"I just want that in my life," I whisper the words because otherwise I'll start crying, "I know you think it's about some arbitrary date I circled on the calendar when I was a teenager planning out my life but..." I look down at my hands, at the bareness of my ring fingers, "I want to belong to someone."
Dammit. My voice cracks and I grab my napkin to dab at the tears before they can start falling.
"I want to be part of something bigger than myself," I insist on adding, "Please, Veronica? Be part of my team."
Ronni's probably the closest thing I have to a bestie even though we really only hang out at work. Sometimes I go to one of her kids' dance recitals or softball games but our lives are very different.
She got married out of high school to a man she's still in love with and she's spent her entire adulthood raising kids. This job isn't her career, it's just a job that helps pay to put a roof over her family's head and give her kids the opportunities they deserve. She'd quit in a heartbeat if her husband's job was enough that they could afford it.
On the other hand, I worked hard to get to the place I am now. I have no intention of giving up my career, but I would like something to balance it with. Someone to listen to me talk about the projects I'm working on, someone to help me work out the kinks when I get stuck for an idea.
I want kids, but I also want a father for my children that's involved with their lives.
Inwardly I heave a heavy sigh. I'm asking for a lot.
Ronnie looks at me hard for a minute and then I see her eyes glance down at the phone in my hand. The screen has timed out, but I know she's contemplating the website.
Her hand reaches over and pats mine gently, "If you're gonna go through with that," she nods at the dark phone, "you better believe I'll do right by you."
I'm so excited I start crying again.
Ronnie gives me a warm smile and waits till I'm back to myself again before launching into 20 questions.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I giggle, "I'll send you a link to the site and you can read all the fine print yourself." Then I blush and look down at the table shyly, "I kinda already filled out the application and put down the deposit," I admit, "but I need 3 people on my team to help with the final decision. I have Grams and Gramps but..." my voice trails off.
Veronica nods in understanding, "but you don't have any friends," her tone is kind but the truth of her words stings a little.
"You're my friend," I assure her.
"Yeah, when you want something," she gets up and throws the tray from her lunch in the trash, "time's up, back to the salt mines."
I replace the resealable lid on the plasticware container that my pasta was in and slip it into the little quilted case I made for my lunch kit and carry it back to my desk so I don't forget it at the office.
"Not just when I want something," I'm only half feigning the hurt, "I consider you a friend."
Ronni smiles and wraps her arm around my shoulder as we head back to our desks, "Then can I have a raise, friend?"
Her voice is all warmth and laughter and I know she's joking. The mood lightens and I feel better about where we stand with each other.
I also make a mental note to look over her performance review and see what we can do about that raise.
My closest friend might not be that close of a friend, but she's a hell of an office manager.
Joshua
"What the fuck?" I stare at Maureen, utterly dumbfounded.
I think she's serious. Motherfucking serious. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever seen Maureen look more dead set on anything in my life.
"I got most of it filled out already but there's some stuff," I swear the woman blushes, "that I-- umm-- can't answer for you."
She pushes the notebook computer across the bar at me and I catch a glimpse of the questions.
Do you enjoy performing oral sex? Do you enjoy receiving oral sex? Are you disgusted by having sex with a woman during her period?
The entire screen is filled with questions about sex. I scroll down. There's more damn sex questions. Shit, no wonder Maury fessed up on what she's been up to. Damn right she can't answer this shit for me.
I keep scrolling, skimming through questions about everything from whether or not I like to take it up the ass to whether or not I've ever uploaded a sex video of myself. I swear now I'm blushing and it's not easy to make me blush but Maureen's watching me as I scroll through all the unanswered questions and I'm not sure if she expects me to answer them in front of her or not.
"I'm not gonna fucking answer this shit, Mar," I throw in a few extra swear words just to cover up how much this stuff is making feel like a kid with a hard on in class. There are some crazy questions on this thing. A lot of it is over the top even for me, but a lot of it-- Would you risk getting caught having sex in a public place if your partner was into it? Would you consider attending a live sex show with your partner?-- ahem, a lot of it fills my head with some wicked images and I have to admit that finding a gal that's got all the same kinks as me without having to invest years discovering it by accident sure does sound good.
But I ain't admitting this shit to Maureen. The woman knows a lot about me, but she's also in her 50's and is like a mom to me. She does not need to know everything.
I push the computer back at her with a scowl.
She pushes it right back at me, "You are going to answer all that shit, Mister," she tells me in no uncertain terms. She waves her hand at one of the booths at the far end of the room, "You take that thing over there and start typing, there are some essay type questions too. And when you're done," she raises her voice to keep me from butting in, "you hit 'submit' at the end of the form.
"You're fuckin-A right I don't need to know all that shit about you!" She moves away from her side of the bar and gives me an exaggerated shudder of her shoulders to indicate that she thinks me having sex is just as gross as I think her knowing I have sex is. Which is a hoot really because God knows she's gotta know more about my sex life than I want her to admit to.
I'm not saying she's ever walked in on me in the walk in fridge in the middle of summer-- but I am saying I'm damn grateful she's never mentioned it.
Arranged marriage, eh?
After an hour of working on the application and still no end in sight, I start to get curious about what Maureen's getting me into. I save my progress and start exploring the website.
"Raven Swann." The woman's picture doesn't fit her name, I don't think. Maybe "Raven" is a more common name in Pacific Grove, California where it says her office is located. I dunno, never heard of the place so I can't say.
The matchmaker's headshot shows a woman with long, straight hair that's kinda between honey blonde and red. She's got kinda of a bronze thing going on with her skin and I can't tell what her ethnicity is from the picture but she sure as hell doesn't look like what I picture when I think of a chick named "Raven."
She looks like a real estate agent, or maybe a school teacher. Sure as hell doesn't look like a matchmaker.
Not that I guess I'd know what a matchmaker looks like anyway. So I guess I should just shut up, my brain tells me as I skim through pages of testimonials of happy couples that she's fixed up. A lot of them have added pictures of their kids and little updates on themselves.
Gotta admit, it tugs at the gut a little bit, seeing all those families that happened because of this Raven chick.
I like that the couples aren't all out of some 1950s women's magazine too. I see all ages, all races, and even some same sex couples in the gallery pages. I see pictures of clean cut, all American types, and I see pictures of hard livin' biker types. Fat, thin, short, tall, cities, mountains, yachts, and every walk of life. This Raven chick is responsible for a lot of people finding each other.
Mostly I see happiness. For all the ways I can see that her clients run the gamut when it comes to lifestyle, every single damn one of the pictures shows me people who are looking at each other like they are looking at the best thing in the whole
world.
Shit. I might be a little choked up over it. Good thing I'm sprawled out back here in the corner booth where no one can see me.
I've got a new appreciation for this application now, that's for sure. No wonder it's got so many damn questions. This ain't no dating app. This chick is serious. She deals in finding partners for people. Long term, happily ever after type shit.
Then I see the pricing. Holy shit! I slam the notebook closed and find Maureen in her office.
"Nuh uh!" I hold up the small computer and wave it in the air, "No way, Maury, you can't afford this. I can't let you spend this kind of money on me just because you're worried about me." I put her travel computer down on her desk and take a step back, crossing my arms over my shoulders.
I know I'm in deep shit from the look on her face, "I can afford it and I already did so you get your ass back out there and finish the damn thing or I'm going to answer all those sex questions for you and find you a woman who's into pegging."
I don't even want to know how Maureen knows what that is. "What do you mean you already 'afforded' it?"
"Look, Sweetie, I let you come down here and work on the weekends because I like the company and it keeps you out of trouble most of the time," she gives me her mom look, "the extra help is handy but the reason I don't hire somebody for the weekends isn't because I can't afford to.
"I like having you around, Josh, but I'd rather you had a reason to stick closer to home on the weekends. This place ain't doing you any favors and you're never gonna find the kind of woman that appreciates you if you keep fishing from the Boar's pond."
"Mar," I soften my voice, trying to let her know how much I appreciate what she's saying without getting sappy and sounding like a damn pussy, "this deal is pricey, I can't let you buy me a wife just because you're worried I'll end up with another batshit crazy bitch like Nik."
"I'm not buying you a wife, I'm paying that Swann chick to narrow down the options. Then I'm picking out a wife for you."
She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her head and I swear she's got the biggest shit eating grin on her face I've ever seen.
I think Maury is enjoying this.
I laugh, "God help me if the choice is up to you," I chuckle, but I take the notebook computer back from her and go back out to the bar to finish up the application.
Crazy arranged marriage, I think as I give the questions a new respect, might just be the best plan for me.
Find out how things turn out for Josh and Caitlyn
Grab your copy of A Nice Boy
About the Author
About Rocklyn:
In real life I’m just your ordinary woman. At the day job 8 hours a day that often stretches to 10. Coming home to a couple of cats that didn’t notice I was gone. Sometimes I have a boyfriend. Sometimes I don’t.
Unless we're talking book boyfriends? I ALWAYS have one of those! Sometimes I juggle two or three, as long as they don't find out about each other, right? Or maybe it just gets better when they do.
I like writing steamy scenes between boys that are all hard muscle and soft hearts and the women they choose to claim as their own.
I also like writing deliriously unrealistic adventures about women who won't be claimed for long. Because sometimes we need a little balance in our fantasies.
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A Smart Choice: Arranged Marriage Romance Page 10
