by Lake, C. J.
“So let me get this straight,” Manny said, leaning forward to pick his water bottle off the floor. “Andy’s living with some guy, and you’re okay with that?”
“Sure. It’s only a temporary situation.”
“Okay…but back to my point: she’s living with some guy.”
“Yes, some random guy,” Brad replied dismissively, holding his arm straight out and lifting slowly. Mentally he did his counts, mostly by rote.
While Manny kept talking.
“Doesn’t it bother you? Some guy’s seeing her in the morning. At night. They’re in close proximity…etcetera.”
“There’s no etcetera,” Brad said simply. “It’s a convenient location, on a temporary basis. And I trust Andy.”
“Of course, I didn’t mean--no, Andy’s a sweetheart, don’t get me wrong,” Manny corrected quickly. “But still…doesn’t mean the guy won’t try to make a move.”
“She said he’s not even home that much. When he is, he doesn’t bother her.” Manny scoffed as though he still didn’t trust the guy. “Look, Andy just finished school; she’s looking for some independence, wants to move out of her mother’s house. I get all that. I’m not going to interfere.”
Brad continued lifting and counting.
Meanwhile Manny took a loud, boisterous swig of his water bottle, which included the suctioning sound of the flimsy plastic bottle compressing. “Man, you’re more secure than I would be,” he remarked offhandedly, crushing and twisting the empty bottle with his hands.
Brad cracked a reluctant smile at that. “I’m very secure,” he admitted. As soon as he said it, he hated how arrogant it sounded, because he was only being honest.
“And you don’t want her staying at your place?”
“I offered. She wanted to help her friend, Ethan, out and besides, Cambridge is out of the way for her. I’m hardly even home.”
“Damn!” Manny said dramatically, slapped his hand to his thigh. “You offered and she turned you down? That’s even worse!”
Brad paused his set to shoot Manny a disdainful look. “Don’t try to get in my head; you’ll never succeed. So are you done working out--or do you have a few more empty water bottles you want to lift?”
“Screw you,” Manny said with a laugh, reluctantly lifting his slumping body off the weight bench. “I’m just looking out for you,” he remarked.
“Are you?” Brad said doubtfully, because he knew that Manny envied him on a few levels, and inevitably that colored any “advice” he offered. After finishing his set, Brad dropped the weights by his feet and explained, “Look--even if I were inclined to worry about Andy, this guy’s not a threat. I’m better looking and I make a lot more money. Toss me a towel, will you?” Manny grabbed one off the rack and threw it to him. Blotting his face, Brad added, “Even if he wanted Andy, how could he win?”
~
Over lunch at the sushi shop next to the hospital, Brad surprised Andy with a gift. “Brad, what!” she said, as he took out a small, thin box with a bow on it, and set it on the table. “What’s this?”
He smiled at her--that winning, million-dollar smile of Brad’s. “An early birthday present,” he told her. “Open it.”
“But my birthday is still a few weeks away.”
“It’s only a little something. Not your actual gift-gift.”
Andy sighed, looking at him, genuinely touched by what a considerate boyfriend he could be. Moments like this made her feel guilty for even contemplating…possibly…well, ending things. The thought of breaking up with Brad was especially daunting because he was just so perfect. Who gave up a guy like that? It wouldn’t make sense. How would she begin to explain it to her mother, who thought Brad walked on water?
And, after all, she used to feel excited about him. They’d had a genuine spark at one point. A big part of her couldn’t accept that it had fizzled out, once and for all. A nagging voice in Andy’s mind reminded her that surely most relationships endured ebbs and flows, and that she just needed to be patient and wait for the spark to come back.
When she’d first met Brad, it had been when she was home from school on her Christmas break and her mom had driven her to the ER at St. Catherine’s Hospital. He was fresh out of medical school at the time, just beginning his residency, and was randomly given her case on his rotation. She’d told him about first getting sick in Chicago and being diagnosed with Bronsteg Disorder a year before. Though he’d acted confident, he’d excused himself for a few moments--at which point she was sure he’d gone to look up what Bronsteg Disorder even was.
Though she cringed whenever she thought of being sick, she still remembered her first meeting with Brad very fondly. Her case was quickly passed off to a different doctor, who was much more experienced than Brad, but still couldn’t tell Andy anything about her disorder that she didn’t already know (and of course, she didn’t know much). Still, Brad had checked in on her regularly. It became clear that he had a personal interest in her well-being, in her. In fact, he pursued her with such smooth persistence, it almost seemed impossible not to fall for him.
At the time, she was so scared about what was wrong with her. And, as a doctor, Brad just seemed so knowledgeable and unflappable. She supposed that, in and of itself, was a great comfort to her and something she wanted to cling to.
Though he wasn’t a sappy romantic type, Brad was a solid boyfriend--and this pre-birthday gesture only highlighted that. “Come on, open it,” he said now, pushing the box toward her. It was about the size of two matchboxes and almost as light as air. She peeled off the bow and saw the words: “Barnes & Noble” printed across the front.
“Oh, Brad!” she said, smiling, peeling back the flaps of the lightweight box. Inside was a gift card for fifty dollars.
