by Layla Frost
When I returned to Lula and Chase, I handed them their drinks just as someone announced that dinner was beginning.
“Were you chatting with Paul Griffith? What’d he say? What’d you say? Why was he smiling?” Lula paused in her rapid-fire questioning to breathe before grinning. “He’s an insane hottie. He works at a different branch of the firm than Chase, but we’ve met at events and—”
“Gossip later,” Chase said, grabbing Lula’s hand. “We’ve got to get to our seats.”
“Fine, fine.” Lula skewered me with her eyes. “Don’t forget any details. Not a single one.”
I made a confused face. “Annnnnd they’re gone. All of them. I don’t even remember where I am.”
“Working my patience is where you are.”
“Children,” Chase playfully chided.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Lula and I sing-songed quietly with saccharine smiles.
“Oh wait, I should probably watch what I say.” I tilted my head toward the bar. “When I said I was here with you guys, Paul thought I meant I was with you guys.”
Chase shrugged. “Everyone getting an award invited their family. You guys are my family. And if anyone thinks there’s more to it…” His lips curved into a cocky smirk. “Imagine the envy and respect I’ll get.”
Lula rolled her eyes as we sat.
Within seconds, courses of food were set in front of us, each more bizarre than the last. For some reason, upscale dinners always involved too small servings and too much truffle. I picked at the food as I tuned out the discussion of a dismissed case.
“Oh my God,” Lula whispered, elbowing me in my ribs.
“What?” I rubbed the sore spot. “Did I say something out loud again?”
Talking to myself is becoming an increasingly frequent habit.
“No.” She tipped her head, her bob of shiny black hair shifting prettily with the movement. “Paul is sitting over there.”
I started to turn my head.
Lula’s voice was quiet but harsh as she barked, “Don’t!” She leaned closer, resting her chin on her palm to look casual as she blocked her mouth. “His assigned seat was with his back to us. I saw him looking around the room until he glanced over his shoulder and saw you. He must’ve switched seats with someone.” She dropped her hand and grinned, though she kept her voice low. “And now he’s been staring at you like there’s something else he’d rather be eating.”
Uncool and completely obvious, my head jerked up and I met his eyes.
Smiling, he raised his glass slightly in a silent toast.
“Hmm.” Taking a sip of my wine, I muttered, “Maybe I won’t need to start that special mystery box club, after all.”
_______________
For the rest of the night, every time I’d glanced at Paul, his eyes would be on me. Without words, we’d managed to engage in heavy flirting. It’d been fun, but it hadn’t left my stomach spinning or my heart racing.
As the night wrapped, Lula and I headed to the coat check area. I got my peacoat and small bag before moving to the side to wait for her. Pulling out my phone, I checked for any messages before setting it and my bag on a small table.
Only September, and the nights are already freezing.
I saw an arm in my periphery before my jacket was plucked from my grip. Jolting, I looked over my shoulder to see Paul standing close.
Opening the coat, he held it out for me to put on. “How was dinner?”
“Good,” I lied, keeping my back toward him as I slid my arms into the sleeves.
“Really? So you always glare at your food while poking at it?”
I turned to face him and pulled my hair out from where it was tucked into the collar. “Okay, dinner was… interesting.”
“Hmm, using vague answers to hide the truth. Maybe you are a lawyer.”
“Or a politician.”
“That’d be a shame,” he muttered. His eyes twinkled, and the sight was much better up close than from across the room. “Some of us are heading to the bar across the street. Do you want to come?”
“Sorry, I have plans with Chase and Lula.”
His head tipped toward my phone and bag on the small table. “Can I give you my number?”
“Sure.” Grabbing my cell, I unlocked it and waited for him to tell me his number so I could add it to my contacts.
Instead, he snatched my phone out of my hand and quickly typed across the screen. A muffled tune and buzz came from his pocket a moment later. Smiling, he handed it back to me.
What in the actual fuck?
Dumbfounded, I automatically closed my fingers around it as I stared at him with an expression that had to be filled with what-the-fuckery.
Like nothing was amiss, he grinned and started for his group. He spun and walked backward long enough to say, “I’ll be in touch.”
Okay, even I have to admit that little maneuver was smooth as hell. He looked like he was stepping out of a classy suit ad.
“That was promising,” Lula whispered excitedly.
Still stunned, I dragged my focus from his retreating back and held up my cell.
“He took my phone from my hand without asking and called himself. Now he has my number.”
She winced. “Oh. You were going to call him anyway, right?” At my nod, she relaxed. “Maybe he just wasn’t thinking. In a rush and stuff, you know?”
“I guess. It was just so... heavy-handed. I hate that.” Forcing a smile, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. “But like you said, he was in a hurry.”
“And he was seriously into you. I bet he calls within a couple days.”
Discounting the last thirty seconds of our interaction, I liked him. He was cute, smart, and seemed to have a passable sense of humor.
Plus, he hadn’t brought up Dunkin’ coffee or new printers, so he was already a massive step above my previous dates.
Looking down at my phone, I stared at his number in my outgoing log and muttered, “Maybe this isn’t who he is.”
