by Ella Goode
“If you don’t do something in response, she’s going to think you aren’t a man. That you’ve got no balls between your legs, and then kiss your chance at seeing her bed goodbye.”
“I don’t see how those two things go together. If you egg someone’s house or purposely make them step in dog shit, they aren’t going to throw off their clothes and beg you to fuck them.” I navigate down the stairs and walk to the coffee maker in the kitchen. Maybe this whole conversation will make more sense after a shot of caffeine.
“I already took those two things back,” Mick whines. “But this is simple math. Every action requires a reaction, and if there’s no reaction, then you’re dead.”
“What is it that you suggest I do?”
“Can’t be with Saran Wrap.”
“Good. That wasn’t on my list.”
“Dude. I woke you up. You don’t have a list. Right now you’re stumbling around your kitchen trying to make yourself a cup of coffee.”
I scowl at the coffee beans spilled across the counter.
“I’m sorry I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of pranks. I’m thirty-two and hunt criminals who skipped bail, so my frat boy prank days are behind me.”
“I can’t believe my brother is so boring. Let me know when you take up knitting to give your gout-ridden knees a break so that I can bring over Grandma’s rocking chair.”
“I like Grandma’s rocking chair.” I scoop the beans up and dump them into the coffeemaker. A flipped switch later and the machine starts the grinding process. I pull out a counter stool and stare out the window into Joy’s house. “How do you know my neighbor’s a instafluencer?” That sounds like a made up word.
“I swear to God, you are an eighty-year-old man. She’s famous! Bells already saw the update this morning about how Joy tried to prank you and recognized your black Jeep. By the way, Joy is soliciting advice from her followers on what to do to you next. In the meantime, she’s going on some kind of date.”
“What the fuck?” I reach over and haul over the laptop I dropped on the counter last night. “Tell Bells to give me her sign in information.”
“Bells says to make your own account.”
I curse and pull up the website. “If I get some janky ass spam from this, I’m going to take it out on you. Tell Bells that.”
“How is that a punishment for Bells?”
“It just is.”
“I should have let the neighbor’s car run you over when you were a toddler.”
“Well, you didn’t. Okay. I’m in. What’s Joy’s account name?” Bells shouts it in the background.
“Bells wants to know your account name.”
“Why?”
“So she can follow you.”
“I’m not going to post anything.”
“You’re not going to win Joy over if you don’t post anything.”
“I have to court her on social media? This is fucked up.”
“Welcome to the new century, old man.”
Four
Joy
I hit upload on my latest video. It was done live, but I still uploaded it for people who didn't get a chance to tune in so they can watch it too. It had been fun letting everyone help me pick what to wear for my date. My followers know me well. I was scared that I’d end up in heels and a dress.
They hadn’t disappointed me though. I ended up in overalls that were shorts and a long sleeved red shirt that matched my sneakers. My hair was down, and I only put on a light amount of makeup. I’m addicted to shimmer, though, and I always have to put some of it on my cheeks.
It’s still strange to me that so many people are interested in the things I do. I try my hand at a bunch of different things from making cookies to refurbishing old furniture and once in a while applying makeup. I’m not that great at the makeup thing, but I’ve learned a ton from others on social media. So I pass along whatever tips I can. Sometimes I’ll ramble on about books I’ve read. Their favorite is when I draw characters on my tablet.
“I need you to take some pictures for me,” I call out to Cece. She strolls in a few seconds later. I hand her my phone and strike a pose.
“They did good. You look cute but sexy.” I look down at my outfit and agree. A lot of days I tend to wear yoga pants. The plus side to recording from your computer is that a lot of the time you only have to be dressed from the top up.
I move over toward the door, letting her take a few more pictures before I have to head out.
“How did they come out?” Cece walks over toward me to show me.
“You look gorgeous as usual. I’ve already favorited the ones I like the most.” I don’t even question her picks. I know she would never steer me wrong. I upload the pics with a cute caption and put the phone in my purse.
“I’ll call you in one hour,” she reminds me as we walk to the front door. We came up with an escape plan just in case I was having a miserable time.
“Got it.” I double check to make sure I have everything.
We both jump when someone bangs on the front door.
“What the hell?” Cece flips the lock opening the door. There stands Mr. Hottie from next door. He looks even more handsome than he did yesterday, if that’s even possible.
“Do you just open the door for anyone without looking to see who it is?”
“I’ve got two dads. I don’t need a third.” Cece pats him on the chest like he's a little kid before she strolls right back to her bedroom. If I’d never seen her in the light of day I would swear she was a vampire.
“Did you need something?” I ask. He stands there with his arms folded over his chest.
“Maybe some Saran Wrap?”
I snap my fingers. “Dang it. I think I’m out.” I try to give an evil smirk, but Cece always says it only makes me look like an angry fairy.
“You look nice,” he tells me. My face warms at his compliment.
“I have a date,” I admit with a long sigh.
“You don’t have to go.” He walks into my place without being invited. He lets the door fall closed behind him. I guess he’s staying for a minute.
