by Lila Monroe
Or nothing.
Ahem.
“OK, now I’ve got a decent idea what works, let’s hit some real stores,” I suggest, but Zach shakes his head.
“After a pit-stop. Food. Me hungry,” he says, in a caveman voice.
I’m about to argue, when I realize, this could actually be perfect. Swing by Zoey’s, fuel up, help drum up some business, and then dive back in for round 2.
Plus, I’m guessing Zach’s a real treat when he’s hangry.
“OK,” I agree. “Brunch first.”
Zach almost looks surprised.
“What? I’m not a total bitch monster,” I tease, smiling.
He looks at me sideways. “Is it a vegan food truck?”
I’ve never seen him eat, but could Zach be vegan? I can’t imagine a big, beefy guy like him not eating meat. “No,” I say. “That’s okay, right?”
“So, there’s bacon?”
“Uh, yes.” I make a face. “You can’t have brunch without bacon, can you?”
“No, you cannot,” he says with a smile. “All right. I’ll come with you. I’ll just go change.”
“Or not.” I suggest. “What you’re wearing looks great. Take it for a spin. Test drive the new you. See how it feels to wear something that actually fits, and doesn’t inspire horror in small children.”
Zach rolls his eyes again. “Fine.” he sighs, ripping off the tags and walking up to the counter to pay for the outfit.
Thank god. This caftan is itching like crazy. “I’ll be right out,” I call, heading to the dressing rooms.
“Uh, what are you doing, Gemma?” Zach asks.
“Taking this thing off?”
“Nope.” He grins. “That’s yours now. Add it to my tab,” he says to Bianca, and then turns back to smirk at me. “She’s going to wear it all. Day. Long.”
* * *
We head to the street fair, which isn’t far, except it feels like a million miles when I’m stuck wearing this floating, itching, zebra-print sack of shame. Zach keeps smirking at me, and I can just tell from his expression, I look hideous.
“Enjoying yourself?” I ask him.
“Having a blast.” He replies, grinning. “How could I not, with such a stylish date?”
“Have your fun,” I tell him, airy. “But I’ll have you know, caftans are so in fashion again. You’re looking at the runway look, fresh from Paris.”
“Fresh from Milwaukie, you mean.”
I thump him on the arm lightly, and get a preview of the muscles he’s been hiding under all that flannel. I look at him sideways. “You know, you actually have a pretty good body,” I say, thoughtful. “You just couldn’t see it when you were wearing the wrong sizes.”
Zach coughs. “Uh, thanks?”
“Learn to take a compliment,” I tell him. “Because you won’t be getting many more from me.”
Zach chuckles. “That’s more like it.”
When we get to the truck, Zoey is deep in panicked food service mode, which means she’s like a tornado inside a tin can: cooking, sweating, barking orders to her sullen assistant. Competing with the fans, chopping noises, and kitcheny banter, I have to yell. “Hey, Zo, we’re here. What can we do?”
“You came!” Relieved, Zoey rushes over. “Thank you—you are the best!” she says, handing us each one of her signature brunch waffle cones, filled with a hash of bacon and potatoes, topped with a fried egg and drizzled with maple syrup. “Go walk around, showing off the goods. Make some noise, OK?”
“You’ve got it.”
She pushes us out into the crowd, and Zach takes a mouthful. “This is fucking epic,” he says after only one bite.
“She’s amazing,” I agree. “But slow down, you don’t want to eat it all at once?”
“I don’t?” Zach looks confused.
“No, we need to get people curious,” I explain. Then it’s time to start the show. “Oh my God,” I say loudly. “This waffle cone from The Little Red Wagon is positively ORGASMIC. Mmmmm. Mmmm … “ I moan. “AAAAAHHHHHHHIIIEEEEHHHHHH!”
Yes, it’s over the top, like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. And yeah, I’m embarrassing myself. But it works. Out of the corner of my eye, I see people noticing.
Zach recoils in horror from my one-woman orgasm show. “What are you doing?” he whisper-yells.
