Misadventures with a Sexpert

by Elizabeth Hayley

  “Um, yes. Do I know you?” she asked, sounding truly confused.

  My eyes were glued to my laptop screen, but my ears were hanging on every word of their exchange.

  “It’s me. Patrick.”

  “I’m sorry”—and I had to give her credit because she actually did sound sorry—“but I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here. To meet.”

  I couldn’t resist. I sneaked a glance at them and saw a tall, thin man with a genuine smile looking down at Isla, whose face was scrunched up like she’d sucked on a lemon.

  “Have you ever known exactly where you were but still been lost?” she asked.

  I snorted, causing both of them to look my way. I tried to cover it with a cough, but I was sure it was an unsuccessful diversion.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Patrick replied.

  “Never mind. So how do we know each other?”

  “We don’t.”

  “That’s…unhelpfully vague.”

  Patrick began to reply but was interrupted by another man I hadn’t even heard come in. “Hi. You must be Isla. I’m Chase.”

  Then I gave up all pretense and began openly staring at the spectacle in front of me. Chase was smaller and more compact than Patrick, but their fair complexions were strikingly similar.

  “Hi, Chase,” Isla said, her words wary. “May I ask, why must I be Isla?”

  “Are you?” he asked.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then that’s why you have to be.” Chase looked proud of his deduction, which made him endearing. Sort of like a three-legged puppy with a permanently lolling tongue.

  “Let me rephrase,” Isla said. “How do you know my name?”

  “Your profile said it.”

  “What profile?”

  “Your dating profile.” Chase looked over at Patrick, seemingly concerned that Isla clearly had no idea who he was. “Hey, man. What’s up?” Chase extended a hand, which Patrick took after a beat and muttered his name. Then Chase pointed between the two of them. “Is this like a threesome thing? Because I’ve never done that, but I could probably get into it.”

  Patrick jerked his head back a little at that, but once he recovered, he looked at Isla with an expression that could only be described as hopeful.

  Isla stood then and put her hands out in front of her. “Let’s back up about a million steps. How did you know from my dating profile that I’d be here?”

  “Because you messaged me and told me to meet you here. I know I’m early, but I was in the neighborhood.”

  Isla’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make any… Oh for fuck’s sake, Olivia.”

  Both men whirled around as if to look for someone named Olivia popping up behind them. They then slowly panned back toward her as if they’d just been informed she’d recently escaped from Arkham Asylum.

  “Sorry. That’s my sister. I talked to her earlier and…that doesn’t matter. Anyway, she created my profile, and I never changed the password. It was probably she who messaged you because she’s a meddling brat. It’s the only thing that seems plausible. I’m so sorry.”

  Both men looked baffled, like she’d spoken to them in Arabic.

  “So is Olivia coming or…?” Patrick asked.

  It was Isla’s turn to look like she was speaking to a moron. “No. She made the dates with you on my behalf. But she didn’t bother telling me about it, so I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Does that mean a threesome is on or off the table?” Chase asked, God bless him.

  “It’s off the table. Like, far off,” Isla replied.

  “Bummer.” Chase pushed his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans and looked at Patrick. “So where do we go from here?”

  “I think we all go home,” Isla supplied. Chase’s face perked up, so she hurriedly added, “To our own homes. Alone.”

  He deflated again and rocked on his heels.

  Patrick took that as his cue to speak up. “Can we set up another time to get together with you?”

  My ears caught on the use of “we,” and it seemed Isla’s did too.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.

  Patrick shrugged and turned to Chase. “There’s a bar down the block. Want to go try our luck there?”

  Chase’s smile was so wide, it nearly spanned the entire lower half of his face. “Hell yeah.”

  Patrick smiled at his new best threesome buddy, and after both of them said quick goodbyes to Isla, they took off for the door.

  Isla continued to stand as she stared after them. “That was the weirdest experience of my entire life.”

  I thought she meant it to be to herself, so I didn’t respond. I pretended to type as she gathered her things and headed for the door, only making a slight detour to throw away her cup.

  I watched her leave, intrigued by what else Isla might be up to in the coming weeks. One thing was for certain. I was sure as hell going to be at the coffee shop next Wednesday.

  Chapter Three

  GRAYSON

  “Hawkins.”

  I spun in my swivel chair, thinking he’d at least used my complete last name this time, though the fact that he never called anyone by their first names made me wonder if he was doing it intentionally as a way of indirectly stripping us of our identities. Or maybe he was just bitter that his first name sounded like a last name and vice versa.

  I expected to see Ellis Thomas stretching his tiny body to the corners of his office door as he yelled at me from across the room. He did this kind of thing often—putting himself into abnormal and sometimes unprofessional poses in an attempt to appear larger than the speck of a man he was. He stood at least a foot shorter than my six-four frame, and the suits he wore made him look like a toddler sporting his older brother’s hand-me-downs before they fully fit him.

  The last few weeks, Mr. Thomas had taken a liking to sitting on employees’ desks and hovering above them awkwardly while he grilled them about their current projects or rambled about how the internet is to blame for the paper’s steady decline in readers. When I saw the man coming toward my desk, I prayed his ass didn’t end up on top of the area I’d recently Clorox-wiped for that exact reason.