“I actually do need to go since I told everyone I would. Plus, I need to get back out there.” I don’t even know why I’m telling him any of this. He practically barged into my house. Yet I find myself wanting to tell him more.
“Get out where?” I snort a laugh.
“You know. Looking for the one. My soulmate. That will give me the ring and babies. Who looks at me like I hung the moon and I look at him thinking he’d never let anything happen to our family.” I let out a dreamy sigh. I might need to lay off the romance books.
“I’m thirty-two, and I haven't even thought about marriage or babies.” His face looks like he'd rather die than get married. “So you should cancel.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“Why are you bossing me around in my own house?” I throw my hands up. How does he always get me this worked up?
“What’s your roommate's name again?” he asks. Why does he want to know that? Is he crushing on her or something? My stomach tightens.
“Cece,” I tell him.
“Double C,” he calls out.
“You gave her a nickname,” I mutter under my breath. I don’t know why I’m getting upset, but I am. Why don’t I get a nickname?
“What do you want?” she asks Dane before she glances my way. “Why are you pouting?” I suck my bottom lip in.
“I’m not,” I lie.
“We can’t let her go meet a stranger on her own.”
I try to get a word in as Dane talks to Cece as if I’m not standing right here.
“That’s kind of what dating is.” Cece is right. It is. Pretty sure at least.
“Fine. We’ll double.”
Cece scrunches her face like she is thinking about it. “You’re paying.”
“Deal,” Dane agrees in less than a second.
“I’m going like this.” She motions to her all
-back attire. She has a black shirt that looks like Freddy Krueger got his hands on it. You can see her bra right through it. Her jeans are as torn up as her shirt. I actually made them for her.
“Don’t give a shit what you wear,” he informs her before his gaze slides back to me. “You should put pants on, though; you might get cold.” Cece laughs, but I’m not sure what’s so funny.
“Oh this is going to be wonderful.” Cece grabs her purse. “I’m not only getting dinner but a free show too.”
Instead of putting his hand on Cece’s back, I feel his warm touch on mine as he leads me out of our place. Dane was right. I should have canceled. Not that I’d ever tell him that.
Five
Dane
“I didn’t realize we were doubling or I would’ve asked for a different table,” Old Man Pete says, trying to hide his irritation at the surprise guests, but it’s not like he can voice it since Joy introduced Cece as her roommate. You never want to piss off a relative or a roommate. That’s a general rule in life that applies to all situations, especially dating. Not that I would know about the dating bit since I don’t think I’ve been on a proper date since maybe high school. I’ve been busy hustling.
“This is good, though. Since we’re close to the kitchen, our food will be hot when it arrives,” Joy reassures the guy. She flashes a pretty smile at him, and I grit my teeth.
Cece jams an elbow into my side.
“What?” I frown.
“No hitting the date,” she hisses to me under her breath.
“How’d you know?”
“You growled.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s kind of hot, but don’t make a scene. Joy wouldn’t like that.”
Kinda hot but don’t make a scene? What constitutes a scene? I wonder as we follow the hostess toward the back of the restaurant. The hostess stops at a table by the kitchen. There are two chairs on each side. I’m not a fan of this configuration, but before I can rearrange the seating, Cece steps on my foot.
I frown again. “What now?”
“It’s her date with Pete. You’ll have to sit by me.” She tugs me toward her side of the table.
“Are you going to sit down?” Joy asks with a bite in her tone. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was jealous, but since she’s on a date with another man, I don’t know how that can be.
I pull out the chair for Cece. When she sits, she wrinkles her nose at Joy. The two have some sort of silent conversation that puts me on edge. I want in on this closeness. No, I want in Joy. Period. Why she chose Pete is a mystery, though. The guy looks more bland than a piece of cardboard. He’s dressed in gray pants and a lighter gray collared shirt. His black loafers are so shiny I think I can see my reflection in them.
I drop into my own seat filled with irritation. If she needs a man, I’m right here.
“So how do you know Cece?” Pete asks.
I lean back and stretch an arm behind Cece’s chair. Joy’s eyes narrow. I feel like that means something, although I’m not sure what. “I’m her neighbor. Our kitchen windows look into each other’s houses. Ain’t that right, Double C?”
Joy cocks her head to the side. “How come Cece has a nickname and I don’t?”
“Your name is perfect the way it is.”
“And mine is terrible?” Cece queries, one eyebrow arched.
“Ah, nah.” I scramble for an explanation so I don’t get a water glass dumped over my head. I wonder what a scene exactly entails. If I kick Peter’s chair out from under him, he breaks his tailbone and has to be taken to the hospital, would that constitute a scene? “It just came to me like your idea to wrap my Jeep in Saran Wrap came to you in the middle of the night.” I lean forward as if I’m going to share a secret with Pete. “Double C and Joy are always over at my house doing shit. They practically live with me.”
“We what?” Joy squawks.
“Which means they’re under my protection,” I continue. “Just want to put that on the table so we all know where we stand.” In other words, Look at Joy in the wrong way, and I’m carving out your eyeballs with my spoon. “Pete doesn’t mind, do you, friend?”
