The Gamble: A Novel

by Xavier Neal

  She rolls her eyes. “You just had to take it there, didn't you?”

  “It was too good to pass up.”

  A light laugh leaves her with another shake of the head. “This is a terrible idea.”

  “Can't be any worse than bringing thirty school aged kids to the zoo.”

  “True.” Alexxa lets out a deep sigh. “Ugh. Fine. This can be an official date, but that doesn't mean we're going to keep dating or have another date, and I damn sure am not sleeping with you at the end of it. Got it?”

  My grin starts to grow.

  “And stop smiling before I change my mind.”

  Instantly I tighten my jaw.

  “I'm gonna go make sure Marcus didn't find a way to actually get in a snake's cage.”

  She doesn't wait for another word from me before she saunters away, the swaying of her hips taking my eyes along for the ride.

  This entire thing is taking longer than I initially predicted, but I'm a Larson. I know no is just a yes waiting to be convinced or seduced. And that's exactly what I'll be spending our date doing. Convincing my best friend our friendship will only get better by blurring a few boundaries. I want that yes. I'm gonna fucking get it. This is one bet I will not lose.

  Alexxa

  “Wait. Wait. Wait.” The word rushes out of Marie's mouth in a repeated irritated fashion. “Could you say that one more time for me? I'm not understanding the words coming out of your mouth.”

  Honestly? I don't either. I keep saying them yet they continue to sound like Russian or Hebrew.

  I adjust my boobs in the lacy bra I've just switched to. “Luca and I are going on a date.”

  “Is he dying? Please tell me he's dying.”

  “He's not dying.”

  “Then that's a terrible idea.”

  “It's not a real date,” I sigh and grab a plain shirt off my bed.

  “What's a pretend date?”

  “For some reason Luca has it in his head, he wants to date me.”

  Which doesn't make any sense whatsoever. He likes 'em easy on the eyes and easy to spread their legs. I'm neither of those things. I've never been either of those things. And guess what? I will never be either of those things. Sure, I can clean up nice when I try, but I don't do that very often. Let's ignore the fact I'm a virgin and pretend I’m not. I still wouldn't just walk into the room and blow him. I don't know where he got this notion I suddenly fit into his category for another check mark on his list of 'to fuck today', but I wish it would go away. It's been frustrating enough not being able to get the image of his hips bucking and his heavy breathing out of my fucking head. The way he held her down. The way she shook under him when she came. I bounce between blaming it on my sexual curiosity and the tiniest possibility I might actually want Luca. I can't want Luca. I just can't. That'd fucking ruin our friendship, not to mention I don't want someone who treats having sex like he does an actual sport. Warm up, get in the game, bring home the trophy, then forget about the team until the next time they come into rotation. No. Whatever his new found hang up is and whatever my disorientation is about will be put to rest tonight. That's what this is about. Getting back to the right side of the friend's zone. The side I'm comfortable with.

  “Of course he wants to date you. You're amazing.”

  Love her. That's what best friends are supposed to say.

  “He's an idiot for even thinking he deserves someone like you.”

  I helplessly smirk. “I don't think he actually wants to date me.”

  “Then what is his problem?”

  “I don't...I don't know, but I think if he gets this one date out of his system, he'll let the idea go. So, I agreed to one date on which I will tell him all the reasons why we are better as friends.”

  Marie huffs as she folds her arms across her chest. “Good.”

  “You can breathe easy. I'm not gonna buy into his bullshit.”

  “Even better.”

  “Look, I know how much you hate Luca-”

  “Hate anything that rabid.”

  “He's not that bad.”

  Her eyebrows lift in a sarcastic fashion.

  Don't join her.

  “Okay, he is that bad. I'm convinced he might have next generation herpes, but he's a good person. He's got a good heart.”

  Marie's face twists again.

  How about a little support here?

  “Trust me. He really is. He just tends to show his fuck head side to most people and save the one who would rescue an orphan from a burning building to a select few of us.”

  “Like you and the orphan?”

  Giggling at her comment is not supportive!

  I let out an exasperated sigh.

  She surrenders her hands and says, “Fine. I'll take your word for it. But even if he is possibly, and I use that term loosely, a decent human being or even a great friend, he's not the kind of guy a woman like you should ever actually date.”

  Curious to her thoughts on the situation I ask, “Because?”

  “Because you deserve better than some asshole who can't keep his eyes or his hands to himself long enough to commit to one person for longer than the amount of time it takes to make Ramen noodles.”

  Relief slides around my shoulders.

