The Casual Rule

by AC Netzel

  Of course, knowing me, if I have two more beers, those beer nuts are going to look like the best food on the planet. I better stay far away while I still have my wits.

  “Hi Julia. It’s been a long time.” I turn around to find Tim Bucktooth, appearing out of nowhere, standing behind me.

  “Hi Tim,” I wince. Ugh, I forgot about Tim. I know he’s going to sidle next to me all night. Super.

  “Are you joining the gang for dinner?” he asks.

  “Looks that way.” I shrug.

  “That’s excellent. We can catch up,” he says, his face beaming.

  “Sounds good.” I politely nod while cringing on the inside. Craptastic.

  It’s no secret that Tim has a massive crush on me. I pretend not to notice in hopes that eventually he’ll get the hint and focus his attention on some other poor soul. This strategy has not worked well. He tries to act smooth around me, but this guy is as smooth as a gravel driveway. He’s nice enough, just not my type. Allie swears it’s his funky teeth that throw me off, but honestly, it’s just him. The whole Bucktooth package throws me off. There’s no chemistry. At all.

  After downing the last half of my second beer, the last member of our group arrives. Thank God. My stomach is growling and that festering cesspool of germ infested beer nuts was starting to look appetizing.

  The six in our group walk to the back restaurant area and are directed to a table. Fortunately, it’s a lot quieter back here. Allie and I each take the middle seats. We like to face each other in social situations. It’s easier to give signals to each other from across the table, a glance that says it’s time to leave, a kick under the table that says “Hey drunk girl, shut the fuck up.” We have perfected our system.

  I scan the table and it dawns on me… Allie and I are the only girls seated. Leave it to Allie. She has a ridiculously huge grin on her face, sandwiched between two tat covered coworkers. Knowing the way Allie operates, I suspect she’s had an office quickie with at least one of them, but I’m not sure which as she’s flirting with both equally. On my right is Tim Bucktooth. No shocker there. He’d crawl in my lap and spoon feed me if I let him. On my left is Carter Johnson, an actuary from Allie’s company. We always hit it off, having long discussions on baseball, sex, and life in general. We can talk about anything and after a few drinks, we usually do. Carter is a man whore, a real player, always with a different girl, another casual relationship guy. He’s good looking and knows it. I always tease him, calling him a commitment-phobic male slut, but now that I’m a card carrying member of the Casual Club, I have a new appreciation for the way he’s wired.

  “Hey Julia, good to see you,” Carter leans in and whispers in my ear, “Looks like ol’ Bucktooth found his spot to the right of his beloved Queen.”

  I nudge him with my shoulder. “Shut it, Carter.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, you love the attention.” He nudges back.

  “You’re so bad. Still using your freaky math skills for evil?”

  “Yep, got my internal mathematical crystal ball to manage insurance risks… and card counting at the casinos, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Tim has a sour puss on his face; obviously annoyed that Carter has my attention. I pretend not to notice. He needs to get over it.

  The menu is simple. Burgers and sandwiches. I order the fanciest item on the menu…a bacon cheeseburger with a large side of fries. It’s a little known fact that Friday night calories don’t count. And as an added bonus, if you drink enough beer, you’ll pee all the calories away. That’s Allie’s philosophy; tonight it’s mine too.

  “Are you meeting up with one of your harem later tonight?” I ask Carter.

  He laughs. “Not quite.”

  “Really? I thought you always kept one of your many lady admirers on stand-by.”

  “Things have changed,” he says cryptically.

  “Oh? You’re gay now?” I wisecrack.

  He pulls his cell phone out from his shirt pocket and places it on the table in front of us. The screensaver has a close up photo of a pretty brunette. “This is Janine, my girlfriend.”

  I blink my eyes a few times and shake my head. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you. Did you say girlfriend?”

  “I did,” he says, proudly staring at his screensaver.

