least tone it down as much as I can so that I can get to know Joe better.

  And besides, this would be totally different if I was asking a different person out, right? This was someone who was handsome, good at their job, had some form of financial stability, and actually liked me. By all accounts, if I told a stranger about this situation, I bet I’d get a slap to the face for acting like such an idiot. This wasn’t even factoring the fame thing, and the whole lack-of-self-worth thing that people keep telling me I have, but I have trouble refuting.

  Mostly because I thought it was true, but still.

  “Either way, come over,” I said, completely bypassing the moment out of sheer awkwardness. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

  “Right. Where is “there” exactly?” he asked.

  I immediately gave him my address, telling him how to get to my apartment. As I did it, I hoped to my gut that I didn’t just completely make a fool of myself for not quite answering him in a tender response to what he had just said.

  “A lowkey night in, then?” He asked rhetorically. I was almost tempted to respond in my usual, sarcastic manner, but he stopped me by continuing.

  That, and I didn’t want to be a bitch to the guy who wanted to actually spend time with me.

  Joe continued, and I could almost hear the smile in his voice. “That sounds good with me. Besides, you told me I had kissing privileges. I can tide myself over with that. Do you want me to bring something? Wine or champagne, perhaps?”

  “I’ve always been impartial to something bubbly,” I said. “Is pasta alright with you?”

  “That sounds good,” he replied. “See you tonight, then. I’ll be there at seven.”

  I didn’t want to tell him that it seemed a little late to be coming over at seven, but I figured it would just have shown him how nitpicky I was. A little concession needed to be made.

  “Sure,” I answered back. “See you at seven tonight.”

  Click.

  The reaction in my body was instantaneous. I stood up immediately and started to clean and fix everything in my apartment in a frenzy of activity. It was only after the conversation that I’d realized I invited Joe over to my home—and though I didn’t want to clean too obsessively, I did need to at least sweep the floors and put the dirty dishes away.

  God, I couldn’t let him think I was some kind of slob.

  Then there was dinner. I offered pasta, but did I have the groceries I needed to make a good pot of it? Would he think it was something I just slapped together? Pasta is one of those dishes you could cook in like, under an hour, if you were pressed…

  What if I cooked something more Asian? Would that be racist? I mean, not to him, but to myself.

  It was at that point that I realized I was overthinking it. Pasta was good. Cleaning up is great. Don’t forget to bathe, and I had to make sure to tell my friends not to drop by because I was having a date tonight. A quick message to our group conversation should do the trick!

  I went straight to my desktop and started tapping away at the keyboard. Hey guys and gals, I have a date with Joe tonight at the apartment. No unsolicited visitors for the evening, please.

  And then a couple of emojis…and done.

  I took stock of what was left in my fridge and my little closet pantry, and sighed in relief at the fact that I still had enough to do something nice for this evening. I didn’t really want to waste time by going outside and getting sidetracked because I spent too much time in the supermarket.

  Which was something that could definitely happen given the fact that I was a terrible, terrible person who spent too much if given enough financial freedom.

  Also, I probably needed to douche. That was something that needed to happen, right? I had to clean myself out just in case something was going to happen tonight. I couldn’t just assume these things. I mean, I assumed that because someone’s semen tasted fine they were probably not sick, and I found out that they could have the most delicious tasting load in the world but it could also be a disease-ridden void. Did I have a douche just for this moment? Would a turkey baster work?

  Oh God. There’s shaving, too! Did I need to shave my butt? My pubes? Holy shit. I’m not ready to have coitus. Maybe I needed to cancel.

  No, calm down, Emmett. You can do this. If tonight’s the night you’re going to get fucked, you just have to be ready for it. You have condoms—wait, maybe those are expired. Shit, it’s not like you’re going to get pregnant anyway—and you’re ready to take Joe Kaminski on.

  Joe was coming. And he could probably be coming tonight, too. I mentally did a wink-wink-nudge-nudge. If you know what I mean.

  This was not the time for silly puns and double entendre!

  I was definitely not ready. I knew I said we were going to keep it PG-13, but let’s face it: I was inviting a guy who admitted he liked me over to my house for a dinner date, to stream TV shows or watch a movie. If it didn’t at least end up with some under-the-clothes action, it was going to be a lame date.

  I could feel the nausea kicking in and the bile begin to rise in my throat, ready to eject in a wave of Exorcist-like
pea soup proportions. My body was telling me I was rushing into this foolishly. I was like a country invading Russia in the winter.

  It would be no surprise if I was dead before dawn. Or at least, if Joe decided never to see me again because I accidentally pooped on his dick, or something equally as upsetting. Maybe something with vomit?

  Oh God. My belief in you is questionable at best, but if you do exist, I hope you are as kind and merciful and not at all vindictive like those Christian fundamentalists say you are—

  The soft sound of notifications on my desktop rang me out of my anxiety spiral. I opened my eyes and immediately went to take a look at my computer, and as I read the message on there, I heaved a sigh of relief. It was Rye.

  We’re going to leave you a care package at your doorstep in a little while, then. I’m sure you forgot some stuff. Condoms, maybe some sanitation products, and maybe a new razor for shaving just in case. Also, some other things. You’ll know when you see. Xoxo

  God, my friends were the best.

  Now that my emotions were in check and I was no longer harangued by the immediacy of my date with Joe, I could focus on the things I needed to do. There was showering, shaving my face, and prepping the ingredients for our dinner. There was the clean-up, which still needed to be finished, and a bunch of other things that I could do easily. I started with the clean-up, because if I was going to be a sweaty mess anyway, at least I could clean it off later.

  There was a knock on my door somewhere in between me sweeping the floor and vacuuming the couch, but when I opened the door and looked out, it was only Rye giving a little wave and a salute as he walked off toward the elevator. I looked down and saw the little care package they sent me. The first thing that caught my eye was the giant squeeze bottle of lube just peeking out of the brown paper bag.

  Well, they did say they were going to give me some other things, and not just the bare essentials.