The Overlap

by Lynn Costa

  Zack didn’t answer me right away because he seemed to be waiting for the waiter to set our drinks on the table and glide away again, which he did.

  “Sort of, but that’s not the outrageous part of the story.”

  I didn’t follow, and he could tell from the puzzled look on my face.

  “The headline; that wasn’t the outrageous part, or at least the really outrageous part.”

  “What was, then?” I asked.

  “It never happened.”

  I shook my head, clearly signaling my confusion.

  “The game; Southern Cal versus South Carolina. They didn’t really play each other that weekend.”

  I began to follow.

  “You mean that you made up the game and the score just so you could trick your teacher into letting you print that headline?”

  “Uh-huh,” Zack smirked. “I probably couldn’t have gotten away with it if our high school was out here in L.A. since Southern Cal had played UCLA that weekend, and most guys in their twenties like Mr. Tolleson would probably have known that. But back in Chicago I figured there was a chance that Mister Tolleson wouldn’t know off the top of his head who either of the USCs had really played, but if he did and caught me before the story was printed I figured I could just talk my way out of trouble and say I was just joking around to see if he would notice.”

  “So what happened?” I wanted to know.

  “Well, the paper got printed and Tuesday morning I hadn’t been on campus more than a minute when Mister Tolleson came up to me and didn’t even say a word, he just snarled and pointed to the administration building where the Principal’s office was. I immediately knew that he had figured it out, or someone had told him.”

  “Did you get in trouble?” I asked.

  Zack nodded.

  “Kicked off the paper and suspended from school for three days.”

  “Oh my God!” I blurted out.

  He shrugged as he reached for his glass of port, the new one, that he hadn’t yet touched just as I hadn’t touched mine yet.

  “It was worth it,” he said flatly. “If I suddenly woke up tomorrow and discovered I had gone back in time to my senior year in high school, to that day, I would do the exact same thing again.”

  I liked that! The self-confidence; the cockiness (pun intended). Not only the story itself, but Zack’s “I would do it all again” self-assured declaration more than a decade after the fact was a crystal clear statement that he played by his own rules then, and still did so today.

  I reached for my glass of port and held it towards his, and as he brought his glass forward to clink against mine I proposed the most appropriate toast I could think of, given the circumstances of his story... and the incredibly strong connection we were making on our first date:

  “To the Trojans and the ‘Cocks!”

  Now it was his turn to fiercely and immediately blush, especially considering my voice was a tad on the loud side as I spoke and at least three people seated near our table instantly turned their heads to check out who had blurted out that toast.

  * * *

  Despite my innuendo-loaded toast, I was now certain I wasn’t going to sleep with Zack that night, for several reasons. Of course there was Dustin; well, not so much Dustin himself but rather the confusion racing through my brain about the coexistence of my boyfriend and this new guy. But even leaving Dustin out of my decision-making process, there was also the stigma that sometimes comes with a girl having sex on a first date. For me, I’ve never been a big believer in not having sex just because it’s a first date, though I should say my perspective on that subject these days is more of a contemplative, hypothetical one rather than based on extensive experience. Since graduating from college and entering the work world almost one year ago, I’ve had exactly three first dates; two if you don’t count the one I was on at this very moment. Not exactly enough to make any sort of scientifically valid conclusions...

  Back in college I had slept with Andrew on our first date, and we wound up staying together for two years; so it wasn’t like having sex with him that first night immediately categorized me as non-girlfriend material, at least in his mind. (Though I should add that several of my girlfriends insisted to me the next day when I was telling them what had happened that there was absolutely no way Andrew and I would ever be more than a fling, specifically because I had had sex with him on that first date; at most we would hook up for a week or two but that would be it. It wasn’t until the beginning of our senior year, more than a year after Andrew and I had been together, that they finally acknowledged that having sex on a first date wasn’t the automatic relationship-killer they thought it would be.)

  Then at our firm’s training program for new college hires down in Miami, I had slept with Josh on what I suppose had been sort of our first date, even though that was technically more of an of-the-moment hookup in the wee hours of the morning after that first group dinner and several hours of a bunch of us bouncing around South Beach clubs... plus by the time we all left dinner, every single person in our group knew that Josh and I would be sleeping together as soon as we got back to the hotel. And even though Josh and I were “together” (as much as we could have been “together” given the setting we were in) only for a short time down there, those couple of weeks with him had been more like a mini-romance than a casual hookup, the kind that began with an expiration date already attached because we had slept together at the very beginning. Everyone else in the training program thought of Josh and me as “a couple” and when we decided to call it quits after those couple of weeks, a few of the girls I had become friendly with treated me as if I had just broken up with a long-term boyfriend. “Come on, let’s go out drinking tonight so you can get over him” was a common sentiment, so it wasn’t like the girls down in Miami automatically presumed he was destined to move on soon enough anyway because of the first-date sex.