  I’m shocked into silence. Either I’m dreaming or I’ve entered an alternate universe. A girlfriend? The guy is a man-whore… Webster’s definition of male slut, player, lothario, hound dog, himbo.

  “What happened to playing the field? I thought you didn’t like things messy with strings.”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “I grew up. I met Janine and thought what am I afraid of? I realized the whole casual thing was a cop out. Why go into a relationship with such low expectations, just meandering through the motions, until it ends?”

  “But you said commitment was overrated.” I’m confused as hell. This is the one conversation that in a million years I never expected to have with Carter. He’s the poster child for the eternal bachelor.

  “I know what I said. I thought a lot about it. It was all bullshit. I came to realize that I was never giving any of the girls I hooked up with a chance for anything more than a good time. It was time for a change. A commitment.”

  “Maybe you never committed because all you needed was a good time?”

  “Or maybe I never committed because I was afraid someone better might come along,” he counters. “I don’t know. I got to thinking…what did that say about Janine? She’s disposable?”

  “Yes, but isn’t the sex more exciting without the baggage that comes with a traditional relationship?”

  “Anyone can have sex. It’s just as exciting and in all honesty, better with a connection, with feelings. Great sex isn’t just getting naked and bumping uglies. It’s here,” He points to his temple, “and here.” He taps his finger over his heart. He pauses for a moment then lets out a soft chuckle. “Listen to me, I sound like a chick.”

  No kidding, if he keeps this up, we’ll end up on the same menstrual cycle.

  “Since you’re going all-out chick on me, can I ask you something serious?”

  “Sure, whatever you want.”

  “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Afraid of what?” he asks.

  “That you’ll get your heart broken?”

  “A little, maybe.” He shrugs. “That’s probably why I built walls around me. But I’m more afraid of what I’m missing if I don’t put myself out there and try for something better.”

  “Don’t think I’m implying there’s anything wrong with your relationship, it’s just…there are no guarantees.”

  “I used to think that way and that’s probably why I avoided commitment. Are there any guarantees in anything? It’s ironic, assessing risk is what I do for a living yet taking a risk was the one thing I always avoided. I know it’s all a crapshoot. Take your chances and hope for the best. If I didn’t take a shot and abandon that fear, I’d never have Janine.”

  “I’m dumbfounded. I never thought I’d hear this from you.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, neither did I. Fucked up, right?”

  “Sure is. I always thought you liked not being accountable.”

  “I started to feel like a shit, only contacting a girl when I wanted to hook up. I never stayed over. I always found an excuse: a work meeting, taking my mother out for breakfast, an early morning session at the gym. Anything to keep the lines drawn. Looking back, it’s seems pretty cold. Was the sex fun? Yeah, but that’s all it was.” He pauses, rubbing his jawline thoughtfully. “I found myself wondering about Janine; what she was doing, how her day was. But I didn’t want to cross that line because it’s the way I always operated. You know, no contact for anything other than sex.”

  I think back to the times Ben and I have contact. Other than work emails, which are always dry and professional, our only personal contact is for sex. I’ve invited him to stay over and he’s always used his marathon trainin
g as an excuse to leave. I thought it was sincere, but maybe it was just a way to keep me at arm’s length. A line drawn. And if I’m completely honest, I do wonder about him during the day, what he’s doing, who he’s with, how his writing is going… if he’s thinking of me too. But that’s normal curiosity, no different than how I’d wonder about any other friend. Isn’t it?

  Carter continues, “Then I thought…what the fuck is wrong with me? I really like this girl. She deserves better than the way I’ve treated the others, she deserves more than just a part of me. She deserves all of me, the good, the bad and the mundane shit. And you know what? I’ve never been happier.” He shakes his head, looking mystified at the discovery of his revelation. “Enough about me, I sound like a babbling asshole. Are you seeing anyone?”

  Here I was, planning to brag that I’m a fellow member of the Casual Club and now I feel like a loser for having the honor of such membership.