“So you can buy even more books to fill your mind--and your room,” he said, smiling.
“Thank you so much,” she said, shaking her head, feeling a tear pool up in her eye, for a combination of reasons. Scooting her chair around closer to his, she reached over to hug him. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t say that,” he told her gently, petting her back. Yes, petting. It was something she’d begun to find annoying about Brad’s hugs, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him that she’d rather be embraced strongly by her man than have the back of her shirt groomed.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately,” she murmured, pressing her cheek against his chest. “And for a while now…” She was referring to their sex life, and of course he knew that. She still couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t pressuring her about not being the mood for the last few months. Back when they were intimate, he always seemed to have a strong sex drive. Sex with Brad had been good for a while, though she had nothing to compare it to since he was her first.
Whenever she’d gone back to Chicago, things had kind of slowed down between them. Even though he’d visited her at school a few times, and she’d visited him in Boston for a long weekend here or there, she supposed it wasn’t quite the same. He’d gotten so busy at the hospital and she’d been consumed with school--especially when she was working herself like crazy during the summer and fall so she could finish her degree. Her brief Bronsteg-related relapse this past December didn’t exactly help matters.
So why was Brad so patient? Why didn’t he take it personally that she’d turned into a prude on him? Didn’t he have needs that he felt compelled to remind her of, complain about, even beg her to satisfy? Of course, she was grateful it hadn’t come to that, but she was honestly surprised.
“I understand,” he told her now. “Look, Andy, you’ve had a tough year and you haven’t been well. Don’t get me wrong; when you’re ready and interested again, I’m here. Believe me--I’m here,” he stated emphatically, making his sexual interest clear. “But I think this is what relationships are about. Going through tough periods, but standing by each other as things resolve themselves. The important thing now is that you continue with the drug trial.”
“W-
what?” she said, pulling back to look at him, a bit confused by the non-sequitur.
“I just mean…I think this new drug could help you. I know I’m not personally involved with it at all, but from everything I’ve heard, this medication potentially overlaps with the Bronsteg symptoms really well. You just focus on staying committed to that--to your health, in general, I mean--and everything will be fine.”
She wasn’t sure if “everything will be fine” referred to the Bronsteg Disorder or their relationship. She supposed it was just vague enough to include both. “Now make sure you spend up that gift card. I just want to make you happy,” Brad said, and leaned down to kiss her.
Feel something, Andy willed herself, shutting her eyes and kissing him back. Stroking his cheek, she deepened the kiss and tried to get lost in some romantic sensation. If she couldn’t feel turned on, at least let her feel in love. Everything will be fine. His words echoed in her mind. Trite as they were, she wanted to believe in them. She wanted this to be some weird mental phase. She wasn’t ready to give up on Brad, on a two-year relationship, on her mother’s dream son-in-law, on the memories of those earlier days. Even though the only thing she was feeling at the moment, with Brad’s lips on hers, was doubt.
Chapter Eleven
“Hey you.”
Tragan turned and saw Andy across the street, walking a couple of paces behind him. The combination of moonlight and street lamps seemed to cast an angelic shimmer over her blonde hair. “Hey there. Where were you tonight?” he asked conversationally, stopping to wait for her.
“Boylston Street. Girls’ Night,” she explained as she caught up to him. Tonight her hair was pushed behind her shoulders and she had a knit cap on her head.
As the temperamental March wind kicked up, she rubbed her hands together. Tragan noticed her fingerless gloves, right before she buried her hands in her pocket. She looked adorable, half frozen, sweet, cute. “Girls’ night, huh?”
She nodded. “It was our friend Madison’s birthday, so we took her out on a bar crawl.”
“Bar crawl, haven’t done that in a while. How many did you hit?”
“Only two. We lost the motivation once we got comfortable. Plus one of the girls got a little wasted and started crying, so that sort of put a cloud over the night.”
“What? Crying during a bar crawl? That’s terrible. That’s a waste of effort and booze, right there.”
“I agree,” Andy said with a grin. “She was upset over some guy, of course,” she added with an eye-roll.
“I can understand that,” Tragan offered, as they approached their building. “Let’s be honest: guys are assholes.”
Andy’s face lit up. “Yes! That’s what I said!” she replied enthusiastically, tapping him on the arm. Tragan chuckled as he opened the door for her--and tried not to dwell on her touching him. This was the second time she’d done it. “How was your evening?”
“Enh. I lost. But that’s just how it works,” he continued as they climbed the stairs. “You know the golden rule of casinos, right?”
“Um…let me think…bad cell phone reception and no clocks?”
“Hey, that’s true,” he said, smiling. “I’m impressed. That’s not the golden rule, though.”
“Okay, what is it?”
“The house always wins,” he said, enunciating each word.
“But you won the other night.”
“Well, sure, you can win--of course--otherwise you wouldn’t be back. But you’re not going to keep winning--consecutively. You always have to be making money for the house, not losing it.” He turned the key to their apartment and again, held the door for her.
Stepping in, Andy asked, confused, “I don’t get it. Doesn’t it all pretty much depend on luck?”
“Luck?” Tragan repeated flatly, then shut his eyes and shook his head. “Andy, please, you’re killing me right now.”
