Date Me Like You Mean It

by Grey, R. S.

  “Mom, Aiden offered me a place, and I’d be silly to turn it down. The location is great. It’s ten minutes from my new job, and we know him. He’s James’ brother. If I can’t trust him, who can I trust?”

  My dad sat me down and made me swear to lock my bedroom door every night. It’s like they thought Aiden was going to maul me upon arrival. Hello! That’s the dream, people!

  They didn’t need to worry.

  I still remember the first day I showed up, bags in hand. I knocked on the door, and a girl answered.

  “Oh hi, can I help you?”

  She was looking at me like she wanted to throw me off a boat.

  “Hi, um…” I took a step back to review the numbers on the door. “Does Aiden live here?”

  “Yeahhh…” she said, drawing the word out slowly. “He’s in the shower though.”

  “Oh, right. Okay. No worries. I’m actually his new roommate.”

  “Roommate?”

  I adjusted the strap on my bag to distribute the weight better across my shoulder. It was starting to get heavy.

  “Yes. Could I…?”

  I gestured for her to open the door and let me in, but she didn’t.

  “Let me just go ask Aiden,” she said with a smile that looked more like a sneer.

  Cool! I’ll just wait out here with all my bags! No worries!

  She slammed the door in my face and disappeared down the hall. I expected her to return a few minutes later, but she didn’t.

  I knocked on the door again, but that time, no one answered.

  Shit. What am I going to do now?!

  Then I remembered I had Aiden’s number, so I called him.

  He answered quickly enough. “Maddie, hey. Are you here?”

  “Yup, standing outside your condo actually. I asked your friend to let me in, but I think she…err…forgot about me.”

  He cursed under his breath then the line went dead. A second later, I heard footsteps pounding across the floor. The front door whipped open and there stood Aiden, fresh from the shower, hair damp, black t-shirt stretched across his chest.

  “She didn’t tell me you were here.”

  “Oops! I knew I forgot to tell you something,” she said from behind him, not sounding the least bit remorseful.

  Aiden stepped through the door to retrieve my bags for me, even taking the one off my shoulder. I sighed in relief, aiming an appreciative smile his way as he led me in.

  “So this is it,” he said, looking back at me with a smile. “That’s the kitchen, and there’s the living room.”

  “Pretty self-explanatory.” I laughed.

  He joined in. “Yeah. Right. C’mon, I’ll show you your room. It’s just across the living room from mine.”

  “Ai-den,” the girl singsonged. “I’m starving. You said we could go get some lunch.”

  Her pouty tone grated on my nerves, and Aiden wasn’t immune either. He met my gaze and rolled his eyes teasingly. I smiled at him conspiratorially.

  “Fine,” she groaned in annoyance. “I’ll be downstairs in the car. Waiting.”

  Then she stormed out of the condo.

  “Girlfriend?” I asked, trying to make my tone sound nonchalant.

  “Not even close,” he assured me.

  Oh thank god.

  He opened the door to my room and we stepped inside together.

  There was already a mattress and bedframe, as he’d mentioned there would be, but not much else.

  “Did you bring a car down?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I’d flown from Dallas that morning and taken an Uber to the condo. “No. It was pretty old and unreliable. My parents offered to help me get something better, but I figured I could just walk most places since we’re in such a great location.”

  “Yeah, you’ll be fine. I have my Jeep if you ever want to borrow it. Figure you might need to go pick up some stuff to make this place feel like home.”

  I glanced back at the sparse room.

  Home.

  Right.

  “You have a private bathroom back through there,” he continued, pointing to a door opposite the bed, “and there’s a washer and dryer in the hall near the kitchen.”

  He looked down at his cell phone buzzing in his hand, and a fleeting look of annoyance crossed his face.

  “I can take it from here,” I told him with a reassuring thumbs-up. “I’ll just take my time unpacking and getting settled in.”