“Getting Zoey some attention,” I explain. “Come on, don’t ruin it! Mmmmm!” I moan loudly again. “The Little Red Wagon does the BEST food. It’s almost as good as sex!”
“Gemma!” Zach looks seriously embarrassed.
“Come on,” I urge him. “It’s what we’re here for. You got free food,” I remind him. “Time to work for it.”
Zach rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth lift in a smile. “Mmmm,” he says half-heartedly, taking a bit.
“Louder,” I hiss.
“MMMMMMM,” he half-bellows.
I try not to laugh. “Right?” I agree, spotting a group of teenage girls gawking at Zach. “And could you believe Ryan and Blake were in line behind us? Celebrities know how good the food from The Little Red Wagon is!”
Zach stares at me for a second and then clues in. Sort of. “They sure do!” he exclaims. “That Gosling couldn’t stop talking about these waffles!”
“Wrong Ryan,” I whisper.
“Whoops,” he says, adding a loud, “Anyway, he was so right. This thing is amazeballs! That Blake guy loves everything from The Little Red Wagon, too.”
I can’t help but laugh as I take another bite. We’re laying it on thick, but the food is amazing, so it’s not like we’re lying about that.
One of the girls comes over, her eyes wide. “Where did you get that?” she asks.
“The red truck, right over there,” I point. “Better hurry, you don’t want to miss out.”
“Oh my god. Guys, come on!” she squeals, and the group stampedes towards Zoey’s location. I grin.
“Mission accomplished.”
Zach chuckles. “They’re going to be disappointed when they find there are no celebrities.”
I shake my head. “Who could be disappointed with waffles?”
“Good point.”
We walk around a while longer, gushing about the food. Zach likes his waffle cone so much that we circle back and get him another while I settle for one of Zoey’s chocolate drizzle mocha lattes to wash it all down. It makes a very good end to a great meal.
Until I hear my name, spoken behind me.
I turn around, but my caftan catches under my feet. Of course, I go down. My latte launches out of my hand, spraying all over the road as I land on my hands and knees with a squeak. The good news is the caftan probably saved my knees from road rash.
The bad news is who called out my name.
“Gemma? It is you!”
I look up. It’s Dakota—the guy who ghosted me a couple of weeks ago. And I’m sprawled in the dirt in the ugliest outfit known to mankind.
Seriously, Gods of Running into Former Flames?
Zach helps me to my feet. “You okay?”
I brush the grit off my hands, but don’t answer because I’m distracted by Dakota. It’s especially distracting because he has his arm around a cute blonde girl, looking like she just left yoga class.
OK. I get it now. So much for ‘I thought we had fun’.
“Good to see you!” Dakota says with a genuine smile. Because he’s genuinely clueless.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I blurt, wishing the earth would swallow me up. Because, it’s not like I was in love with the guy, but I still would prefer him to see me on a good day; a breezy, gorgeous, ‘couldn’t care less that you couldn’t care less’ kind of day. “What’s going on?”
“Bold fashion choice,” the girl says, giving me an up-and-down. I can’t tell if she’s being sincere or not and I sort of want to die.
Then, as I’m about to make a mumbled excuse and get the hell out of here, another girl comes bounding up with waffle cones from Zoey’s truck. This one has flo
wing red hair and cute freckles. “Oh hey,” she says to me. “We saw you walking around with these before—so good, right?”
I nod. “Yup.”
And then, while I’m standing there, looking like a clumsy idiot, in a caftan, of all things, Dakota takes a cone from her and thanks her with a kiss. A very friendly, tongue-involved kiss.
I glance at the yoga girl, who is smiling. Like it’s okay, even though he still has his arm around her.
What the ménage?
I’m about to back away from the PDA when Dakota removes his mouth from the redhead smiles at me. “Gemma, this is Tina and Amy.” He nods to each girl in turn. “My girlfriends,” he adds, in case it wasn’t obvious.
“Hi …” I say to them. Because seriously, what else am I supposed to do? Then, I can’t help myself. “So you’re both dating him?”
The girls nod. “We’re a triad,” Tina says. Proudly?
I blink at them. “Right.”
Dakota nods. “Monogamy is a false relationship construct made to stifle human sexuality. We don’t believe in setting boundaries.”
I hear someone snort beside me. Zach. I’d almost forgotten he was here.
“That’s … Wow. Interesting!” I manage to say. Was he dating me to see if I was harem-friendly? Sister-wife compatible?
Suddenly, Zach’s arm drapes around my shoulder, and he’s introducing himself. “Great to meet you guys.”
“You too!” Dakota exclaims. “You know, I’m glad I ran into you,” he adds. “I dropped my phone in the hot tub and haven’t had a chance to get it replaced and I didn’t have your number.”
Of course he dropped his phone in the hot tub. At the swingers’ club, probably. “Well… You are obviously a very busy guy.” I manage.
“Exactly.” He grins. “We should hang out some time.”
“You and me?” I ask in disbelief.
“All of us.” His grin gets bigger. “We could have some fun, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely!” Redhead agrees.
“Totes.” Yoga babe nods. “You can come, too,” she purrs, looking pointedly at Zach.
This is too much.
“Um, thanks!” I exclaim brightly, backing away. “I’ll, uh, give it some thought!”
Before they can reply, I grab Zach’s hand and race away, managing to lose us in the crowd before I stop.
And burst into hysterical laughter.
“All of us?” I echo, bent double. “What the hell?”
“Hey, they were into you!” Zach laughs. “If you want to bail on me and go have some fun…”
“No!” I splutter, “Oh my god, am I totally over the hill? Is this what people do now? Triads!”
“Apparently so,” Zach smirks. “Because, you know, monogamy is a false construct.”
That sets off a fresh round of laughter, and I have to force myself to take a few deep breaths to recover.
“No judgment,” Zach grins. “They all seem happy with the arrangement.”
“I swear, if you say that he made the right choice …”
“Why would I say that?”
I stop and turn toward him. “Because it’s every guy’s fantasy?”
“Maybe.” Zach smirks. “But the reality is complicated. Everything in this world is made for couples: Two for one Groupons, Roller coaster seats. Twix bars.”
“Tandem bicycles.” I laugh, getting into the spirit. “But do they draw straws, to figure who goes where?”
Zach waggles his eyebrows.
I whack him playfully. “I didn’t mean like that!”
“Eh, those things rarely work out,” Zach says, starting to stroll again. “Someone gets bored. Someone gets jealous. Two times the fights. Two times the headaches. And that’s just for two—that guy sounded like he was hoping to build a team. Poly is not the fun orgy everyone assumes it is.”
“Sounds like you know all about it,” I say, giving him a sideways glance. I’ve never seen two women leaving his apartment together, but it’s not like I set up shop looking out my peephole. I could absolutely see him entertaining two ladies. Maybe even by accident if he overbooked himself. He hardly seems like the type to keep an accurate calendar.
“Personally? Nope.” Zach grins. “Although who knows? Maybe I’ll take the dream team up on their offer, if you won’t.”
I shudder. “That’s a mental image I don’t need, thanks very much.”
Zach pauses, and I realize we’ve reached the edge of the street fair. He dumps his empty wrapper in the trash. “Well, this has been … fun,” he says, frowning, like he can’t even believe it himself. “But I need to get going.”
“What? Where?” I panic. We got so sidetracked, we’ve barely started his makeover day.
“Just a thing with a friend. He’s a trainer, and he gets great pleasure from whipping my ass.”
“Can’t it wait? I have a whole list of stores I want you to visit—”
“You just pick for me.” Zach says. “I mean, you know my size now, right? And I trust your taste. But no more skinny jeans,” he adds, before I can get too gleeful at the compliment.
“Oh. OK. But we’re still on for tomorrow, right?” I check. It’s probably faster for me to whip round the clothing stores and assemble him a new wardrobe alone, but there are some things that definitely require his presence. “Grooming, bright and early.”
“Yes ma’am.” He salutes me, and turns to walk away.
It’s a nice view.
Until he looks over his shoulder and busts me watching.
I flip him the bird.
He laughs and walks away. I mean, I guess he does. I absolutely do not watch this time.
No matter how tempted I am.
7
Gemma
- Day 3 -
The morning of Day Three of the bet, I bounce out of bed bright and early, and make the hazardous commute to work … on my couch. Since Zach is the only client on my books, and I don’t want to give Arielle any hint of my progress (or lack thereof), I’ve decided to work from home as much as possible this week.
I spent the afternoon yesterday racing around the best new menswear stores in the city, picking out things for him. We usually put all out purchases on the Styled corporate accounts, and return the 70% of stuff clients don’t like, but since this is off-books, I had to do my best charm offensive and scrape together the last of my credit until Zach can pay me back.
At least, I hope he can pay me back.
Still, I got some amazing stuff. Rugged and rustic, sure, but more stylish than the hideous stuff he’s been mooching around in so far. I look down at the many notes and sketches spread around my coffee table; it’s really coming together. I’ve started a storyboard to track progress, leaving a few spots for ‘before’ pictures so I can show Serena the transformation. She’s definitely going to need to see what Zach looked like before I got my hands on him.
I wonder if Arielle’s making progress with her Delivery Guy. I remember his scowl – and explicit T-shirt and smile. We’re probably neck and neck in the surly dude makeover race. It is definitely going to be a tight competition.
But I can’t think about her, I need to focus on Zach and just do the best I can to make him over into my fashion opus, and prove I deserve that promotion.
So, confession time: it hasn’t been as horrible as I expected. Muumuu and grumbles aside, he’s been a pretty good sport so far. And nicer than I expected. Especially about that whole Dakota thing. Maybe there is a decent guy lurking under all that moody flannel, after all.
I’m just heading out to meet him at the barber shop, when I get a call from my sister, Alice. “Hey!” I exclaim happily as I turn down the block. “How’s my favorite Bond-girl-slash-Private Dick?”
Alice laughs at the other end of the line. “You love saying private dick, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. But it doesn’t make it less true that you’re my favorite dick.”
“Gems, your puns … seriously.” She giggles. �
��I take it this means you’re not seeing anyone?” “Now who’s punning?” I laugh. “And no, I’m not seeing anyone regular.”
“Seeing someone irregular?” she quips.
“ “How’s my future brother-in-law?” I change the subject off my lack of a romantic life, to her impossibly glamorous one. “Still disgustingly rich and handsome?”
“Obscenely so,” she says with a chuckle. “He is taking me to Paris this weekend. Why don’t you come? We’ll eat cheese and baguettes and pretend we speak French and look at hot European men..”
“While that sounds amazing and Parisian, I can’t.” I sigh, and quickly tell her about the bet. “I need to focus on getting Zach ready for the gala.”
“Wait, is this your lumberjack neighbor?” she asks, the amusement loud and clear in her voice. “The one who makes you crazy?”
“Yes. And you can stop laughing at any time.”
“I’m not laughing,” she says, totally laughing. “Are sparks flying? Or is he still too hairy to tell?”
“No!” I protest, my cheeks flaming even though she can’t see me. “He’s a client, Alice.”
“Which is pretty funny, Gemma. Because I very distinctly recall you telling me I should bang Nick when he was my client.”
“Totally different,” I claim. “You said you were into him at the time.”
“True,” she drawls. “But Zach is cute. And you’re single…”
“Stop trying to play matchmaker!”
“Says the girl who signed me up for dates without my consent.”
And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. “Yes. And look where it got you—engaged to a gazillionaire who is hot and amazing and adores you. Anyway, I am here. I have to go. Try to have fun in Paris without me.”
“I will.” She laughs. “Love you.”
I hang up just as I reach my destination: an old-timey barber shop. Zach is already here, sitting in one of the waiting chairs, inside. I’m disappointed that he’s not wearing the new (to him) clothes, but at least he’s not in the sweatpants. Instead, he’s wearing what look like comfy old Levi’s and a golf shirt, looking … presentable enough, I guess.