“What?” she said with a laugh. “I’m wrong?”
“It’s a combination of strategy and how much the house needs you to lose. And, yes, luck plays a role, too,” he conceded. “Because I understand all that and play strategically, I do well overall.”
Andy nodded, assessing him with a teasing squint. “I see now. What you’re basically saying is that not only are you lucky, you’re also astute and talented. Is that it?”
“I mean…” Cocking his head back a little, Tragan made a gesture of mock humility. “I don’t want to say all that--it would sound arrogant.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” she replied with saccharine sweetness and he laughed. Their eyes held for a moment. Andy’s mouth curved open a fraction like she was about to say something, but then didn’t. He just looked at her--and she looked back. He couldn’t read her expression other than to say she was watching him, too.
Tragan felt his adrenaline rise. This was a moment.
Everyday he saw Andy his interest in her seemed to intensify. He’d gone from idle thoughts of touching or kissing her, to wanting to grab her, devour her, fuck her. Though he tried to ignore it, his physical attraction to her was only getting stronger, and it was frustrating as hell. Especially since she seemed so oblivious to his desire. And what relief could there ever be living in close quarters with a woman who drove him crazy, yet saw him only as her platonic roommate?
Then again…
There were moments like these. When it seemed almost like they shared something--an awareness. A spark. Moments when Tragan thought maybe she felt something, too.
Until it would pass way too quickly, and he’d be left thinking maybe not. Like now. Andy suddenly cleared her throat. Turning away from him, she shucked off her coat and hung it on the rack. “So, uh, what’s your game anyway?” she asked.
“Blackjack.”
“Is that the one with the dice?”
“You’re thinking of craps.”
“Oh. Wait, is blackjack the one with the big wheel?”
He smirked, before patting her condescendingly on the shoulder. “Um, that’s roulette.”
“Well, I think we can see that I’ve exhausted all my casino knowledge,” Andy stated airily. She braved a glance into Tragan’s eyes once more to say goodnight.
“Wait,” he blurted as she walked down the hall.
She turned back.
“Going to sleep already? I was hoping to showcase my talents tonight.” He suddenly realized how that sounded and amended, “Playing Mario, I mean.”
“Hmm…showcase or show off?”
“That depends,” he said, grinning. “Is there a difference?”
Andy paused, as if to mull over the decision: go to her bedroom or stay up late with him. With a soft sigh, she gave him an answer, not the one he wanted. “Honestly, I think I’m still a little tipsy. The smart idea would be for me to call it a night. I’ll…see you tomorrow.”
“‘Night,” Tragan said, watching her go.
Well, hell.
What was he thinking would happen? Still…he felt unreasonably pissed with the world at the moment, as he crossed the living room and headed to his bedroom.
Granted he wasn’t an expert when it came to the opposite sex, but he could usually tell when a girl was into him. Andy was different, though. When he was with her, he felt the undercurrents of mutual attraction, but was usually left wondering if he’d imagined it. He just couldn’t get a read on her.
Then again, why even try? She had a boyfriend already, he reminded himself. Who needed the drama? Maybe all Tragan needed was to meet someone new. A hot, available girl he could have fun with--so he could start thinking straight, and stop sweating his roommate, once and for all.
Chapter Twelve
A couple nights later Tragan and his friends were dominating the living room, along with beer bottles and empty fast food containers, being rowdy and loud without meaning to, in that way that only “virtual combat” could inspire.
Now Matt was trying to steer his controller, looking intense as he tried and failed to survive. “Winter, you suck!”
Pellican shouted when the words Player 2 dead flashed across the screen in blood red font.
“No, you suck!” Matt told him. “I did exactly what you said! Your strategy is crap!”
“You did it wrong,” Pellican said, scrubbing the auburn bristles on his head with frustration.
“I did not. Your strategy is crap,” Matt repeated.
“My strategy’s awesome!” Pellican insisted. “You just didn’t use the right thumb pressure.”
Tragan, who was slouched in an armchair, burst out laughing. “Thumb pressure? Get the hell out of here, Pellican--”
Just then the door opened.
Tragan’s facial expression transformed and tone softened as soon as he heard Andy enter the apartment. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she said in return. As she walked past the back of the couch, she smiled to the group, acknowledging them, “Guys.”
“Hi, Andy,” Bardo said, turning around in his seat on the sofa and straightening his glasses. “Remember me?”
“Sure, of course. Jamie, right?”
Bardo gave a self-satisfied smile to the room.
“And this is Matt and Dan,” Tragan told her, introducing his other friends. “Hey, wanna play?” he asked her, acting on impulse, even though this game was too violent for Andy’s tastes.
She smiled again, but weakly. “Um, I don’t think so, but thanks.”
“Are you okay?” Tragan blurted, concerned, surprising himself and earning a side-eye from his friends.
“I don’t feel well. It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Just a headache.”
“That sucks,” Bardo threw in.
“I’m going to go to bed.”
“Do you want us to leave?” Tragan ignored the what-the-fuck look he was getting from Pellican.
“No, no--you’re not bothering me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without another word she walked to her bedroom, clicked the door shut.