by Edie Sommers
I held up my hand to stave off an ever-growing recital of Brenda’s virtues. “You’re not helping. I need to know what to do.”
Darlene dropped down beside me on my hand-me-down couch, earning a feline glower for disturbing Magoo, and took my hands in hers. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know! If I choose one I might hurt the other. What if they both decide to hate me? And what if something happens with one and I wind up with the other?”
“Is that your sweet Southern belle way of asking, ‘What if I fuck both their brains out and have to go through the rest of my life knowing I’ve screwed my brother-in-law?”
Brother-in-law? Oh shit! What if one of them turned out to be “the one”? Forevermore I’d be staring at an ex over the table at Christmas dinner. I jerked my hands, but Darlene held fast. Finally, I mumbled, “Something like that.”
She let go.
I took a sip of the wine I’d opened to ply advice from my friend with.
Said friend gave me an indulgent grin normally reserved for coworkers she considered imbeciles. “What if you don’t? What if you go out with them, get to know them better, and then keep on being their friend, huh? With benefits?” She exaggerated a happy dance.
Why did she always talk sense into me when I was dead set on losing my mind? “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Of course I am. Now, if I could only get Brenda to notice me.” She ran a hand over Magoo’s back. He climbed into her lap, the furry little traitor.
“Darlene?”
“Yes?”
“You know I love you, right?”
Darlene pinned me with a serious stare. “Is this something Brenda should know about?”
An eye roll served as my answer. “No.”
“Then what?”
“You know I love you like a sister, but this is my pity party, okay? Call me onto your turf and supply the wine whenever you’re ready to vent about Brenda.”
Darlene slapped a palm over her face. “Yeah, yeah, I know the rules. Whichever one of us is crying has to buy the drinks.” She abandoned her face-palming and turned up her wine glass. “Now that you’ve partaken of my wisdom, are you gonna give the cutie-pies a chance?”
Cutie-pies? Who said that?
An image came to mind of me, sandwiched between the twins. How many times had I masturbated to that fantasy? As sick as the idea was, I wouldn’t mind dating them together—just not in that yaoi, twincest kind of way.
Yes, I’d finished the comics she’d loaned me. Let me tell you, these ain’t the comics your parents grew up with.
Funny that Darlene didn’t even like guys sexually, yet perved out to comic books of hot rocker gods or mobsters doing each other. To each their own, I supposed. Personally? I found Darlene’s crush Brenda a bit standoffish.
And not nearly good enough for my friend if she hadn’t noticed what a fine person Darlene was after working together for two years.
Was I much of a prize?
Plenty of guys looked at me at bars and kept on walking, so to each their own. Of course, having Darlene sitting next to me on a barstool, growling at the men she labeled losers, didn’t help much.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Darlene pulled her wineglass away from her lips long enough to ask.
“I could lose two friends.”
“If they’re truly your friends, and they strike me as kinda mature for twenty-something males, then you won’t lose them. What’s the best that could happen?”
“Me. As the filling in a twin sandwich.” Oh, damn, had I said that out loud? I buried my face in my glass. The Pinot Grigio was liquid: Liquids shouldn’t catch fire, right?
“That doesn’t sound like a bad deal. Oh. And if they decide to go at it, you will tell me, right?” Darlene leaned in and batted her lashes.
I couldn’t help a laugh, aka wine snort. Darlene backed up fast, brushing at the drops I’d sprayed on her chest. Hardly enough punishment for my burning sinuses. When I could emit actual words, I had to ask, “What is this with you and liking two men together? You don’t even like men.”
“Hey, I can look. Think of it this way. If one man is hot, two are hotter. No, I don’t want to do them, just want to watch.” She winked. “Everybody needs a hobby.”
I kept my glass at a cautious distance this time, because no matter how hard I tried to stifle my laugh, it burst free anyway. “You are so weird.”
“But you love me anyway.” My friend smiled.
Yes, I did.
She pecked me on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Brenda.”
“But what if…”
She arched a perfectly manicured brow. “They want sex?”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t imagine facing Jack if I’d slept with Andy, or vice versa. Talk about awkward.
“You told me you don’t put out on the first date. Which probably explains why a fine catch like you sits at home on weekends.” She narrowed her gaze, considering me like a car she might buy. “You’re not lesbian, are you? I could fix you up…”
“No!” I took in her affronted glare. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it.” I poured more wine into her glass as a peace offering. Her bristled shoulders relaxed. “Why would you think that when I asked you over here to cry over my Jack and Andy dilemma? I like men but have to feel comfortable with them before I can sleep with them. Which is why they don’t stay. Most men want sex, and getting to know you first isn’t important.” I’d been called the wrong name once too often. It’s not like “Cassie” was difficult or anything.
Darlene wandered into my kitchen, returned with a bag of chips, and offered me some. My own chips. In my own house. Yeah, that’s how we rolled. I knew exactly where she kept Oreos at her house.
She asked between crunches, “But you already know these guys and are comfortable with them, right?”
Yes, I was. I buried my face in my hands. “I’m so screwed.”
Darlene patted my back, a smile in her voice. “One would hope. Now, before I leave and you chicken out, call them. It might take too long to get you presentable enough to see them. You’re dating now. No more sweats and T-shirts in their presence, okay? Oh, and bras are now optional.”
“What? Call them now?” What, exactly, were the symptoms of a heart attack? If mine beat any harder it might break ribs.
“Are you doing anything more important?” Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I snatched a chip from her hand and forced a grin past my jangling nerves. “Talking to my bestie.”
Darlene stroked her chin. “Well, yeah, but since I wanna hear what you say, call!”
No use fighting when she’d made up my mind for me. Or rather, convinced me to do what I wanted to do in the first place.
But which one should I call, Jack or Andy? Would the other one feel left out if I didn’t call them?
“You’re thinking too hard,” Darlene scolded, pushing a fingertip to the worry line that always formed on my forehead when I fretted.
I picked up my cell phone off the end table. “Which one do I call?”
Darlene took my phone out of my trembling hand, held it up to her nose, and started punching buttons.
“Wait! What are you doing? Give that to me!” I lunged. Darlene held my phone above her head.
Aerosmith’s Sweet Emotion came from the device. She extended the phone.
“What did you do, Darlene?” Besides changing my ring tone. I sucked in air and blew out, huffing breaths like I’d practiced with my oft-pregnant cousin in case she ever needed me as a Lamaze coach.
“I texted Jack and told him to call and put you on speaker so you could talk to them both at the same time.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t even considered doing that. The phone kept ringing.
Darlene scowled. “Are you going to answer?”
What? Oh! I snatched the phone and hit the button. “Hi, Jack!” I winced. How lame could one woman
sound?
“I got you on speakerphone like you asked, so you’re talking to me and Andy.”
“Hiya, Cassie,” Andy said, voice more distant than Jack’s.
Jack asked, “Have you decided?”
Pound, pound, pound went my heart. “Yes.”
Darlene swatted the back of my head.
I muted the phone and hissed, “What?” rubbing the spot she’d hit.
“Tell them what you decided, you derp!”
“And?” Jack asked.
“I’vedecidedI’dliketogooutwithyouboth.” There. The words were out, no taking them back.
“Hello? Cassie? Are you there?”
Darlene rolled her eyes, unmuted my phone, and mouthed, “Try again.”
Once was bad enough, but the practice run gave me time to compose myself somewhat. “I’d like to take you up on your offer. Both of you.”
Twin whoops sounded through the phone.
“Um… Who will I go out with first, and when?” Butterflies flitted around in my stomach. I squeezed Darlene’s hand for support.
Nothing.
“Guys? Hello.” Oh no! Had they really been teasing me all along?
“Yes!” Definitely Andy’s triumphant shout.
“Mind telling me what’s going on?”
A glum-sounding Jack said, “Andy just won the coin toss. He gets to take you out first. How about tonight?”
“Tonight?” I glanced at the clock. Four-fifteen. “What time?”
Andy hollered, “Seven-thirty?”
“Err… Sure. See you then.” I hung up the phone, eyes wide. This was happening. This was really happening. “I have to be ready in three hours!”
Darlene patted my back. “Don’t worry, sweetie, Auntie Darlene will take care of everything.”
“You? But you’re minimalist! I need a full spackle!” Especially since one awful blemish decided to take up residence on my chin.
“Do you trust me?”
Images came to mind: me stepping out of a department store dressing room, Darlene shaking her head. Me, clutching my head at work, suffering a stress headache, and Darlene tossing a bottle of acetaminophen clear across the room to land on my desk. Darlene, the woman who’d duct-taped the bottom of my shoe when I had a blowout while hiking. She had my back. Always.
Yet I still wondered why she carried duct tape with her. “Yes, I trust you.” As long as she didn’t try to solve this problem with tape.
“You probably shouldn’t, but good.” She gave me a wolfish grin.
Oh crap. What had I done?
5
I paced to the living room, my high heels clicking across the wooden floorboards, ignoring my bed now piled even higher with discarded clothing choices.
Oh well, at least a messy bedroom gave me a good reason not to invite Andy in. Oh no! I raced back into the bedroom, barely catching myself on the dresser when a heel slipped. Running. High heels. Polished floor. Bad idea.
I picked through perfume bottles and sniffed the tops. Nope. Too strong, and likely to send Andy into sneezing fits all night. Too flowery, not flowery enough, so old I’d worn the scent in high school.
Finally I opened a tiny folded card, uncapped the department store sample, and took a whiff. Perfect. Out of my budget, but if Andy liked the smell I’d finally cash in the gift card I’d gotten from Grandma for my birthday on a full bottle.
But then, would Jack like it?
I was so out of practice dating, preferring to spend evenings with book boyfriends instead of the less-than-stunning examples of masculinity I usually attracted.
For the two men of my dreams I’d give up my reclusive ways.
Probably better for me that Andy won the coin toss, as he appeared to be the calmer of the two. One never knew, though. Mama used to say to watch out for the quiet ones.
One more trip to the bathroom to check my appearance. No use denying Darlene’s talent. Who knew she possessed such skill with hair and makeup? She even managed to hide the pimple from Hell. Exactly what were they teaching her in art class, and should I sign up?
Twenty-four was such an awkward age for skin. The choices to be made. Pimple cream or moisturizer? Oh, my God! Lipstick! On my teeth! A tissue and a fingertip remedied the problem and allowed me to resume my pacing.
I wrung my hands and immediately inspected the freshly polished nails. Good. No smears, though why she painted the nails on my ring finger lavender and the rest pink evaded me. Though I loved the shade. I’d always been partial to lavender.
“Just don’t use sparkly polish on these two fingers,” she’d said, puffing a breath across my nails and not explaining why.
She needn’t have worried. I hadn’t bothered to paint my nails in ages.
Okay, I could do this. Andy and Jack were my friends. I’d been alone with them many times.
Only, not on a date. What would they expect? What if they turned out to be like some other guys I’d gone out with who thought dinner and a movie equaled bed?
What if they turned out like the one guy I dated who didn’t believe in sex before marriage and proposed on the second date to save his lustful soul from Hell?
What if, what if, what if. I brushed a strand of hair back and dropped my hand quickly, imagining Darlene swatting me for ruining the amazing job she’d done on my normally unruly waves. I rushed back to the mirror to ensure I hadn’t destroyed her work. Somehow she’d managed to get my hair sleek and shiny, and she’d added just a hint of lavender to a few strands, to match the polish and the amethyst studs in my ears.
Thirty more minutes. I picked up a book and set it down again. With my jangling nerves, I didn’t need to read about cops chasing a serial killer.
I tried the latest edition of Cosmo. The lovely, perfect clothes, every detail flawless, made me look around my entire life and frown.
It also guilted me into trudging to the kitchen to make sure all dirty dishes were safely tucked into the dishwasher. Was that a gravy spot on the stove?
I scrubbed as best I could while trying to keep my nails away from the scrubber.
I checked the clock. It was time. Oh God. My heart slammed against my ribs. Andy should be here now. Had he forgotten? I’d never known him to be late, ever.
Magoo lay on the bed, studiously ignoring me. Such. A. Cat.
Once more I paced to the living room.
Through the curtain on the front door I spotted a flash of dark hair a moment before Andy knocked. Or my knees knocked. My heart? Maybe all three.
The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was a wide smile that wouldn’t be out of place on the face of a mischievous little boy. He’d dressed in blue slacks with a lighter blue polo shirt. For a moment I wondered if Darlene hadn’t gone to the boys’ side of our shared duplex and picked the outfit to accentuate Andy’s tanned skin tones.
He ducked his head, hair flopping down to hide those sparkling brown eyes.
On instinct, I pushed back the soft waves. His gaze met mine. Lightning struck straight through me, and I couldn’t have moved if he’d yelled, “Fire!” We stood, mesmerized. The passion in his gaze couldn’t be faked, could it?
I gripped the doorframe in what I hope passed for a sexy pose, but mostly kept my weak knees from spilling me to the floor. Why had I thought high heels a good idea?
Andy reached out to steady me, his hand warm on my arm. The late spring day got even warmer. Parts of my body that I’d warned not to expect too much started making demands. He smiled again and held out an arm. I stared. Oh. He was waiting for me. I wrapped my hand around his biceps. My dates weren’t usually gentlemen. Cologne I’d never smelled on him before filled my nostrils, something clean and pleasant.
I hoped it didn’t clash with my own floral scent. Did he like my new dress? Why, oh why had I accepted a date with a guy I really wanted to like me? So much easier to date losers I never planned to see again. Okay, so they weren’t losers when I first met them, it either happened by the second date or they hid
it well until then.
“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled, leading me to the passenger side of his Mustang. He opened the door. Opened the door? For little ole me? I slid into the bucket seat and he closed the door behind me. The fresh scent of a recently cleaned car hit my nose.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
My date—oh, my God, my date!—hunkered beneath the steering wheel. The sleek sports car suited him. Quiet confidence shimmered beneath his normally quiet and unassuming surface. Andy projected an image of someone who’d be comfortable anywhere, in any circumstance.
His shaking fingers clued me in to his ruse. Maybe he was as nervous as I. “Someplace nice,” he said, voice a little squeaky. He cleared his throat. “I hope you like it.”
Wow! Andy was downright chatty tonight—for Andy. Of course, the twins always joked that Andy wasn’t really quiet, Jack just wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.
He extended his hand. I stared at it for a moment and cut my eyes to his face. He smiled. Oh. Right. On a date, not merely going out as friends for pizza.
Not dressed like this. I paused to tug my skirt down a bit and placed my palm against his. His hands were smooth, the nails clean and even. The hands of a businessman. With our joined hands he shifted the car into reverse. Normally, touching someone new came slowly. But this was Andy—only a different side of the man who’d seen me sick and totally miserable.
He’d witnessed me at my absolute worst and still wanted a date. If it had been anyone else but him or Jack, I’d ask what bet he’d lost.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those girls who goes around putting herself down and fishing for compliments, but if you looked in the dictionary under “average”, you’d find my picture. My hair fell to my mid back, lighter than Andy’s, so not dramatic black or light enough to optimistically be referred to as blonde. And what I wouldn’t give for eyes the dark chocolate shade of Andy and Jack’s instead of light gray peepers. Every cosmetic counter in the world held eye shadow palettes marked “for brown eyes” or green, or blue. Not gray.
