by Kitty Thomas
When the waiter comes, I'm allowed to order first. I like that Dayne doesn't try to order for me. Telling me what I'm going to eat is a bridge too far. It comes across as controlling rather than chivalrous unless he knows me and what I order—I like it then—but definitely not on a first date. He's just ticking all the boxes. Poor Jack may be on borrowed time.
“You look beautiful,” Dayne says when we're alone again.
I smile. “Thank you.”
He's pretty beautiful himself. He has dark hair and warm chocolate brown eyes. Kind eyes. And I can tell he's got some serious muscle definition underneath the navy suit he's wearing.
There are several beats of silence, those inevitable awkward moments of oh god what are we supposed to talk about now?
“What do you do for a living?” he asks finally.
I catch him wincing at his own boring standard interview question. And I'm sure he's asking it only because I didn't ask first. I don't do the interview questions. There's plenty of time to get to know a guy. All I care about on the first date is if I'm attracted, if I have fun, and if I feel comfortable with him.
I take a sip of my water before answering. “I'm a lion tamer.”
He laughs, “Really?”
“No, I'm messing with you. Guess.”
“Hmmm, this is a lot of work for a first date. Is there a prize if I guess right?”
“Yes. A kiss.”
“I'd get that at the end of the night anyway,” he says, sure of himself.
I laugh. “Well this way it's guaranteed.”
“Fair enough. Lady Astronaut?”
“Nope.”
“Hairdresser?”
“Nu uh.”
He goes through a string of guesses... teacher, dog walker, hotel manager. Finally he gives up.
“Okay, I'll have mercy on you. I'm a veterinary assistant. The clinic I work for works mainly with rescue groups. They get animals out of abusive situations and bring them to us to treat and rehabilitate them so they can find forever homes.”
“That's really nice,” he says, seeming genuine.
“So what do you do?”
“Guess.”
“hmmm, international spy?”
he shakes his head.
My other guesses are oil baron, janitor, firefighter, police chief, and CEO of a startup.
“Good guess,” he says after that last one. “You're right.”
I lean forward over the table, not missing how his eyes go straight to my cleavage. I grab his tie and pull him to me for a kiss far too sweet for that level of aggression.
“What was that for?” he asks when I pull back.
“Oh, so prizes just flow one way?”
He chuckles.
The ice now broken, we get into a variety of topics that seem safe for a first date. Then the food comes and we have something to occupy us besides nerves and small talk. I'm surprised I still get first date nerves. I should be more afraid of this date going well and how that might disrupt the balance of the roster. I also wonder briefly during dinner if he picked a place he knew I could afford to see if I'd go for the check at the end. The answer to that? Not even if someone dangled him over a cliff.
I've been told if the guy has money I should at least offer to pay part so I don't look like I'm just after his money, but absolutely not. A man that obsessed with the evil of a woman who wants a man who can provide for her is too damaged for me to deal with. If men can excuse their wandering eye with evolution, I can use the same argument for my need to have things paid for. Besides, he invited me. It's rude to invite someone out to dinner and not pay. You can find this rule in any standard etiquette book.
For dessert we share an order of cherries poached in red wine with mascarpone cream, which is just as sexy as it sounds.
After the meal, Dayne stands. “If you'll excuse me for a moment.”
He's gone a few minutes, and when he returns he asks if I'm ready to go. It occurs to me as he pulls my chair out that he got up and took care of the bill out of sight so it didn't even touch the table. Damn that's smooth. Jack who?
Dayne walks me to my car and goes for another kiss. I let him because it's not as though I can play the I don't kiss on the first date card after I already kissed him in the restaurant.
I thank him and tell him I had a lovely time, and he gracefully disengages and leaves once I'm safely inside my car.
He calls two days later to set up another date. Jack has started running hot and cold on me. I find I can't justify this anymore because I definitely can't juggle four men.
So Dayne is now on the roster taking Jack's place. I'm not sure how I got to this moment of dating three men that are actually serious candidates at the same time. Right now everything is wonderful, perfect. But I can't help my mind moving forward in time.
After all, I can't just rotate men in and out of my life forever. That was never the plan. The idea was that at some point the right man would step up and propose and then this life I was told I was supposed to want, the one that would make me happy would finally get started.
I allow myself for the first time to truly consider the new risk. What if I fall in love with more than one man? My problem is I attach too hard. This dating plan seemed perfect on paper. With three men I could never overattach to one if that one decided to string me along. I didn't truly consider that instead of solving all my problems I might have made them three times worse. Because I've already attached to Griffin and Soren. And I could see myself attaching to Dayne.
What if one of them proposes and I have to break three hearts... the other men I'm dating... and my own? What then?
But my mind remains silent, refusing to offer up an answer to this new dating problem I've created. I'm tempted to call Dayne back and say I can't do it. A love triangle surely is more manageable than a rectangle. But I don't make that call, instead leaving it to fate to untangle.
Griffin
I Met This Great Girl
Seven and a half months ago. Early November.
I'm at the most boring charity art auction I think I've ever had the displeasure of attending, but my company made a large donation to the museum. My name is in the glossy printed booklet for fuck's sake. So not attending didn't feel like an option. I didn't bring Livia. She already had plans tonight, but she would have made the evening tolerable.
It's one of those black tie events where a date isn't really optional, and I have too much of a playboy reputation to come here alone. So I called an escort agency I've used in the past for things like this—just a pretty girl on my arm for the evening who can get through a night without embarrassing me or expecting anything.
I can tell from the way she's been looking at me since we got here that she is very much hoping this ends up at my place, but that won't be happening. Sharon excuses herself to go to the ladies' room, and I spot a familiar face a few exhibits away.
Soren sees me and crosses the room. “I haven't seen you in a lifetime. I thought you fell off the planet,” he says.
I could say the same to him, but I shrug. “Just been busy. Work. You know how it is.”
“So how have you been?” Soren asks while he appraises what may be the ugliest sculpture ever created.
“Don't laugh, but I think I found the one. I think I'm going to ask her to marry me.”
“That blonde you came here with?” Soren asks. “She looks familiar.”
I laugh. Of course she'd look familiar to Soren. He and I have used the same agency in the past. He's probably taken her to an event much like this one.
“No, not Sharon. She's with the agency. Livia had plans tonight.”
Soren does a literal spit take of his champagne right onto me. I wipe the back of my face with my hand. “Thanks.”
“Sorry. What did you say her name was? The girl you're seeing?”
“Livia.”
“Livia, what?” Soren looks like he's seen a ghost.
“Fairchild. Why? Do you know her?”
&n
bsp; “I'm dating her.” He practically spits the words at me.
“You're what?”
“Oh yes,” Soren says. “I've been dating that lovely con artist for four and a half months now. How long have you been dating her?”
“Three,” I say. Part of me is sure Soren is lying or has this girl mixed up with someone else. It can't be the same woman I'm seeing. Livia is so... nice. Fun. She isn't the cheating type.
“Has she slept with you?” Soren asks, almost menacingly.
“I... no... we've been taking things slow. We've been on maybe eight dates. Why? Has she slept with you?” I might have to kill him if he's fucked my future wife, our history and friendship be damned.
“No. She has not, in fact. But you seem surprised she's seeing other people. She hasn't given you the no girlfriend speech, yet? Because I got it at the end of month one.”
“What in the fuck is the no girlfriend speech?” We haven't had a conversation about it, but I kind of thought she was my girlfriend even though I've dated women for months before while seeing other people. This just felt different. Livia felt different—like it was something real.
Soren's face lights up as if he's thrilled to be the one to drop this bomb on me. Sharon appears at my side then, leaning into me to make it clear she's with me. She may be a professional, but she is more than happy with whose arm she's on tonight. She has the absolute worst timing.
“Soren,” she says. “It's good to see you again.”
I knew it! I knew he'd taken her out somewhere before. I look back and forth between them, and now I realize the two of us have actually shared this girl. It was a couple of years ago, another boring event like this and we were all drunk off our asses, but it's coming back to me now. It seems like she's looking to have a repeat, and she probably wouldn't even charge us extra for it.
“I'm sorry, Sharon, Soren and I have an important business matter to discuss. We won't be long. If you'll excuse us.”
“Sure,” she says, but her face falls around her accommodating plastic fake smile.
I grab Soren by the elbow and lead him out to the terrace. He jerks his arm out of my grasp as soon as we're outside. The only reason he didn't do it before was that he didn't want to make a scene.
“Okay, now what in the fuck is the no girlfriend speech?”
Soren just smiles at me. At first I think he isn't going to tell me or that he's just making all this up for some reason known only to him, when finally he starts talking.
“She doesn't want to be anybody's girlfriend. She wants the ring. Marriage. Babies, I'm assuming. She wants the whole fucking fairy tale.”
“So? I can give her that. I will give her that.”
“She's seeing other men. She doesn't believe in monogamy outside of marriage.” He says the word monogamy as if it's a curse word.
“What?!?” My voice is loud enough that people inside the museum are looking up from their conversations. “What in the fuck does that even mean?”
“Exactly,” he agrees. Then he adds, “Oh yeah, she intends to keep, I guess a harem of men to date until someone proposes. I guess she plans to eat free and accept presents until someone gives her real security as she put it. It's a nice gig if you can get it. And clearly she has.”
“Why haven't you proposed?” I ask.
He's been dating her longer, after all. I'm trying hard to imagine a scenario in which a woman has somehow been dating Soren for four and a half months and he hasn't gotten laid. But it probably isn't that different than the scenario where I've somehow been dating a woman for three months without getting laid.
Soren shrugs. “I'm not prepared to give in to the little con artist.”
This must be his secret pet name for her. He's called her that twice now.
“Well, say goodbye,” I say, “because I'm proposing.” Then something occurs to me... “Did you ask her to come with you tonight?”
“Yeah, but she already had plans.”
Soren has realized this of course, but it's just now occurring to me that she's probably out on a date with someone who isn't either of us right now. “How many fucking men is she seeing?” I ask, once again nearly shouting.
“Fuck if I know,” Soren says. “Though I'm putting a private investigator on her to find out. Part of me thought she was bullshitting about other men—like she was playing hard to get, but now that I know she isn't, I want a full report.”
He seems infuriated that she's not playing hard to get. Make that two of us.
“Don't bother asking her to marry you,” Soren says. “She's mine.”
I'm about to get into a pissing match with him, but I stop short. I realize I'm enraged right now, but it isn't at Soren. It's at Livia. I've been thinking about marrying this girl and she's been playing both of us, along with whoever she's out with tonight.
Screw this.
Several minutes of tense silence pass. I can't bring myself to go back inside yet because I'm so amped up that I'll only draw attention, and I don't want to deal with Sharon. The whole point of calling the agency was to have someone who wouldn't make demands.
“I should fuck Sharon tonight,” I say.
“If you think that will somehow get back at Livia, think again. She explicitly made clear that since we aren't exclusive I can fuck whoever I want. So I assume that rule applies to you as well. We can all do whatever we want until someone gives her a ring, apparently.”
“We shouldn't let this screw up our friendship,” I say.
Soren appears thoughtful for a moment. “I agree. So why don't we share her? But on our terms.”
It's been a long time since we've shared a woman in any kind of quasi-serious way.
“Like... forever?” I ask because even when we played this game long term it was a few months at best.
“Yeah, why not? You said you wanted to marry her. That seems pretty committed to me.”
“She'd never go for it. She's not the type to go for a triad.”
“Really? Because she's doing a great impression of a girl who can handle multiple men. And who says we're asking her? She needs to understand who she's been fucking with. We should get Dayne in on this. Is he seeing anyone?”
Every time in the past when we've shared a woman in any sort of serious way, it wasn't just me and Soren. It was me, Soren, and Dayne.
“He's seeing some girl named Rainbow if you can believe it,” I say. “It's not serious though.”
“Of course not. Nobody seriously dates a Rainbow. Call him. I have a plan. Little Miss Livia Fairchild decided to play the wrong men.”
I should tell Soren, no. But there's a dark part of me that's tired of the polished, polite responsible mask I've been wearing recently. And Soren always knew how to coax my inner beast out of the cage. The idea of the three of us together again, sharing a woman in something permanent is too tempting to ignore. The part of me that wants to protect her from Soren is outmaneuvered by the part of me that wants her on her knees.
10
Livia
The Announcement
Six months ago. Christmas Eve.
It's Christmas Eve, and I'm standing on my parents' porch, wondering why I didn't call first to soften the shock. I slip inside the front door by myself, trying to come up with some last minute Hail Mary to make this less of the clusterfuck I'm sure its going to be.
“Livvy!” my mom calls out, rushing toward me. She's got a red Santa Claus apron on, and I know she's just pulled her famous soft gingerbread cookies out of the oven—her yearly tradition for the big family meal.
“You look like you got a tan. Where on earth did you get a tan this time of year? You know how dangerous tanning beds are!” Her rant about the dangers of life-giving sunlight dies suddenly and her eyes nearly fall out of her head when she catches sight of the gleaming rock on my finger.
“You're engaged!?!” she whisper shrieks. “I didn't even know you were dating anyone. Well, where is he?” She's looking past me trying to see out the windows w
hich are too frosted from the cold to see anything but moving shadows.
“He's getting the gifts out of the car.”
“Your father is going to lose his shit. You know he doesn't like surprises.”
That's the understatement of the century. My father hates surprises so much that you pretty much have to shop for him off a pre-curated list he's created so he knows he's going to like it. Creative deviations are not appreciated.
My mom takes my hand in hers to inspect the ring. “This is a nice ring,” she says. I swear she's about to pull out one of those things jewelers use to inspect the quality of diamonds. I'm grateful she doesn't actually have one of those things. Nothing would be more embarrassing than my mother appraising my ring in the middle of the foyer.
“It's Tiffany,” I say, giddy glee coming out in my voice because this truly is my dream ring and even though I have my doubts about everything else, the ring itself is the one bright spot I have some measure of faith in.
“Really?” She's still whispering. I'm not sure why she's feeling the need to whisper in her own house. Maybe she's afraid my father will hear. “So he's doing pretty well for himself?” she says, fishing.
“He runs a Fortune 500 company,” I say, but that's all I say because that's all I know. I don't even know which company.
Before I can be grilled further, the doorbell rings. Oh shit, that's him. I feel like the heroine in a horror movie with the killer just outside the door.
“Aren't you going to let him in?” My mother asks.
I'm really not ready to do this but obviously if I'm going to get married, my family has to be made aware of the engagement, and hearing it in person is probably better than finding out when the wedding invitation arrives.
“Honestly, Livvy,” my mother says. She flings the door open and smiles brightly when she gets a look at him all handsome and suave and stylish, laden down with Christmas presents like a sophisticated and evil Santa. “Come in, I'm sorry, Livia didn't tell me your name.”