  “Did you get the email I sent?”

  “What email are you referring to?” The guy sent more emails than a spammer, and most of them were even less relevant. Someone needed to tell him that no one had a cure for his dog’s allergy to Greek yogurt, but that would involve replying, and no one was ever willing to do that.

  “The email I just sent,” he said with a shake of his head. And then to the room, “Aren’t you Millennials like glued to electronic devices? Maybe if you’d stop Snapchatting pictures of your lunch, you’d get a little more work done.”

  “What’s a Millennial?” Curtis whispered to someone I couldn’t see from my vantage point. Curtis was about as old as the building itself, which to my knowledge used to serve as the town’s first school.

  “I think it’s an energy drink,” someone said.

  “Ah, there’s the email,” I said as I scanned it. “You literally sent it a minute and a half ago.”

  My boss scoffed. “What’s your point, Hawk?”

  There it was again. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

  Mr. Thomas stared at me for a few moments. “Well, are you going to show him around, or not?”

  “Show who around?” Lynda asked. She’d just come in, large coffee in one hand and a Danish in the other, even though work had started almost an hour ago.

  “Well, what do you know?” said Jessica. “Only an hour late today.”

  “Shut up, Jessicunt. I have glass coming out of my skin,” she said.

  I winced at the insult, but Jessica didn’t even seem fazed by it. Though truthfully, my reaction should have been the unexpected one. I should be used to Lynda’s mouth by now.

  She released her large bag from her shoulder, letting it flop to the ground i
n a large heap that resembled a baby leopard that had fallen asleep on the faded gray carpet.

  “I broke a glass the other day,” Lynda explained, “and when I went to vacuum it up, I sneezed.” Lynda dropped her body into her chair with the same gravitational pull that had worked on the bag. “I must’ve breathed in some of it, and now it’s coming out through the skin on my arms.”

  “That’s crazy,” Jess said, placating her. She at least knew better than to rile her up more. Also, “that’s crazy” was our code for “you’re crazy” without actually saying it to Lynda’s face.

  “Are you finished oversharing?” Mr. Thomas shouted. “A journalism professor who wants to see if our paper’s suitable for future internships is stopping by, and I need to know who’s going to give him a tour.”

  “Is he hot?” Jess asked. “I can show him around.”

  “I’d be happy to take the professor around,” I said, causing Jess to huff.

  “I’m so tired of this sexist, male-dominated bullshit,” she said. “It’s like if you don’t have a penis, you don’t get to do anything important.”

  Lynda rolled her eyes. “Oh, calm down, Eleanor Roosevelt. I’ll let you know when it’s time to burn your bra.”

  Jess stuck her pierced tongue out at Lynda. “Like you’d know. You don’t even own one.”

  “Ladies, ladies,” Mr. Thomas said. “I don’t care who takes the professor around as long as you don’t mention your bras or the foreign substances working their way out of your bodies”—he shot a look toward Dax—“or into them. Figure it out. Just let me know what you decide.”

  He began walking toward his office but looked back at me as the women were bickering. Make sure it’s you, he mouthed as he pointed a finger at me.

  When Jess suggested we arm wrestle to decide who’d take the professor out, I seriously considered asking my coworkers to give me permission to post weekly comics about them on the paper’s Instagram account. This place was a gold mine of material. An insufferable gold mine, but a gold mine nonetheless.

  Chapter Four

  ISLA

  With a heavy sigh, I looked at the decor in the Bean like I hadn’t been here a million times before. Worn brick, mahogany shelves showcasing merchandise, bar stools at a counter facing the street, and wooden floors that were made to appear rustic when I knew for a fact they’d been put in less than a year ago.

  I used to come at least twice a week on my way to the office, and sometimes Thursday for a few hours if I was working from home. But ever since my pact with my sister, Olivia, I’d added Wednesday nights to the schedule. At first, I thought meeting my dates at a place I was comfortable with might lessen the awkwardness, but that didn’t prove true.

  Two of my favorite baristas had eventually realized I’d basically been running a dating service out of the place. They’d tossed their share of sarcastic jokes my way, but ultimately they made my experiences a little more interesting because I had someone to talk to about them afterward.

  I’d been waiting about fifteen minutes when Blake came over with a fresh chamomile tea. “Is there some kind of rule like they have at college, where you get to leave if he doesn’t show up after a certain amount of time?” She cleared my empty mug and set down the new one.

  “I wish. Unfortunately, Professor Punctual already texted to see if I could wait a little longer. He forgot to get gas earlier, and he was running on E.”

  Blake shook her head. Somehow she managed to convey a sense of empathy despite her laugh. “I once dated a guy who went everywhere by skateboard. Be thankful he has a car.” She gave me a wink before heading back behind the counter to help another customer.

  A few minutes later, I was still thinking about how ridiculous it would be if Luca showed up on a skateboard, his hand extended and an apologetic smile spread across his surprisingly handsome face.

  But I’d learned the hard way to be leery of pictures people posted on their profiles. It was evidently proper dating-app etiquette to choose a picture that looked nothing like the real thing.

  “Isla? It’s so nice to meet you. I’m sorry I’m late.” After letting go of my hand, he pointed to the empty chair across from me. “May I sit?”

  “Yes. Of course. Please.”

  We looked at each other for a few moments before he spoke. “Sorry if I’m staring,” he said. “It’s just that you’re even more beautiful in person than you are in your pictures.”

  That made me smile, and I felt the comment draw some heat to my cheeks, no doubt bringing color to my usually pale skin.

  “Thank you. I was thinking the same.” It was probably the first time any of the men looked better in person than they did in their profile pictures. His short blond hair was a bit longer now, revealing some cute curls in the back, and he definitely didn’t skip chest day at the gym.

  He looked at me a little longer before I asked if he wanted to get something to drink before we talked.

  He nodded. “Sure, I’ll grab something. Can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks,” I said. And while he waited in line, I took a second to text my sister that Luca had just shown up, he was hot, and so far, seemed like a gentleman. Olivia made me promise to call as soon as I left.

  When Luca returned with his coffee and a cheese Danish, I found myself feeling more excited for this date than I had about any of the others before it. He worked about two miles from the coffee shop as an investment advisor. “I’ve been with Millennium for a little over two years,” he said. “It’s been great so far. I can bring my dog to work.”

  “Seriously? I love dogs. What kind do you have?”

  “A labradoodle named Chelsea.”

  I found myself leaning in a little as Luca talked, almost entranced by his clear blue eyes and the way his crisp button-down fit perfectly across his chest and shoulders. The man definitely worked out. Though thankfully not as much as Mick.

  “Chelsea’s a cute name for a dog. Where’d you come up with it?”

  “Oh, I can’t take credit for that. My girlfriend named her. She went to college in New York.”

  My eyes widened as I struggled to swallow the sip of tea I’d just taken. “I’m assuming you mean your ex-girlfriend?”

  Luca looked genuinely confused. “No, Marybeth and I live together.”

  “You live together!”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. Is that a problem? Because it’s not for Marybeth. She’s cool with it.”

  “She’s cool with you having online dating profiles and seeing other women?”

  “Yeah. Or men. We identify as relationship queer.” He sat back in his chair with an air of superiority. Like he and…Marybeth were somehow more progressive than me and my antiquated monogamist ideals.

  “That’s not even a real term.” I would’ve laughed if my current situation wasn’t so sad.

  Luca rolled his unfortunately gorgeous blue eyes. “That’s exactly what someone who adheres to conventional norms of society would say. Marybeth and I don’t subscribe to typical relationship roles. We’re not monogamous or polyamorous or into bigamy or polygamy. We’re just…whatever we want to be whenever we want to be it.”

  Despite my urge to get up and leave Luca sipping his Americano alone, this was all too strange not to investigate further. As a lawyer, I had no doubt met my share of unique or just plain weird individuals, especially during my internship with a high-profile defense attorney.

  I was almost surprised I hadn’t been able to sense something was off with him from the moment he sat down. But Luca seemed a different type of strange. He was a strange that usually stayed hidden until there was no avoiding revealing it—like a third nipple or a genital piercing.

  “I’m pretty sure ‘relationship queer’ is offensive to the LGBTQ community,” I said.

  Luca laughed like the idea was ridiculous, like I was ridiculous. “I doubt that. They’re an accepting group of people. Not subscribing to a particular belief regarding how relationships should be practiced is like n
ot identifying with a particular gender. Genderqueer, relationship queer,” he said like it was justification. “It’s the same.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  When Luca’s phone sounded with a text, he picked it up and began typing back. “Sorry. One second. It’s Marybeth wanting to know how everything’s going.”

  I slumped back in my seat, wondering—and kind of hating myself for it—what Luca was writing back.

  Fifteen minutes later, he left after telling me it wasn’t going the way he planned. No fucking kidding! My sister was going to get an earful about this one.

  “He told me he was ‘relationship queer,’ Liv. I think I’ve earned a break from this adventure for a while.” I finished the last few sips of my tea and then spun the cup in my fingers.

  I could tell by my sister’s deflated sigh that she was disappointed, and I felt bad, but I couldn’t keep going out with guys like the ones I’d met so far.

  “I think you’re being too picky,” Olivia said.

  “Not agreeing to see someone again after they tell you they have a girlfriend at home is not being too picky. Just like it wasn’t being picky to turn down that date with the guy who said I was hot because I looked like his mother when she was young.” That had actually been one of the less odd things he’d said. “It’s called self-preservation. I could’ve ended up as a mummified corpse somewhere while he strutted around in my clothes.”

  “I feel like that’s a reference to something, but I have no idea what.”

  “You’re so young,” I said with a shake of my head that my sister obviously couldn’t see from the other end of the line.

  Despite the almost ten-year age difference between us, we had been close since Olivia was born—and closer after our parents’ deaths eight years ago. How could we not be when we only had each other to rely on?

  I hadn’t hesitated to take custody of my teenage sister, even though it meant putting my own life on hold for a bit. I’d been focused on raising Liv and finishing my law degree and eventually pursuing my career. But I’d never focused on myself—not from a purely selfish standpoint anyway.