  “Sounds good. Sorry I have to run,” he said, backing up toward the door. “I’ll make it up to you. Do you like pizza?”

  “Can’t stand the stuff.” He looked taken aback, and I grinned. “I’m kidding. Everyone likes pizza.”

  His smile magnified tenfold. “Right. I’ll bring some home later. We can celebrate.”

  Did I want Aiden to greet me upon my arrival at his condo completely and utterly in love with me? Sort of. But then, I couldn’t really blame him for having a girl there. After all, the last time he’d seen me, I was still dating Darren. He didn’t know we’d broken up after the wedding. He didn’t know I’d been anxiously awaiting my move to Austin, not only to start life after college and an exciting new job, but also because I secretly wanted to get to know him better.

  That night, he brought home pizza as promised, and the next day when I asked to borrow his Jeep so I could go to IKEA for a dresser, he volunteered to come with me.

  We stopped for BBQ on the way, and it’s been like that ever since, me and Aiden, partners in crime.

  My parents had nothing to worry about with him. In the two years since I moved in, we have not kissed or touched in a sexual way. He has not asked me out on a date, stared longingly into my eyes, made proclamations of love, or tried to seduce me. The time I saw him naked, it was only because I got home early from work and he’d left the door to his room open because he wasn’t expecting me. Innocent mistake.

  Now just because Aiden hasn’t been pursuing me doesn’t mean he’s been a saint. In the two years we’ve lived together, I have seen him with other women. Lots of women. Loud creative types. Shy bookworms. Sporty yoga instructors. Worse, they aren’t even all beautiful; he’s not shallow like that. Most of them are funny and awesome and that’s part of the reason why I let them in when they come knocking after a breakup, wanting more of him.

  I’ve been thinking about Kelly since last night, how she told me they broke things off months ago. I hadn’t realized Aiden has been single since then. It’s a record, for sure.

  “Are you dating anyone right now?” I blurt out as I rinse my cereal bowl in the sink.

  He shakes his head, keeping his focus on his breakfast so I can only see the back of his head. “No.”

  “How long have you been single?”

  He shrugs. “It’s not like I’ve been counting the days.”

  “I’ve never known you to not have a girl on retainer.”

  “Same could be said for you.”

  I’m taken aback by this. Of the two of us, I’m not the serial dater. He is!

  “What? I don’t date all that much.”

  He turns around and quirks an eyebrow at me. “You’ve had three boyfriends since you moved down from Dallas.”

  “Boyfriends?! They weren’t boyfriends. They were just guys I was seeing,” I insist.

  “Yeah, well they all thought otherwise. You forget, I still work with Cole. He asks me about you all the time.”

  I try not to outwardly cringe. “Right. I hope he’s doing well. He was nice.”

  “He’s doing just fine,” he says gruffly.

  “So, just to clarify, there’s not even one girl you’re talking to at the moment?”

  “Why do you sound so shocked by that?”

  Because I am!

  Aiden rises from the table, grabs his bowl, and walks over to join me at the kitchen island. I’m still standing at the sink, so he has to curve around me to put his bowl down. We’re too close for comfort, him with his tousled bedhead and morning stubble, his naked
abs right there for the touching…

  “You like to think I’m some kind of womanizer,” he says, his mouth dangerously close to mine, “but let’s get it straight: I might date around, but you string guys along.”

  My jaw drops.

  “Yeah,” he continues. “You keep them on the hook just for the fun of it. You reel them in, let them out, tease them until they’re fully invested, and then”—he snaps his fingers—“just like that, you’re done with them.”

  “Not true.”

  “Darren,” he says, starting to lay names at my feet for proof.

  “That was different.”

  “Eli.”

  “No.”

  “Cole.”

  “Okay.” I hold up my hand and try to push him away from me, but he doesn’t budge. All those protein shakes seem to be doing their job. I give up trying to move him and drop my hand with a sigh. “I see your point, but maybe I’m just trying to find the one. To do that, I have to date around.”

  “I’m not buying it. If that was your goal, you’d pick guys who are actually your equal.”

  “My equal?”

  “Yes. You bring home these dudes who fawn all over you. They’re nice, if not a little dumb. Half of them wouldn’t know a joke if it bit them on the ass.”

  Okay, now I’m pissed. If I had any milk left in my bowl, I’d dump it on his head.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Don’t get upset.”

  “Too late, bucko!” I move past him, march to the table, and yank my pillow from where he left it on a chair.

  “Maddie,” he says, his tone on the verge of pleading.

  “I don’t want to hear it, playboy! Keep your dating theories to yourself next time!”

  “You’re the one who started it!”

  Down the hall, I slam my door, stuff my pillow in a hiding spot under my bed, and start to get ready for work. I’m huffing and puffing with annoyance. Aiden doesn’t get to psychoanalyze my dating habits. Sure, I do it to him, but that’s different—my nosiness comes from a place of love. Truly. He doesn’t know what it’s like to live with your best friend, to eat and sleep under the same roof every night, all the while harboring secret feelings. He doesn’t know the torment of waking up on a Sunday morning and walking out into our kitchen to find a girl wearing one of his shirts, a sated smile stretching across her face as she tries to get to know me. He doesn’t know I keep Eli and Cole and all the others around because deep down, it’s better than being absolutely alone, wallowing in my feelings for my best friend. They’re a distraction. A means to an end. And sure, I wish just one of them would turn into something more than that, but they never will. Not with Aiden so close. Not with him taking up all my air.

  Chapter Three

  Maddie

  “So in conclusion, ‘workplace casual’ encompasses all of these items of clothing and none of these.” I’m up in front of a conference room, pointing between two posters. Both of them are covered in photos I printed out and pasted on with a glue stick. One says OKAY TO WEAR and the other says DO NOT WEAR. If you think visuals like this aren’t necessary for adults, you’ve never worked in human resources. On the OKAY TO WEAR poster, I have things like button-down shirts, jeans, polos, blouses, flats, and sneakers. On the other poster, I have swimsuit bottoms, flip-flops, tank tops, nightclub dresses—all of which I have seen people wear into this office.

  “Now, does anyone have any questions?”

  Ten hands shoot into the air.

  Jeez. That’s…troubling.

  How are ten people confused about this?

  I start fielding questions.

  The first complaint comes from good ol’ Joe in the back. He’s never been able to sit through a presentation of mine without somehow making it about him. “Yeah, okay, this is all well and good, but I have a note from my doctor that says I’m allowed to wear flip-flops in the workplace because of a fungus on my toes I’m trying to air out.”

  Wow. Just wow.

  “Let’s talk privately,” I suggest, before calling on someone else.

  “Yeah, I can’t help but feel like you’re singling me out right now,” says a woman in a red bodycon dress that is eerily similar to the one I have pasted on the DO NOT WEAR poster. Oops.

  I smile and shake my head. “No one is being singled out. This meeting is just a routine refresher so we all know what is and isn’t appropriate attire for the workplace.”

  A new hand shoots into the air. It belongs to Dan, one of our copy editors. I’ve always thought he was kind of cute, tall and lanky with trimmed red hair and an easygoing smile. He’s universally liked around the office, and I know if he’s asking a question, it’s purely to break up the tension.

  “Dan?”

  “Yeah, I have a question about the sneakers,” he says, pointing to my OKAY TO WEAR poster.

  “Okay,” I venture, trying not to smile.

  “Are blue sneakers acceptable?” he asks with a serious inquiry squint to his eyes. “Because up there, you have white ones.”

  I lose the battle with myself and crack a smile, albeit a small one. “Yes.”

  “Black ones?”

  I’m about to full-on laugh and break character. “Yes.”

  “And what about blue sneakers with a little black on them?”

  Now everyone’s laughing.

  The meeting wraps up and everyone heads out, hating me a little less than they did before Dan’s jokes. My job is interesting, to say the least. I work at a boutique advertising agency called Zilker Creative. We only employ forty people, so while my official job title is office manager, I actually do the work of the human resources department and the kitchen cleaning committee and the fine-I’ll-empty-the-trash-can-because-no-one-else-will division. On top of all that, I also end up assisting the heads of the company whenever they need something done.

  Dan is one of the good guys at Zilker. He tries to make my life a little easier, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “Very nice work up there,” he tells me as I take down my posters.

  I toss him a self-deprecating shrug. “Oh, thanks. You know, I’m never quite sure how these meetings will go. I think I lost everyone for a bit when I had to read over the company’s dress code word for word.”

  He stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “It’s a tough crowd.”

  I puff out a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

  He smiles and tips his head in farewell before heading out with everyone else. I leave the room feeling slightly less shitty than I would have if he hadn’t been there.

  After the meeting, I have to book it back up to the third floor to introduce myself to the new chief creative officer. She just started today, and I want to make a good impression. Outside her office, I shuffle my poster boards up underneath my left arm and knock gently.

  “Elise, do you have a moment?” I call through the door.

  “Sure thing! Come on in!”

  Squaring my shoulders, I push the door open only to stop dead in my tracks a moment later.

  Elise is face down on a massage table while a man in free-flowing linen attire rubs her lower back. She’s wearing a sheet to cover herself, but it’s still completely obvious that she’s nude underneath it.

  “Oh, uh…” I’m a humanoid who’s forgotten its programming. I step forward, backward, half-turn, look up to the ceiling, down at the floor, then finally start to head back out the door. “Sorry! I didn’t realize you were busy. I can come back later!”

  “Nonsense. Deepak is almost finished here, and I’m good at multitasking.” She picks her head up off the massage table so she can look at me. “Don’t just stand there. Come in and tell me why you’re here.”

  “Oh, well…I was just hoping to introduce myself,” I say, fidgeting with my posters.

  “Of course. Why else would you be in my office right now?” She laughs at herself. “Tell me your name.”

  “Madison Lane. I’m the office manager here.”

 
; She frowns like she doesn’t like that information.

  “Why on earth would anyone do that job?”

  Her candor catches me totally off guard.

  “It’s…well, that was the only job available when I applied to work here.”

  She hums. “Is that a dream of yours? To manage an office?”

  “I…enjoy it.”

  She waves her hand, and Deepak steps back. She tucks the sheet around herself and sits up so she can get a better look at me. I stare at the ceiling in an effort to give her privacy until I know she’s situated the sheet sufficiently. I guess I’ll have to add sheets to the DO NOT WEAR poster during my next presentation.

  “Deepak, dear, you’ve been wonderful,” she says, dismissing him. “Same time next week?”

  He bends to deliver a reverent bow in her direction before excusing himself from the room without a word.

  She sighs in bliss when he’s gone. “Deepak is an absolute godsend. I don’t know what I’d do without my weekly rubdown. He’s more than worth the fee he charges to fly down from Portland.”

  I try not to openly gawk at this information. She flies in a masseuse from the west coast every single week to give her a massage?!

  She walks around the table and heads toward a small Smeg refrigerator sitting beside an overgrown fiddle leaf tree. She retrieves a pre-made green smoothie and holds up a second bottle for me.

  “Here, drink this. It’s celery juice mixed with a variety of roots. Amazing for your immune system.”

  Knowing I can’t turn her down, I accept the beverage. When I take my first sip, I have to refrain from gagging. It tastes like dirt. Worse—dirt mixed with spoiled garbage. She notices my reaction.

  “You’ll get used to the flavor,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I actually love it. Now drink up and tell me, what is it you need? Did you already say?”

  She’s heading into her en suite bathroom now, presumably to put her clothes back on, but I could be wrong.

  “I was just stopping by to introduce myself and make myself available should you need any help settling in.”