  However, Dustin and I did not sleep together the first night that he and I actually went out to dinner together on a one-on-one date down in Miami, rather than as part of a big group. That was more his doing, though; I probably would have if he had wanted to, even if it would have been more of a rebound sex situation for me, but I think it was because it was less than two weeks after I had been with Josh. Maybe he figured that the “presence” of Josh was too recent, or something like that; but for whatever reason, he didn’t make a move on either our first or second date other than to kiss me goodnight. Though following our second date that goodnight kiss was a fairly passionate one and Dustin’s hands were doing a bit of roaming... but only along my back and along my sides and over my hips, not quite headed into any of my erogenous zones.

  By our third date it was me who, in the darkness of the cab’s back seat on our way back to the hotel from dinner, started kissing Dustin and then slid my left hand down his torso, past his belt, and directly onto the bulge in his jeans and began rubbing him. And that was that; ten minutes later we were undressing each other and the rest was history, as they say.

  Anyway, back to Zack.

  I’m pretty sure he took my loud “Trojans and ‘Cocks” toast as a definite signal that I wanted both of those in my plans for the evening, my relationship with Dustin notwithstanding, and I suppose that as those words fluttered past my lips I may have been thinking the same thing. But as we sat there nursing that final glass each of port, something changed in my mind. I became absolutely certain that Zack and I would be sleeping together... just not tonight. I wasn’t inside his head – yet – so I didn’t know if for him, sex with me tonight would forever put me into the category of girls only to use for sex, maybe only for a single night; nothing more. And by this point in the date, I was absolutely certain that I did not want this to be my first and also the final date with Zachary Buchanan.

  What did this mean for Dustin and me? I honestly didn’t know, and I didn’t really want to give it much more thought as I watched Zack signal for the check. Maybe Dustin and I would go “on a break” whi
le I was with Zack, but then after some period of time things with Zack would end and I would get back together with Dustin. Or maybe I would wind up with Zack while I was still with Dustin; not so much cheating on Dustin (I suppose that was a possibility, but that really wasn’t me), but instead changing the nature of my relationship with Dustin to one that was no longer exclusive. I would go out with both of them – probably even have sex with both of them – and at some point down the road, one of them would slip by the wayside and become part of my past.

  Or I suppose I could wind up wrestling with my conscience for a couple of days and then, when Dustin next came back home to L.A., summon my strength to blindside him with “we need to talk” and then continue with the classic breakup message that usually follows that phrase.

  So the truth was that even as I sat here on my first date with this gorgeous new guy who had captured my thoughts, my imagination, and my fantasies, I still didn’t know exactly what these circumstances meant for the relationship with my boyfriend.

  I did know that I wanted Zack, though.

  * * *

  After paying the check, and as we were weaving through the tables in the restaurant towards the door, I heard Zack say:

  “So...”

  Just that one word – “So”– and the way he drew it out of course put the ball in my court, as the saying goes. This was the point where I could have easily set aside my still-fresh-in-my-mind decision that there would be no sex tonight and instead declared “Let’s grab a cab and go back to your apartment” or “I live close to here, let’s go there.” Or I could volley the proverbial ball back to him with something like “So what?” or an innuendo-tinged “So... what do you want to do now?” You know, have him be the one to actually make the proposition and then I could “just go along.” But that passive approach of giving the guy total control over making the first move had never been my style, right?

  Instead, I waited until we were past the tables and walking through the door, after the chicly dressed hostess who looked to be about seventeen opened the door for us and smiled a little too intimately and hungrily at Zack as she said “Thank you for coming, I hope to see you again soon.” That’s when I stopped a few steps later and turned to Zack.

  “Can I be honest with you?” I looked him squarely in the eyes, my head now buzzing a bit from the wine and the short walk after having been seated for so long (I hadn’t even gotten up to use the restroom for the final hour we were there).

  “Sure,” he said, his eyes narrowing at me, with what I had already come to think of as an ever-present, pleasant-but-brooding smile on his face.

  “I really like you a lot...”

  But I could get no further words out of my mouth. I actually felt like blurting out something like “...and I want to sleep with you... but not tonight; not yet.” I wanted to somehow let him know that even though neither one of us would be going to the other’s apartment tonight, I had been sitting there fantasizing about him and was all but certain that we would wind up in bed together before too long. I wasn’t toying with him simply because my boyfriend was out of town and I was bored and a little bit lonely. I wanted him!

  But I wouldn’t say any of those things, which meant that I couldn’t think of anything further to say past my “being in like” declaration. Another uncomfortable silence began to envelop us.

  “Come here,” he reached for my left hand and after I intertwined my fingers with those of his right hand, he led me a few steps down the street, in front of the bookstore that was just closing. People bustled by us in both directions, but he was looking at me as if we were the only two people standing on Wilshire Boulevard on this exquisitely cool, slightly breezy Friday evening on the outskirts of Beverly Hills... as if we were on a movie set and we were the leading man and leading lady and everyone else was simply an extra, present only to add a touch of realism to the scene and populate the background.

  “I know you’re in a confusing situation right now,” Zack said as he gently pulled me in front of him so we were now standing torso to torso; face to face. I looked directly at him, my head tilted upward so our eyes could lock despite our just-perfect difference in height.