_______________
This is totally who he is.
Just as Lula had predicted, Paul had called within a couple days to ask me out. Willing to forget about the whole phone-swiping thing, I’d agreed.
First dates were always awkward. There was pressure to be witty and intriguing. Disclosing just enough inner-crazy without letting the whole kit and caboodle of crazy loose took skill. Even regular small talk was anxiety-inducing since there was a fine line between talking too much and not talking enough.
Paul didn’t seem to know that line existed.
He’d talked a lot.
Like, a whole lot.
For every one story I’d told, he’d had one that was bigger and better. He’d been a story-topper to the extreme, and it’d gotten old.
Fast.
Even worse, however, was how condescending he’d been. His stories wouldn’t have monopolized so much time had he not stopped to explain everything, no matter how basic.
I knew who an ADA was.
I knew the difference between a misdemeanor and a felony.
And, since I wasn’t an idiot, I knew that the legal system was completely different than what they showed on Law and Order or Judge Judy.
I’d even told him as much, yet he’d continued to expound every little thing.
There was no denying he was better read and traveled than I was. His profession was also a lot more… well, professional than mine.
He wore suits to work.
I wore leggings and novelty tees.
He had a swanky corner office.
I, too, had a corner office, it just happened to be in the corner of my living room.
He’d vacationed in Rome over the summer.
My budget allowed for exotic trips to the end of my driveway.
Still, none of that meant my opinions or thoughts were any less valid than his. It especially didn’t mean I was stupid.
I should’ve left. Lula and I had a code I could text in such a situation, and she’d even
been known to bring her unique blend of crazy to the restaurant to really sell it.
But I’d stuck with it.
At first, it was because part of me held out hope that his nerves were to blame, and he’d eventually mellow out.
When that hope had been snuffed out like a birthday candle in a tornado, I’d still persevered.
Because deep inside me, there was another thought. A bad, bad one.
It was a dirty voice that suggested I stick with him long enough to hook up.
I was the Little Engine Who Could Get Laid.
For all Paul’s faults—and I was learning there were many—he was still insanely attractive. There were worse choices—from a physical standpoint, at least.
Draining the last of my wine, I nodded along with whatever he was saying about evidence.
Fun fact, evidence is something that can be used as proof.
For example, this date can be used as proof of why I’ll be single for the rest of my life.
Mentally cringing, I tried to get a handle on my bitchiness before karma showed up as a giant zit or boil or something.
It isn’t as though I have options lining up around the block to spend my Friday nights with. I need to be less picky. Everyone has flaws, and for him, it’s…
His entire personality.
As the waiter approached with the check, I pulled my wallet out at the same time Paul did.
He waved off my attempt to hand him money. “It’s a date.”
“I don’t mind,” I insisted.
“I do.” With a charming smile, he stood and offered me his hand. Once I was standing, too, he dropped some cash on the table.
Seriously, dude?
Grabbing my coat and purse, I purposefully knocked my scarf to the ground and left it behind as I started toward the exit.
Once we were in the lobby, I stopped and faced him. “Oh, shoot. I forgot my scarf at the table.”
He smirked down at me, and I could almost see his condescending thoughts about my silly little female brain. “I’ll get the car from the valet.”
Rushing back to the table, I counted the bills and confirmed he’d left less than a dollar tip.
That’s it.
No way can I sleep with him now.
Self-centered and condescending is one thing, but a bad tipper is unforgivable.
I added some of my money to the tip, grabbed my scarf, and headed outside to meet a serious waste of good looks.
When I climbed into Paul’s flashy sports car, he asked, “Want to come back to my place for a drink?”
I opened my mouth.
Scratch the mutual itch! Might as well get it on with a guy who could be a GQ model in case the curse isn’t broken any time soon.
I closed it again.
I had zero intention of seeing him again. Hell would freeze over, the Tigers would win the pennant, and I’d give up coffee before I agreed to another date.
But, as the dirty voice in my head pointed out, maybe something good could come out of the disastrous night.
And the something good that was coming would be me.
I’ll make it clear this is a one-time thing. No second date, no expectations, and no more hook ups… Unless he’s really good and okay with me duct taping his mouth.
If he’s not okay with the stipulations, I’ll call a cab and head home. No harm, no foul.
With that decision made, I accepted his invitation.
The drive was short and relatively silent. I was even able to get a few uninterrupted sentences in.
Reaching an impressive high-rise, Paul pulled into a parking spot. His smile was soft and genuine. “I’m glad we did this. I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week.”
See? He can be sweet. Maybe a lot of it really is just nerves.
I returned his smile. “Me, too.”
Getting out of the car, Paul took my hand and held it as we walked through the ritzy lobby. Once we were in the elevator, he lifted our clasped hands like he was going to kiss mine, but stopped to say, “I can’t believe I’m out so late.”
I glanced at his watch to see it was barely past nine.
He’s probably up at four to hit the gym before work. Not everyone sleeps in until noon.
The elevator doors opened, and he practically dragged me down the hall. When we reached his door, he dropped my hand to unlock and open it before calling out, “Sorry I’m so late, but we’re home!”