  I don’t know how to answer this question. Ben’s certainly not a boyfriend. He’s the guy Carter used to be and after listening to Carter’s gushing, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I’m part of that world. “No, not really. I’m focusing on my work,” I answer. That’s truthful… sort of.

  “Work’s not everything. There’s someone special out there for you. When you find him, make sure he never forgets how lucky he is.”

  “HmmMmm.” Yeah, Ben gets lucky often… I wonder if he feels lucky too.

  Oh, screw this. Carter is still in the honeymoon phase of his relationship. He doesn’t know the heartache that will follow. He’s never had his heart stomped on then left for dead. He’ll learn. Keeping up the barriers are the only means of self-preservation. I’ve been down that road once and it was one too many times for me. Maybe I have walls up, protecting me. He doesn’t know any better… yet. When she breaks his heart, and it will happen, it always does… He’ll come back singing his old tune. Then brick by brick; he’ll rebuild that wall. If he’s smart, he’ll keep that Casual membership card in a safe place.

  I’ve heard enough of his loved-up ramblings. Luckily two servers come out with our group’s dinners and drinks. I grab the mug of beer in front of me and chug it down in record time. Carter’s words have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I think I’d rather suffer through Tim’s fawning than listen to another word from Mr. Blissfully Happy.

  I turn to Tim. “So Tim, how are you?”

  A big smile splashes across Tim’s face. He proceeds to tell me all about his day while I shove french fries in my mouth, three at a time.

  ~o0o~

  I have to admit, I’m glad I came out tonight. Allie’s work friends are always good for a few laughs. And once Carter stopped droning on and on about his love life, I was able to enjoy the night.

  Allie’s already in her room, sleeping off her six beers. I was the designated roommate, with a lesser four beer buzz. The two beer deficit deemed me the responsible one…for whatever that was worth. We both slurred our way through the subway station and sang old Broadway tunes all the way up to our apartment. The neighbors must love us.

  I lie across the couch, propping a throw pillow under my head and snatch a gossip rag off the coffee table, quickly flipping through each page. I like to look at the photos first, then go back and read any article that interests me, if you can call it that. I’m studying the “Why did She Wear That?” page as my thoughts wander.

  Since Ben came into my life, for as much as the no strings guidelines were supposed to keep things uncomplicated, sometimes I feel like I’m on pins and needles waiting for him to call or text... or talking myself into texting him. It’s exciting and we’re amazing together. I have to admit, sometimes I miss the in-between times, the downtime that comes with a regular relationship. The stuff Carter was talking about.

  Dammit, this beer buzz and Carter’s puppy love jabbering are fucking with my head. I remind myself yet again, self-preservation is smart. Smart. No man will ever break me. I have work, good friends, and great sex with no drama or hurt feelings messing it up.

  The Tri-fucking-fecta of perfect. Why would I want to screw that up?

  Ben’s a friend. I know, I know, a friend with benefits, but he is still my friend. I do care about his well-being. I want him to have success with his book, and not just because I’m working on it. I want it for him. He’s worked hard. He deserves recognition for it.

  Come to think of it, he’s worked hard training for that stupid marathon he’s running tomorrow. I can tell when he talks about it that it’s a big deal to him. He is my friend. I should go there and surprise him.

  Yes. That’s what I’m going to do. It’s only a subway ride into Brooklyn. I can handle that. I’m going to freeze my ass off, but I’ve always prided myself on my loyalty to friends. Okay, I’m going.

  Crap…Allie. If I tell her, I’ll get another “He’s not your boyfriend” speech. I’m really not up to listening to her lecturing me on how I’m supposed to behave. When it comes to Ben, she always reads more into my motives than I intend.

  We’re friends. That’s all. I’m supporting my friend, just like I’d support Allie or Marcello. It’s absolutely no different. I grab my cell phone and open up my browser. After a quick search on the internet, I find the only marathon in Brooklyn tomorrow. It’s the only marathon running in the tri-state area. I know I’ve found the right one.

  As I look around the website, I realize that this is a charity run for Alzheimer’s research. Ben never mentioned that to me. So, this race is more to him than reaching a target number… it’s about his grandfather too. That’s so sweet.

  I’ll do myself a favor and avoid her lecture. I’ll tell her I’m meeting someone from work for coffee. With six beers in her, she should sleep pretty late; if I’m quiet I can make a quick escape and leave a note on the counter. I hate lying to her, but it’s easier to lie and run than listen to her go on and on about emotional bonding, blah, blah, blah. I’m not falling for him. He’s my friend and this is how friends act.

  I’m going to Brooklyn.

  Chapter 11

  I hate waking up early on a Saturday. This is supposed to be my sleep-in day, but supporting my friend is the right thing to do. Running for recreation is bad enough, but running in December is insane.

  I need my caffeine fix, but I don’t want to risk waking Allie before I leave. I’ll just grab a cup of coffee from a street vendor. I should only drink half a cup, which sucks because I really need that caffeine boost, but I know there’s rarely a public bathroom to be found. I don’t want to stand around in the freezing cold with a full bladder and nowhere to pee. I write a quick note to Allie, take a protein bar and quietly leave the apartment.

  The blast of the December morning air hits my face. Damn, it’s cold, even with my hat and gloves. Who the hell willingly runs a marathon in this temperature?

  Quickly, I walk over to the subway station, clasping the collar of my coat closed at the neckline. I always walk at a faster pace in the cold. The bitter winter chill cuts through my coat straight to my core. I hate this bone-chilling cold. After a ten minute wait, the train finally arrives and I’m on my way to Brooklyn. Once I reach my stop, I get off with a few other freezing souls and walk toward the race. Fortunately, there are enough idiotic spectators like myself to follow and find the correct route. It’s days like this that make me wish I owned a car.

  I know I didn’t have to get here as early as this but I want a good spot at the finish line. I want to see him accomplish the goal he worked so hard for. That damn goal stole him away from me, greedily taking any potential orgasms along with it. I take a quick peek at my watch to see how much time has passed since the race started. I laugh to myself; this watch brings me back to that one freakishly warm October day when I first laid eyes on Ben. I have to admit, a warm grassy park is infinitely better than the tundra I’m standing in now. I’m going to have to stand here for at least three long hours. I’ll probably lose my finger tips to frost bite. Okay, slight exaggeration there, but a
nything under sixty-five degrees is far too cold for one as delicate as I am.

  I found a great spot near the finish line, right up front, directly behind the barricades. I keep a keen eye on the runners coming in. He said he was hoping to finish in about three and a half hours. I’m hoping he comes in under two, so I don’t freeze my tits off. The chilly air is permeating through my coat. As time goes by, the crowds get thicker and thicker. Some pushy jerk tried to weasel his way into my spot. He’s obviously not a native New Yorker because one ice-cold death glare from me and he cowered back into the crowd with his tail tucked between his legs. Pfft…Amateur. Don’t mess with me, you loser. I’m tired, my tits are cold, and there’s no way in hell I’m missing Ben’s first marathon finish.

  Despite the cold, the race is fun to watch. The elite runners file in a little after the two-hour mark. I try my best to divert my eyes at some of their choices in running apparel. Their man-junk is bouncing around freely. There’s no guessing whether a guy is circumcised or uncircumcised; it’s all out there, outlined in multicolored spandex. It’s not a good look. Don’t they have cup support for runners? They have bras that keep breasts from bouncing around; can’t they do the same for men? Allie calls them Salami shorts, and naturally, she’s a huge fan. I hate them. Try as I might not to stare, my eyes go straight to their crotch. It’s like a horrific car accident; you don’t want to look, but you can’t stop yourself.

  We’re at the three hour and fifteen minute mark when I see Ben mixed in with a small pack of runners. My heart jumps to my throat. He’s going to finish. I know how hard he worked for this moment. He looks sweaty, pained, exhausted and absolutely beautiful.