  Not exactly where I thought she would go. Guess my brain is more insecure than I care to admit. Most of the time I assume immediately guys like him have never wanted me because I don't physically fit the part. No overly dyed hair. No photo shopped waist line. No concern over getting crumbs on my shirt or sauce on my face. Plus, I can spell my own name without the assistance of auto correct. It's not that I don't have attractive features or qualities, they're just not the ones that appeal to guys like Luca. I'm okay with that. And I've always been okay with that. From the first time and only time I played spin the bottle where Matt Gimble refused to kiss a girl who looked like a boy in his warped sixth grade mind, I've accepted I'm not the female guys flock to for romantic reasons. Contrary to some people's beliefs there's nothing wrong with staying in the friend's zone. Personally, I love it here. I can burp the alphabet, have a boob itch, and not shave for a few weeks without any objections. My problem is Luca's new found desire to want to burn down this territory. This very safe, very comfortably, very pleasant territory.

  “Speaking of dating...” A glimmer fills her eyes I know too well. “Grant has this work friend-”

  “No,” I shut down the conversation. “No more set- ups or blind dates.”

  “Why not?”

  “They're never my type.”

  Marie hums, “What exactly is your type?”

  I start to answer but pause, unsure exactly of what to say. As I realize I've never had to verbally explain to another person the type of guy I'm interested in I fumble during my response, “Someone who I can talk to about books without feeling like they're a snob. Someone who appreciates jazz music but isn't pretentious about it. Someone who doesn't mind doing most of the work when we go canoeing.”

  Marie nods slowly. “Sounds like Warren.”

  Warren's sweet face invades my mind.

  It's not like the idea hasn't boarded my thought train. However as soon as it leaves the track, the Luca one zooms out behind it. I'm getting to the point where it feels like a fucked up math problem. If the Warren train leaves the station at 7 a.m. and the Luca train leaves the station at 11 a.m. because its conductor slept in, what time will they both arrive at the Shouldn't Be Having This Thought Process station?

  “You can date Warren. I like Warren. He has a soul.”

  “Luca has a soul.”

  “Not in his possession.”

  Giving myself another look in my full length mirror, I tug off the printed shirt to replace it with the other one lingering on my bed. “I don't wanna date Warren.”

  “Why not?”

  I swipe the lacy top into my possession. “If we ignore the simple principle of not wanting to fuck up our friendship, there's just...something missing from Warren. There's n
ot exactly an abundance of chemistry.”

  “Maybe there is and you haven't taken the time to discover it.”

  “Doubtful. I guess, he's more golf clap than thunder clap. Loafers and pet turtles. Double check your rear view mirror three times before backing out of the driveway.”

  “So...he's too safe for you?”

  “I guess. I kinda want someone who's willing to take some risks. Take the shot that's on fire. Wait outside all night of a hotel because you heard the white power ranger you worshipped as a kid booked a room. Jump out of a plane.”

  In a panicked voice, she pleads, “Please don't jump out of a plane.”

  “Luca said it's not as scary as most people think.”

  “He is scarier than most people think.” Her retort makes me roll my eyes. “Anyway, you're basically telling me your type is your two best male friends smashed together.”

  A crooked smile slips on my face. “That sounds about right.”

  Instead of commenting on the newly established information, she walks over and tugs my low v-cut down to expose more cleavage. “Just promise me one thing.”

  When she steps back, I lift my eyebrows in question.

  “Promise me you won't go all Dawson's Creek and fall for Luca.”

  The knock at our front door grabs my attention. In one swift motion I grab my cell phone and matching black wristlet. “Are we sure Luca would be Dawson and not Pacey?”

  Marie frowns. “It doesn't matter which one is which-”

  “I mean it matters a little-”

  “It doesn't,” she fusses following me towards the door.

  Come on. It totally does.

  “It really doesn't. Either way, just don't do it. It's only going to end in flames. Or tears. Or flames, tears and a pint of cookies and cream.”

  With one hand on the knob, I turn and sigh, “You can sleep easy, Marie. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. It's never going to happen.”

  Let me reiterate that for you. Hooking up with Luca is never going to happen.

  Twisting the front door open, I'm surprised to see Luca's perfectly cut face freshly shaven, hair newly cut and slightly damp, in a pair of dark jeans with a black fitted long sleeve shirt gripping his muscles mercilessly.

  Fuck. I forgot how good he looks when he cleans up.

  The bouquet of dandelions he's gripping renders me utterly speechless.

  Don't tell me I'm in trouble...I know that. One look at him like this and I know that.

  Marie's voice faintly says from behind, “Flames, tears, and ice cream.”

  “Hey,” Luca greets me with a bit of a quiver in his voice.

  That's new.

  “Hey.”

  “You look...” The rest of the sentence seems to lose focus as he does. I give him the moment I already stole to admire me in my tight jeans and top. While it's nothing special in my book, Luca's inability to coherently continue has me second guessing the power of my attire.

  I'm sure this is all part of his twelve step get her into bed program he uses on most women. The blue eyed dreamy look is definitely killer. I'll give him points for that.

  Luca's luminous leering lifts upward and the aroused look lingering in his eyes sucks the air out of my lungs. “You look hot.”

  “Romantic,” Marie mutters from behind me.

  “Like....just...unbelievably hot. Do you know how hot you look?”

  I playfully smirk. “I can guess.”

  “You um...” His tongue wets his lips. “You....just...absolutely fucking hot.”

  “Making Shakespeare proud one f-bomb at a time,” my roommate sneers.

  He clears his throat and looks around me. “Hey Marie.”

  “Luca.”

  Now with some sort of focus back in place, he offers me the flowers. “Your favorite.”

  Still grinning, I take them. “You didn't have to.”

  “Thought they'd make you smile.”

  “Total line,” I call out.

  It so was.

  He slides his hands in his pockets. “Or maybe I knew the shitty day you had at work and thought your favorite flower might make you smile. Even if it was just for a moment, it was worth it.”

  How he gets women to drop their panties is making so much more sense faster and faster. The confidence in his elocution. Putting just enough softness in it to be baited into believing everything out of his mouth is meaningful. Master player in the Superbowl of manipulation. He's collecting points on the board and the clock has barely started. Oh my gosh....am I really using sports analogies? I have to stop hanging out with him.

  “That um...sounds like a line too.”

  Marie whispers, “Because it is.”

  He casually shrugs. “It's not.”

  What do you think?

  Before I have a chance to ask, Marie volunteers, “I'll put those in water for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  She takes the flowers and warns, “Be safe and come home tonight.”

  “I will. No couch crashing for me.”

  “Or bed crashing,” she reiterates.

  Luca tosses his head at her. “Enjoy your night, Marie.”

  She gives him a harsh glare before she shuts the door behind us.

  On our way to the parking lot, he sighs, “She's always going to hate me, isn't she?”

  “Probably.”

  Part of me loves the fact I never have to worry about her confessing that they ended up in bed together or asking for advice on how to tell her boyfriend.

  At his car, I prepare to open my door when his hand gets in the way. He quickly asks, “What do you think you're doing?”

  “I thought I was getting in the car. Walking to the hockey game doesn't really sound like fun to me.”

  My sarcastic remark is met with a slick smirk. “I meant, a woman shouldn't open her own door.”

  “Luca, I always open my own car door.”

  “Not when you're one a date with me,” his voice softens. “You deserve to be treated like a lady. Now...” He gives the handle a sharp tug. “Let me help you in.”

  I roll my eyes at the tactic.

  So being on a date means my fingers no longer work? Does he think I need to save them for the hand job he's never going to get?

  After slipping inside, I wait for him to get in to before saying, “Can I buckle myself or do you need to do that too?”

  Luca leans against his door. “You're really being bitchy about me wanting to open your door?”

  “It's just a door.”

  “Yeah, Alexxa. It's just a door. I was trying to be a gentleman.”

  “It's weird,” my mouth instantly vomits. “All of this is weird. The flowers. The door. The fact I know you're wearing your woman trap cologne-”

  “What?”

  Leaning against my own door, I explain, “Your woman trap cologne. It's the one in the black bottle, the one you wear when you've met a chick you have to take out for longer than one drink to seal the deal. The red bottle is the one you put on after the gym. The one in the glass bottle is strictly for already on the list women.”

  For a moment he leaves his mouth shut tightly. However, just as I begin to think maybe I've gotten out of this monstrosity he says, “You think it's weird I tried to open your door? Well I think it's fucking weird you've cataloged my cologne.”

  “I think it's weird you unconsciously cataloged your own cologne!”

  “You do the same shit!”

  “I do not!”

  “You do, but it's not with perfume because you only own one bottle and it's reserved for anything that requires you to wear the one designer dress in your wardrobe.”

  What the hell would I need more than one for?!

  “You have four types of bras. The one you wear to work. The one you wear to self-defense class. The one you wear when we're hanging out. And the illusive low cut lacy, black date bra.”

  It's my turn to fall silent.

  “I'll let you out of this date right now
if you're not wearing it.”