Does he have a roommate? Or a dog?
“Hi, sweet boy!” a woman called back.
My eyes darted from the posh apartment to Paul. “Is that…”
“My mom,” he filled in. “And my best friend.”
I forced a smile through my confusion. “That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, she’s amazing. She’s in bed, so we have the living room to ourselves. Or she can move out to the couch.”
My brows lowered. “How many bedrooms do you have?”
“One, why?”
I suppressed a cringe, but just barely. “And you sleep…”
“In the room.” Like most of the night, he smirked at me as if he thought it was adorable that my silly brain needed things spelled out. “If this is about privacy, don’t worry. She sleeps with earplugs in and won’t hear anything.”
This is just too much.
Disguising my gag as a yawn, I worked not to lose my tiny yet obscenely expensive dinner. “Now that we’re talking about beds, I’m realizing how exhausted I am.”
His face fell. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it was a wonderful night, but I’m an early bird,” I claimed, both of which were massive lies.
“Oh. Okay. Another time then. Do you want a ride home?”
“No!” Tamping down my panic at the thought of being trapped in the car with him, I lowered my voice. “There were a lot of cabs out front. I’ll grab one.”
“Are you sure?” He stepped closer but stopped suddenly and rubbed his nose before sneezing a few times.
“Paulie, are you getting sick?” his mother called. “You better say goodbye to your friend. I’ll rub ointment on your chest before bed.”
“Okay, Mom,” he answered pitifully, his lip pushing out like a small child’s would when they were exaggerating their illness.
“Feel better,” I murmured, throwing the door open.
Distracted, he nodded. “Thanks, Denny. I’ll call soon.”
Please don’t.
With one last weak smile, I fled into the hallway.
My emotionally exhausting night must’ve caught up with me, because as I hurried to the elevator, I could’ve sworn a faint, airy laughter followed.
_______________
“He sleeps with his mother,” I said by way of greeting. Holding my cell to my ear, I closed and locked my front door. I leaned against it, my mind still not fully comprehending the night.
Lula was silent for a moment before asking, “Like, sleeps with, or sleeps with?”
“Just regular sleeps with. I think. I dunno. But there is no variation or meaning of that sentence that is okay.”
“I agree.” She made a shuddery noise. “That’s weird. And creepy. What happened?”
After giving her a recap of the night, I finished by saying, “I have no clue if there’s only one bed, but for my peace of mind, I’m going to pretend it’s bunk beds. Which is still weird.”
“Beyond weird.”
“I don’t get it. He’s loaded. His apartment is super upscale, he drives a sports car, and he’s a lawyer. He could probably afford to get his mom her own place without even denting his bank account. At the very least, he could spring for a two bedroom. It’s bizarre.”
“That’s an understatement. He seems so… normal. I got zero ‘Norman Bates’ vibes from him.”
“Well, they’re there in full force.”
“So you went back to his place? Does that mean the rest of the night went well?”
“No,” I admitted, closing my eyes as I slid down to sit on the floo
r. “It was shit. He was a condescending asshole the entire dinner. It was as if he thought his life experiences made him better and smarter than me.”
“Then why’d you go—” Lula started before inhaling deeply. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Denny! You weren’t going to… Were you?”
“No. Maybe. I dunno.” I sighed. “I just kept trying to convince myself he was nervous and that’s why he was such a douche sack.”
“Even you can’t be horny enough to justify sleeping with that asshole,” she said, her voice gentle. “What else is it?”
“Don’t underestimate the power of horniness, okay? You wouldn’t understand since you get good dick on the regular. Plus, you’ve got silicone Idris. Even my vibrators have abandoned me.”
“Denny Underwood, what else is it?”
Bending my legs, I rested my cheek on my knees. My words were muffled as I admitted, “I’m lonely.”
“Oh, Denny.”
“I should be used to it, right? It was always Dad and me, which was its own kind of lonely. Of course, I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than spend even five more minutes with him—and not because of the whole dead thing. It’s…” I paused and tried to put it into words. “Even though he rarely let me see her, I always knew my grandma was out there. Somewhere. Now she’s gone, he’s gone, and it’s just me.”
“It’s not just you,” Lula said fiercely. “You’ll always have Chase and me.”
“I know. Truly, I know that. But it’s not the same. Now that Dad’s gone, I think it’s becoming more obvious how isolated he’d made me.”
“He was a bastard.”
“Yup. And even in death, he’s still getting his way. I’m alone.”
“Have you made any new friends in town?” she asked.
I’d told her I would put more effort into getting to know my neighbors.
“Not really. Most of the people are secluded weirdos.”
Hey, Pot, meet Kettle.
“The ones who do talk,” I continued, “are the ones I wish would shut up. We live in a tourist area. They know that. They bought their houses knowing that. Yet they complain about every little thing, policing the tourists and each other. My neighbor, Mr. Johannsen, actually sent a certified letter to Mrs. O’Leary across the street because one of her Halloween decorations was faulty. And by faulty, I mean one of the flickering eyeballs on the long strand was out. Just one, and he sent a certified freaking letter.”