Pete’s face takes on a sour expression because at this point, what’s he going to say? That I’m the rude one for wanting to protect two women.
“Of course not, friend,” he replies snidely.
Joy’s eyes move furtively from Pete to me and back again. That won’t do. Her gaze should be on me at all times.
“You look cute tonight, baby.”
“Baby?” Pete’s voice comes out high-pitched.
I pick up a menu to hide a smirk. “Just came up with it since Joy wants a nickname.”
“Baby isn’t a nickname. It’s an endearment,” Joy says.
“Is that so?”
Pete makes an irritated noise and pulls out his phone. “Let’s take a couple photo,” he suggests. He places his arm around the back of Joy’s chair and stretches out his hand, his phone gripped between his fingers. For some reason, I don’t like this. Pete should not have pictures of Joy ever. I reach over and knock it out of his hand, easily catching it.
Standing up, I say, “I’ll take it for you.” Without waiting for either of them to agree, I snap a few photos and then drop the phone back into Pete’s hands. “There you go. Let’s order.”
“Your finger is in the way,” Pete says. He displays the screen for everyone to see. Instead of Pete and Joy, there’s just a picture of Joy looking surprised and then a dark smudge.
“Looks good to me. What’re you having for dinner, Double C?”
She presses her lips together to hide a smile. Apparently, ruining a photo is not a scene.
“I’m going to have a steak.”
Joy’s eyes light up. She wants a steak as well. I hail a waitress, and when she arrives, I say, “Three steaks. How will you have it, baby?”
“How did you know I wanted a steak?”
“When Double C mentioned it, you closed your menu.”
Joy looks surprised. “You noticed that?”
“He can barely keep his eyes off you,” Cece mutters, but apparently I’m the only one that hears her since Pete is busy trying to take another photo. I should have broken his phone.
“Does ruining someone’s property constitute a scene?”
“Yes.” Cece nods emphatically.
“How about accidentally spilling my steak on his lap?”
“Also a scene.” But she smiles when she says it, so maybe it’s not a scene she thinks would be bad.
“Did Dane say something funny, Cece? Maybe you should share with the rest of the class,” Joy says from across the table.
Cece’s smile grows wider. “Nah. Dane’s just a cutie, aren’t you?” She reaches over and pinches my cheek.
“I guess so?” This sounds like roommate approval, so I go with it.
“Anything else for the table?” asks the waitress. I wave her off.
“We’re good.”
When she leaves, Joy draws my attention. “What do you do for a living, Dane?”
“Skip tracer.”
“Um, I’d like to order,” Peter says.
“What’s a skip tracer?”
“It’s a bounty hunter,” Cece offers.
“That’s kind of cool. Like Dog?”
“No. I don’t have a dog.”
“She means Dog the Bounty Hunter,” Peter interjects. “Did the waitress take off without getting my order?”
“I told her you would have a steak, too,” Joy says.
Peter turns pale. “Didn’t you read my bio? I don’t eat red meat.” He jumps to his feet and runs after the waitress.
“It said he was a pescatarian on his page,” Cece informs her roommate.
Joy grimaces. “I didn’t read that.”
“I know and so does he.” Cece snickers.
I lean back with a smile. I haven’t caused a scene, and Pete now knows that Joy doesn’t know much about him. This isn’
t going too badly.
“I’m not good at this dating thing,” laments Joy.
“Then don’t do it.”
“She can’t just sit it out. If a girl wants to get married, she has to put herself out there,” CeCe argues.
“You want to get married?”
Joy turns slightly pink and looks down at her water glass. “I mean, someday. Not today or tomorrow.”
“Six weeks,” Cece interjects. “That’s how long it would take to plan a decent wedding.”
Joy laughs a little. “Not even in six weeks but someday. Why? Are you against marriage?”
She says it like a challenge. My knee-jerk response is to answer in the affirmative because I haven’t thought about marriage. When Mick married Bells, I told him he was nuts. Bells still gives me shit over that, but I grew up poor and have spent the last decade digging my family out of debt after my dad’s umpteenth failed startup venture drove him into a grave and my mom to the hospital for stress. I paid off her house, built up a nest egg, and then bought mine. I haven’t had time to think about having a family, but now...looking at Joy, there’s a new vision and it is kids in the backyard, Joy bent over the kitchen sink. My mind screeches to a halt at that view. If Joy was my wife, I could have her at any time. If she was in the kitchen, I’d pull down her pants, push her over the counter and hammer her from behind. I could fuck her in the garage because we’d be too horny to make it inside the house. I could take her on the stairs, in the shower, and, for love and country, on the bed missionary style. I lean back, fold my arms behind my head, and nod. “Nope. Marriage sounds peachy. My brother got married a few years ago and he loves it. He’s been telling me I need to get on his level.”
Pete arrives and plops down into his seat next to Joy. My good mood evaporates. “What about you, old man? You into marriage?”
Pete nearly chokes on his spit. He clears his throat. “No, ah, I mean someday but not any time soon. There are plenty of couple-grams out there and that’s not really my market.”
