The Goode Fight

by Seth King

  “Fair enough,” I say. “And do you follow, like, all the rules in the Bible?”

  “Uh, I try my best.”

  “Okay, well I was wondering- if you don’t go out and whatnot, then what do you do? Like, for fun?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “Work out. Write. Read books. Nerdy things like that. Actually, I just bought an old MG convertible from the ‘60s off the side of the road that I’m fixing up in my free time. Marisa’s a real beaut.”

  “You named your car?”

  “Yeah, after a…very special person in my life,” he says with a soft smile, making me remember that Marisa was also the name of the person who just called him. Who is she?

  “And do you believe in all the…social aspects of religion?” I ask, knowing that he probably won’t tell me about Marisa even if I asked. And I’m keeping someone a secret from him, too, so who would I be to judge?

  “Hell no,” he says quickly. “My uncle Harry is gay, and I’m going to be his best man whenever he’s allowed to marry his partner. But considering that he lives in Tennessee, it might be a while,” he adds with a laugh.

  “True,” I say. “So, are you allowed to-”

  He looks over at me suddenly, his eyes becoming angry. “Never mind all that. Question for you: why do you keep licking your lips? It’s kind of distracting me.”

  “Oh,” I say as I reach up and cover my mouth, “sorry, I didn’t know. My skin still hasn’t recovered from that cold snap a few days ago. I should’ve brought some chap stick, but I keep forgetting to buy some.”

  “Well, it’s not a problem or anything, it’s just…sort of a trigger for me.”

  I want to ask what he means by that, but he continues. “Anyway, let’s get down to business. I have another question for you.”

  “Go on,” I tell him. He leans forward with a deep breath, looking scared of something- no, downright terrified of something. But what?

  “I’m just going to throw this out there and see what you think,” he says grimly. “My parents are having a party in Nashville next weekend, and I’d like you to come with me.”

  My mind goes completely blank. A weekend…with Stellan…at his house. As his girlfriend, or just a friend, or what? My senses and imagination becoming overloaded already, he holds up a hand. For some reason I get the feeling he’s nervous about a lot more than he’s letting on.

  “Hold on,” he says, “let me just give you the rundown real quick. My family…they sort of think I’m crazy. They don’t get my whole…lifestyle, as you said. They don’t think it’s normal, and they kind of think I’m doing it to spite them. So my father is cutting off my access to my trust fund as punishment, and I’m gonna go broke. That is, unless I bring a date to his company party this weekend in Nashville and make him think I’ve finally come around and listened to him and changed my ways. But it’s not what it seems- I don’t care about the money personally, and I wouldn’t care if it was just me getting cut off. But there are some…other things that would happen if I went broke.”

  I can tell that he is grappling with how much information to give me.

  “What would happen, Stellan?”

  He frowns down at his plate, as if he’s almost embarrassed. “I kind of help support a few people financially, and I would…not be able to do that anymore if I lost access to my money. That’s why this is so important to me.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing of you,” I say, but he just shrugs. Butterflies aside, something’s not right here. Stellan’s gorgeous, and he could get any girl he wanted. Why would he choose someone he barely knows?

  But the sad look in his eyes makes me take a step back and look at it from a different perspective. I can kind of see how his parents wouldn’t understand his strange life- that must really suck for him, being judged like that all the time, and it makes my stomach fill with pity for him. And who knows- maybe he’d already asked someone else, and she’d declined because she knew she’d fall in love with him and get her heart broken because she’d never be able to date him.

  But what if that happens to me?

  “Okay, let’s get something straight- you’re sure you want me to come?” I ask him.

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Why?”

  He flashes an easy, affectionate smile that makes me feel like a popsicle on a July afternoon. “Because I think you’re pretty cool, Taylor, and I like being around you. Isn’t that enough?”

  I only get a few seconds to have heart palpitations before he turns more serious. “I think I may like it a little too much, actually, but that’s a different story.”

  I have no idea how to process that statement, so I take a sip of wine. And suddenly I realize something- however weird it may be, this Nashville thing would be the perfect opportunity to spend more time with Stellan and get closer to him and maybe become his not fake girlfriend. I’m just going to have to risk that I will be able to use this as a stepping-stone straight into his bedroom. He needs something from me- a date for this party. And I need something from him- sex. Oh boy, do I need it. And I think I just found the perfect way to get it.

  “I would love to help you, Stellan,” I begin. “But, you know, this is a lot. Driving to another state with you? Meeting your parents? No offense, but we barely know each other.”

  “I know,” he says sadly, shaking his head down at the table. “I guess I was stupid to even ask. Never mind.”

  “Wait!” I say a little too quickly. “I didn’t say no, I just meant I’m going to need to get to know you a little better first. I’ve only been around you for an hour or two, tops. I mean, I’m really close with my parents, and how would I explain this to them? I can’t just be like, ‘Hey, Mom, I’m driving to Tennessee with a guy I met twice and barely know, see ya later.’ She’ll want to be sure that I’m not traveling eight hours with a murderer or something.”

  His eyes become bigger than the circular table under us.

  “What?” I ask. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing,” he answers, looking like it was definitely something. “I understand you now, that’s no problem. I guess we can hang out a bit, get to know each other, so you can silence these…fears you may have.”

  “That would be awesome,” I say as I plant myself to my chair so I won’t jump for joy. “Just to, you know, calm my mother’s anxieties.”

  “So you’ll do it?” he asks. “You’ll come to Nashville?”

  “I’d love to.”

  He sits taller, elated. “Oh, wow, thanks so much, Taylor. You have no idea how much this means to me. We’ll have a blast. It’s not a terrible drive- once you hit I-40 it’s a pretty straight shot of six or seven hours to Nashville. And we get to drive through the mountains, too, which are beautiful this time of year. And we won’t even have to deal with my parents that much, they’ll be busy the whole time. Ah, this is going to be awesome, just wait and see. I’m excited already.”

  For a moment I am sure I see another excitement in his eyes- excitement about hanging out with me- and it fills me with a hope I have never felt in my life. Suddenly the sights and sounds of the patio fall away and I am on a horse-drawn carriage on a beaten mountain path, breathing in the crisp mountain air. The falling leaves create a red and yellow and orange symphony around us, and as Stellan laughs beside me in a smart pea coat he hands me a steaming mug of hot apple cider and cuddles closer. After a day of autumn fun we retreat to our cozy cabin and watch bad ‘80s romance movies on our bed while we sip red wine and then finally give into our passion and let our lust take each other away…

  Suddenly I snap out of it and realize what a maniac I am being. Guys don’t even think three hours in advance; I know Stellan hasn’t spent one second envisioning our future like this.

  The waitress appears again to refill our waters, beaming at Stellan all the while. I resist another impulse, this time to reach up and pour the ice water all over her head to make her calm the hell down. Once again I am surprised at how erratic my thoughts are a
round him: one minute I’m woozy and filled with Technicolor fantasies about our future, then I’m furious at random girls for being attracted to him, and a few moments after that I’m despairing that I can't read what he's thinking. What a mess.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “Nothing, it’s just…the way the waitress looked at you. I didn’t know if she was going to offer you another glass of water, or a quickie in the coat closet.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he says dismissively.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, first of all, that girl couldn’t hold a candle to you, and secondly, nobody in their right mind would ever like me if they ever got to know the real me.”

  “Stellan,” I say, heartbroken, “do you really think that?”

  He ignores me and looks over my shoulder, growing pissed about something I can’t see. I turn and spot a table through the window that is currently full of obnoxious frat boys sharing a pizza and a few pitchers of beer.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask as I turn back to him.

  “You think I’m being admired? They were all just staring right at you,” he says through clenched teeth.

  “Um, they’re frat boys. Trust me, they like blonde bimbos, not girls like me. They were probably just zoning out or something. And besides, are they not allowed to look at me or something?”

  He grips the side of the table. “Fuck no. Not while you’re sitting here with me, at least.”

  His eyes fill with a fierce possessiveness, springing to life a flame of desire deep within me.

  “I should get up and-”

  “No,” I blurt out, wary of the idea of a blowout fight at a fancy Italian restaurant, however charming his motivations may be. “Really, Stellan, it’s fine. Just calm down. Don’t worry about it.”

  As I stare at his biceps I wonder if it’s time to try to get him back home and resume Operation: Seduction. His bad side is coming out, and maybe I’ll be able to coax it out even more at home. I’ve barely eaten any food, but I’m too nervous to have an appetite anyway. Just imagining Stellan in my house again fills me with so many butterflies, there’s no possible room for any food in there. What could he possibly do this time? Get out some whips? Chains? Do another mirror session?

  “Stellan,” I ask slowly, trying to make my voice suggestive and appealing, “what are your plans for tonight?”

  He finally tears his eyes from the table of guys and looks back at me. Noting the expression on my face, his hand jerks a little, making him almost spill his water.

  “Oh, well, um, I was going to head to my cousin Kane’s place and watch a UFC fight,” he says as he steadies his glass and avoids eye contact, “but it’s kind of too late for that already, since he lives so far away, so I don’t know.”

  “Oh, well do you want to catch the end of it at my place, then?” I ask innocently. “We can make it there in under fifteen minutes.”

  His pink, wet lips fall open as he stares at me. I picture what that mouth could be doing to me in a few short minutes and feel myself nearly convulse with anticipation.

  “Okay,” he finally says, his voice hesitant. “I guess I owe it to you, since you agreed to come to Nashville with me. But there’s one thing: can we please not do anything…sexy? For real this time? And that goes for the Nashville trip, too. I’m glad you’re helping me take care of this, but I’d like it if you didn’t try to tempt me, Taylor.”

  Once again I take my hand, put it underneath the tablecloth, and cross my fingers. If only he knew about the trap he’s about to walk into.

  “Promise.”

  I get up to freshen myself in the bathroom, but he holds up a hand, making me turn back to him.

  “Oh, and Taylor?” he asks, genuine concern shining in his eyes. “Promise me one more thing.”

  “Okay?” I respond, and for some reason I’m sure he’s about to say something profound and romantic, like in the movies. Like maybe, Be careful with my heart, because it’s yours now, or Let me get a mental picture of you, so I can cherish this moment forever, or something.

  “Just promise me you’ll drive carefully,” he finally says, making my shoulders fall. “It was hard enough for you to navigate through these tables without walking into one; I shudder to imagine your driving skills.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say as I roll my eyes and look away. “Sure.”

  †

  Twenty minutes later I pull (safely) into my driveway. Stellan said he needed to stop by Walgreens to get some Gatorade, and when he parks behind me and meets me at the front door we exchange eye contact for a second and suddenly the air becomes tense, dangerous, sensual, just like the first night. His gaze sharpens and he takes a slow breath, and right then I become convinced that he’s going to kiss me for the first time, right here on the porch. He leans in, his breath smelling like mint, my heart pounding harder with each passing second, and just as our lips are about to touch…

  He pulls back. “You got the key?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” I mumble as I turn and unlock the door. Whatever the female equivalent of blue balls is called, I have them. Stellan follows me into the living room and sinks onto the couch, all of his moves as fluid as usual, and after I get over my colossal disappointment at our near-miss of a kiss I note how jealous I am of his perfectly elegant and graceful manner. My hands still trembling, I fumble with the remote until I find the UFC channel. We watch the fight for a minute, but Stellan looks distracted and withdrawn. To get things moving and help him loosen up, I decide to commence my plan.

  “Hey, I’ve got to get rid of the rest of that Pinot Grigio from the other night before it goes bad,” I tell him. “It’s not cold, but I could put some ice in it. What do you say?”

  He pauses reluctantly, no doubt nervous that if we drink any more we may break his rule.

  “If you want some, then I guess I’ll have some, too,” he says finally.

  “Do you want ice?”

  “I’ll have whatever you have. Surprise me.”

  A minute later I come back with two plastic red cups full of icy wine.

  “Sorry,” I blush as I hand it to him, “all my glasses are in the dishwasher.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m a guy, I’m used to it.”

  He takes a sip and leans back, and as he stretches his arms I see the curves of his pecs underneath his sweater and feel my heart speed up once again. As the warmth from the alcohol blooms in my stomach, I sit back and sigh.

  “Um, you know,” I say, “talking about religion at dinner reminded me of something. I was at Bible study last night- which I go to all the time, by the way, because I, you know, like the Bible so much- and I stumbled across some interesting passages. Would you like to hear them?”

  “Bible study, huh?” he asks suspiciously. “You didn’t mention anything about being religious at dinner. You didn’t sound very religious, either, come to think of it.”

  “Oh, well, Christians can come in all shapes and sizes, you know.”

  “Sure. So at what church does this Bible study meet?”

  I pause. I didn’t foresee him asking for specifics. “Um, Skype.”

  “Skype?”

  “Yeah, it’s funny, really,” I say as I rack my brain to come up with a suitable story. “My friends from my old church in Raleigh, a Catholic one, they’re all kind of scattered around the country for school, so sometimes we all have a Skype group chat and talk about where we are with our…Bible reading, and Jesus worshipping, and all those other things Christians do.”

  I know I shouldn’t be lying, but it’s so much easier than explaining the truth, which is that I am using the Bible to seduce someone on the advice of some random Internet commenter.

  “Well what book are you reading right now?” he asks me. I bite my lip and desperately try to come up with an old-sounding name that could possibly be in the Bible.

  “Um, Abraham.”

  “Never heard of that book before,” he says, “probably because it doesn�
��t exist.”

  Shit.

  “Oh, um, never mind, it was…Revelations,” I explain, thankfully remembering a book that my old priest used to read from during his anti-sex sermons. “Yeah, the one with the fire and brimstone and all that.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he laughs, “just some casual bedtime reading.”

  “Yep. Anyway, the girls started talking about temptation, and one of them read me some pretty interesting passages. I wrote them down on my phone for future reference. Care to hear? I just figured you might think they were pertinent.”

  His eyes are curious but guarded. “Sure. Entertain me.”

  I take out my phone and open up the Notes app as the air takes on that thick, anticipatory quality once again.

  “Okay.” I try to take on the sexiest voice I can manage, but I still end up sounding sort of deep and weirdly husky, like always. Ugh, I hate my voice so much. “So, this chick in my group is wondering how far she should go with her boyfriend,” I begin, “so she found this passage in another book we’re reading. It’s Song of Solomon 2:3: I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.”

  I look over at Stellan. For a moment he’s confused – is she really talking to me about fruit again? – but then it dawns on him, and his grasp on his knee stiffens as his eyes become nervous. Just the reaction I was hoping for. To entice him further I mimic the move Cara makes at the bar when she’s on the prowl, and lick my lips. For some reason terror fills his face.

  “Okay,” he says slowly. “Interesting.”

  “I thought so too. And here’s another one she found from the same book, part two, verse sixteen: ‘My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.’”

  He opens his mouth a bit, and a look of longing washes over him as he stares down at my leg. His expression causes a slow burn to form at the pit of my stomach and begin spreading up through me. But then he snaps out of it, sits up, and takes a sip of wine.

  “Cool. Awesome,” he says as he points at the TV. “Hey look, the guy I’m rooting for is about to-”