  “I’ve been there too,” he said gently, his left hand now folded over my right hand and his right hand doing the same to my left one; a classic movie love scene pose. “I’ll tell you about it another time but regardless, I know exactly how you feel right now. So if you think I expect you to grab your cell phone right after we say goodnight and then call your boyfriend in Chicago to break up with him... well, I don’t.”

  For a moment or two I was tempted to just say “oh, the hell with it; let’s go get naked and make each other feel really good; your apartment or mine?” I would figure out what to do about Dustin... well, later. But I didn’t; this whole scene was just too perfect. We would say our goodnights and have that deeply passionate first kiss – of that I was certain – and then we would part for the night. I knew what I was going to do when I got back to my apartment (!) and I was fairly certain he would be doing his version of that, and the thought really turned me on.

  “Dinner again early next week? We’ll see each other Monday at MetroGen and we can see what night works,” he asked, knowing full well that my answer would almost certainly be nothing other than “Yes!” Unless you consider “Absolutely!” or “Definitely!” or “Certainly!” a different answer, which of course isn’t the case.

  “I’d love that,” I nodded with a big smile on my face, opting for a more demure acceptance of his offer and his own smile broadened as he leaned towards me. My lips parted slightly as if they had a mind of their own as they came within a fraction of an inch away from his. Amazingly, we both halted at exactly the same time, on purpose, suspended there for a fraction of a second as if to capture that flash of a moment before our very first kiss. Then we both began gently easing forward at the same time, our lips and the tips of our tongues coming together at the same instant.

  That first kiss didn’t last very long, maybe four or five seconds at most. We didn’t stand there making out in public on Wilshire Boulevard this Friday night; instead that four- or five-second kiss was just perfect in all ways. After breaking off the kiss and each of us pulling back slightly, we both stood there in place, his left hand now lightly pressed against my left cheek (he moved it from gently holding the back of my head, where he had placed it as we kissed). For a moment I thought he was going to come in for seconds on the kissing, and I certainly wouldn’t have objected. Instead, though, he gently stroked my cheek with his left thumb before dropping his hand away.

  “Until Monday,” he said. His words immediately cast a cloud on the moment – “Monday! Two whole days from now!” my brain screamed – but I caught myself before a frown or scowl could supplant my smile.

  “Until Monday,” I repeated and waited for him to turn away first. He did, and he began walking west on Wilshire, towards his apartment about a mile away on the other side of the L.A. Country Club. I waited a moment for him to turn back – I was certain he would – and sure enough, a dozen or so steps later, he did look back over his shoulder at where I was still standing in place. He slowed – but didn’t stop – and I could see him smile as he waved at me before turning back and continuing to walk.

  I waited until he was out of sight, and then fished in my purse for my cell phone that I hadn’t looked at in almost an hour and a half.

  Sure enough, two missed calls – one of them with an accompanying voicemail message – from Dustin. Two text messages from him also, both of them just a general “U there?” None of the calls or texts from within the past hour, though, so he apparently wasn’t panic-stalking me like an out-of-town boyfriend whose instincts are clanging the something-is-definitely-wrong alarm bells.

  As I pressed Dustin’s name under “Favorites” in my cell phone, instead of being instantly overcome by the cold panic of my impending conversation with him that would commence in seconds, I was actually very much at pea
ce at the moment. True, I was about to embark on a mission of blatant deception the second the call began. Where was I? Why didn’t I answer when he called? I had my answers all set; even as Zack and I were finishing up our after-dinner drinks, part of my mind was rehearsing and editing the phone conversation I knew I would be having with Dustin.

  He answered on the first ring and I didn’t even give him a chance to begin asking questions.

  “Sorry I missed your calls earlier, I was with Kensington and Courtney over at Cerise and I didn’t hear the phone ring or see that you had texted.” Basically, I was describing Thursday night, but of course time-shifting my tale by several days as part of the deception. You know how it goes: every good lie begins with a grain of truth, right?

  Why hadn’t I checked my phone? I waited for him to ask that question and if he did, I was prepared with a bit of an off-putting answer for him: we were having a great time after a tough week at work – you know, girls hanging out, de-stressing, just like you were probably doing right now – and I just didn’t think about checking my phone every fifteen minutes; that’s why.

  He didn’t ask that question though. Instead he launched into telling me about his evening, which consisted of working at the client site until 9:30 and then going out for a very late dinner – along with plenty of beer – with some of the other guys from our firm stuck in Chicago for the weekend. They had gone to a sports bar near their hotel to “video-graze” (a term Dustin claims to have invented, though I had heard it before) a half dozen baseball games on the various large-screen TVs in the bar; that’s where he still was.

  We talked for another couple of minutes over the shouts of drunken patrons on a Friday night in the Chicago bar and the background noise here on Wilshire Boulevard, a few “can you repeat that?” or “I didn’t hear you; say again?” thrown into the mix, and the only unsettling part of the conversation came when Dustin said: