The Dating Game

by Avril Tremayne

  She kept glancing over at him, looking increasingly stressed as she tried to gauge his reaction, but he was incapable of giving any kind of direction. His mouth had gone too dry to talk. The silence was excruciating in its awkwardness.

  ‘Why don’t you come over and position me the way you want me?’ she finally suggested.

  The way you want me.

  And there it was, in his head. Sarah, legs spread, him kneeling between them, mouth at the crotch of those innocent-looking panties, sucking her through the cotton as she grabbed fistfuls of his hair and dragged him closer, arching her back, clamping her thighs to the sides of his head, panting his name, screaming his name. God help him, he was going to have to touch her. Go over there and touch her. Just once. He’d stop then. He knew he could stop. This wasn’t like Saturday night when he’d been on an uncontrolled, testosterone-fuelled bender.

  ‘David?’ She was frowning at him.

  He could do this. Taking a deep breath, he approached the chaise. Closer. Closer. God, he could smell her. Something sweet and buttery today, like a sugar cookie. Delicious.

  Clasping his sketchbook like a lifeline, he crouched in front of her, assessing the safest part of her to touch—or if, indeed, there was a part of her he could touch without going one further and falling on her like a starving cannibal.

  She tapped the sketchbook. ‘Can I see? Just one?’

  David flipped through the pages, found one of his favourite drawings, and held it out to her.

  ‘That’s just my face.’

  ‘That’s the look I want. With that quirk in your right eyebrow.’

  Sarah prodded her eyebrow with her fingertips. ‘To be honest, I’m never quite sure what this eyebrow is doing.’

  He tapped the sketch. ‘It’s usually doing that.’

  And he couldn’t help himself—he had to touch her damn eyebrow. At least an eyebrow couldn’t be deemed carnal, could it? Maybe not … but from her eyebrow, it was so easy to move his questing finger down her cheek, to her mouth. And her mouth? Well, that was a different story.

  She was staring directly into his eyes, and he was thinking how lovely her eyes were in their clear blueness, when she surprised him by bringing her hands to his face. The dainty tips of her index fingers dipped into his dimples, and he found himself smiling to make the dimples deepen, for no reason other than that he knew she’d like that.

  Sarah smiled back, and his heart squeezed so hard, he couldn’t breathe.

  And there it was.

  Bang.

  Like a maddening kaleidoscope clicking into the right pattern after nine years’ worth of tumbling through the wrong combinations. He wanted to freeze the moment, stop the pieces shifting again, keep them bright and shiny and beautiful, exactly where they were. Beat, beat, beat of his heart, as the truth flooded him—that telling himself he couldn’t fall in love with Sarah Quinn was no longer an option, because somewhere between her eyebrow and his dimples, he’d gone and done it anyway.

  His heart squeezed harder, harder. ‘Sarah …’ he began, not knowing how to finish, searching for the right words, the best words.

  Her eyes widened, her lips formed a dismayed O, and her hands dropped from his face to clutch her belly.

  Not exactly encouraging.

  But then he heard it. A low, rumbling howl. Coming from … her stomach? Yes, her stomach. Saved by the stomach!

  And David started to laugh. He laughed so hard, he had to drop from crouching position onto his knees to keep from toppling over.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ Sarah said, but then it happened again and she started laughing too.

  ‘Do I need to call a priest to perform an exorcism?’ David wheezed out. ‘Because I think your stomach is speaking in tongues.’

  She slapped his arm. ‘Oh, you! If you must know—’

  ‘Yes, I do believe I must.’

  ‘—it’s because I haven’t eaten today.’

  He stopped laughing. ‘If you tell me you’re on a diet—’

  ‘Are you nuts? I want to put weight on, not lose it.’

  ‘Oh, so starving yourself makes sense.’

  ‘I didn’t starve myself. Not on purpose. I just …’ She swallowed, looked down at her lap, and then up at him. ‘I was too wretched to eat, that’s all.’

  And there went his heart, squeezing again. Wretched. Over him? He cleared his throat. ‘Will pizza tempt you?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Your favourite food and only “maybe”?’

  She looked down at her lap again, picked a tiny piece of fluff off the sweater. ‘The thing is, I’m still wretched.’

  Discarding the sketchbook, David rose to sit beside her on the chaise longue. She leaned trustingly against him, but that wasn’t close enough to suit him, so he scooped her up and sat her on his lap. She rested the side of her face on his chest and sighed deeply, and it was as though she belonged exactly there.

  ‘Shall we give it a try, anyway, bluebell?’ he asked. ‘The pizza? Because I’ll have nightmares if I hear that sound again.’ She laughed shakily, and nodded, and he held her a little more tightly for a moment, kissing the top of her head. ‘I’ll order while you go and change into your street gear.’

  ‘What about the portrait?’

  He thought of the practice canvas he’d already completed. He’d started it on Sunday, going at it like an obsessive compulsive until it was done. He’d thought of it three days solid in the office—in fact, he’d been so preoccupied with it he’d fucked up a real estate portfolio evaluation and had his top client summarily reassigned to one of his corporate banking colleagues for his troubles. So yeah, he was pretty sure he could paint Sarah blindfolded at this point, even if she never posed for him again.

  ‘Don’t worry about the portrait,’ he said. ‘Tonight, let’s just eat pizza, and you can tell me what’s made you wretched, and if it’s my fault, I’ll let you punch me. Okay?’

  She nodded again, but made no move to get off his lap—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her go a moment before he had to, so he just sat there. It wasn’t until her stomach rumbled again that she slid off his lap. ‘Okay, pizza or the apartment next door will be phoning the priest,’ she said, and headed for the door.

  She stopped there and looked back at him. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said. ‘At least, it is, but it’s not.’ She looked as though she were about to say more, but in the end, she only sighed, shook her head, and left the room.

  ‘It is but it’s not,’ David repeated, and let out a slow breath. ‘Whatever the hell that means.’

  ***

  Ordinarily, Sarah would have been interested in seeing a new room in David’s apartment, but she was too on edge to take more than cursory note that the table in the dining room seated six people and the art on the walls was Indigenous—dot paintings in strong shades of black, white and ochre.

  David had set two places on opposite sides of the table, and in the middle were three pizzas sitting in their delivery boxes. Sarah put a slice of each on her plate. No way was she going to allow her stomach to erupt again during the discussion they were about to have, even if she had to eat all three pizzas by herself. But it was hard to coax an appetite when what she really wanted to do was crawl onto David’s lap again and bask in the way he’d said her name. ‘Sarah …’ There’d been something tender in his voice, in the way he’d touched her, the way he’d looked at her, and she wished, wished, wished he’d finished what he’d started to say before her traitorous stomach had interfered.

  But really, what difference did it make what he was going to say and how he looked at her, when all that was between them was a barter agreement and a one-night stand? When that’s all it could be, now?

  She picked up a slice of pizza and choked down a bite as David poured icy cold Chardonnay for both of them.

  And then, ‘So, it’s not my fault but it is,’ David said, taking his seat.

  ‘Ye
s,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s start with why it isn’t my fault.’

  And here we go. Sarah put down her pizza. ‘Lane’s mother died last night. A stroke.’

  ‘I’m sorry, bluebell.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘No, but I’m sorry for you, sorry that it hurt you.’

  ‘Oh, as to that … Well, the truth is, I couldn’t stand Lane’s mother. I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but she really was unbearable and I just can’t—can’t—bring myself to care that she’s gone, except for the fact that it’s made Lane unhappy. And Lane’s brother Brad, too, and although Brad can be a total pain it’s not really his fault the way he turned out so you have to pity him.’

  ‘Hang on,’ David said, looking all kinds of confused. ‘I’m not following. You didn’t like Lane’s mother, but her death upset you so much you couldn’t eat today?’

  ‘The eating thing has nothing to do with Lane’s mother. Lane’s mother just added to things.’

  ‘Added to things. I see.’ But then he shook his head. ‘No, I don’t see.’

  ‘If I had to describe the situation, I’d say it was like a freight train of woe, adding carriages as it sped towards disaster. And— David?’ Breaking off, because David had put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. ‘David, are you all right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can I get you something?’

  ‘Yes. A noose so I can hang myself.’

  ‘Oh, you!’ she said, choking back a laugh.

  He took his head out of his hands. ‘Okay, listen. Although I suppose I should have expected Lane to feature somewhere in this discussion since you throw her name around every chance you get, I’m not quite sure how the death of her mother is of any interest to me—with all due respect to the dead—given you’re not upset by it and I didn’t actually kill her.’

  ‘It’s guilt by association.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Yesterday, Lane called me to tell me about an upcoming business trip to Beijing. It’s a great opportunity for her.’

  ‘Yes, I know about it. She asked me for some statistics for her presentation. The Bank’s CEO’s very pleased it all came together.’

  ‘You … you saw her?’

  ‘We do work on the same floor, you know. We see each other most days.’

  ‘I … I … Oh. I—I hadn’t thought of that. So … so how’s she … she been with you? When she’s s-seen you? In the office?’

  ‘Hmm, well yesterday, she was so fascinated by what I had to say she said, “Thanks for that, but what I really need is a chart on Chinese investment in Australian commercial property.”’ He rolled his eyes. ‘In other words, so far she’s managed not to throw herself at me and ravish me on the nearest desk despite that secret passion you say she’s harbouring for me.’

  ‘Well, she’s reserved. She wouldn’t throw herself at you.’

  ‘Oh, is that why she hasn’t molested me? Because she’s reserved? Not because she’s just not interested? Good to know. But go on. Beijing and its ability to steal your appetite …’

  ‘It’s not about Beijing.’

  ‘Not about Beijing either?’

  ‘Well it is … but it’s not.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’

  Sarah took a steadying breath. ‘The thing about the Beijing trip is that I should have been jumping with joy for her. Instead, I was awful.’ Another breath. ‘I’ve been awful to her ever since that night at the gallery, when she paraded you in front of Adam as her hot prospect. Because Adam loves her, and I thought that would never happen for him, because he really is commitment-phobic—you know why, all those divorces in the family—and I love him so much, and I wanted him to have what he wanted.

  ‘But I love Lane too, even though I’ve been behaving like her enemy instead of like a friend. So when she called, instead of wishing her a safe journey and every success, the way I would have done before I met you, I asked her who was taking her to the airport—Adam or you, even though I knew it wasn’t going to be you, because you said you weren’t interested in her so why should you, right? I was just being sarcastic, and as you’ve said before it doesn’t suit me.’ She put a hand to her forehead. ‘Why did I do that? I wish I hadn’t done that. I hate that I did that.’

  ‘So today when you found out about her mother, you felt guilty because of how you were on the phone to Lane yesterday. Is that where we’re heading?’

  ‘Of course I felt guilty. I am guilty. And not just because of the phone call. But about how I’ve been to her ever since I met you.’

  ‘So this is where I come into it. You were awful to Lane because of me—or at least because of that twisted thing you have stuck in your head about a relationship between me and Lane that never actually existed and never will.’

  ‘Yes … but no.’

  David closed his eyes in a God-give-me-strength way. ‘Here we go again.’

  ‘You come into it because this morning, Lane dumped Adam.’

  He held up a hand. ‘Hang on. She dumped Adam because you were awful to her and she’s paying you back for that through him? Or because her mother died?’

  ‘Because of the contract.’

  And just like that, his head was back in his hands.

  ‘Maybe we should just forget it,’ she said.

  Up came his head. ‘Oh, no. Hell, no. Keep going.’

  Sarah licked nervously at her lips. ‘The thing is, I’m the one who brought Lane and Adam together.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘But they weren’t supposed to stay together.’

  ‘So why bring them together in the first place?’

  ‘Because of you.’

  He took a deep breath in. Held it. Released it. ‘So we’re finally getting to why it’s my fault, are we?’

  Sarah looked down at her lap, where her fingernails were absently tugging at the tiny hem of her damask table napkin. ‘This part of the story …’ Eyes up. ‘It’s not really my story to tell, this part.’

  ‘I can keep a secret, Sarah. I’ve kept ours, haven’t I?’

  Sarah took a sip of wine, delaying. But she knew she’d come too far now. And she knew where she was going, even if the thought of getting there was making her want to cry. ‘Lane liked you, David,’ she said. ‘As in liked, you know?’

  ‘So you’ve been at pains to point out.’

  ‘But she … she thought she lacked the necessary … skill, shall we say. To interest you.’

  ‘Skill?’

  ‘Skill. As in … skill.’

  ‘Oh, skill.’

  ‘Skill. She wanted someone to … well, to teach her. And I suggested Adam.’

  ‘Okaaay. You know this is insane, right? Start to finish insane?’

  ‘We all knew it—me, Erica and Adam, I mean. Not Lane. Lane couldn’t see anything wrong with her plan. She’s like that. Prosaic. Need to learn something? Hire a teacher.’

  ‘The way you did with me.’

  ‘Except you’re not a psychopath.’

  ‘And your brother is?’

  ‘What? No! But he might have been. I mean, not him, but with Lane being so determined, who was to say she wouldn’t have hired someone who turned out to be a psychopath if we didn’t find a safe option?’

  ‘I see. Well … do I see? I don’t know.’

  ‘The thing is, I asked Adam to pretend to want the job. He was supposed to be obnoxious enough when they met to scare her off the idea. Instead, he … Well, let’s just say things progressed, and kept progressing, and for almost three months now they’ve been …’

  ‘Upskilling each other,’ David offered dryly.

  ‘Until today—of all days for it to happen—when she found out that Adam— That I— That we—’

  ‘For the love of God, Sarah!’

  ‘All right!’ She closed her eyes tight. ‘She found out about the pretend part. That it
wasn’t ever supposed to really be. Their relationship, I mean. So now she feels like we tricked her—which I guess we did—and like we’re laughing at her—which we’re not. And it’s all too much, coming on top of her mother’s death. No wonder she’s emotional about it. And now she doesn’t want to see Adam ever again and won’t take his calls and won’t take mine either and it’s all my fault for coming up with the stupid plan in the first place. So I have a double dose of guilt—a triple dose if you throw in what I did with you on Saturday night, even though that was only a one-night stand, and you’re not emotionally involved with me because you know how to control that stuff—and now I have to make it up to Lane and figure out how to help Adam.’

  Her voice had been climbing, getting shriller, so she forced herself to stop. She had to get herself together. Calm down. Focus. She took a breath, another, and at last opened her eyes. ‘And so, I’m thinking …’

  David had gone very still. Scarily still. ‘Go on, Sarah.’

  She looked down at her plate, pushing at an untouched pizza slice with one finger. ‘I’m thinking there’s only one solution, and it … it involves you, actually.’

  ‘I’m agog to hear it, in that case.’

  She raised her eyes from her plate, looked across at him. ‘It’s simple. You have to have sex with Lane.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  David reached for a new slice of pizza, even though there was an untouched one on his plate. Chew, chew, chew. It tasted like cardboard. Like sawdust. Like crap. But he had to do something while he tried to work out what to say. What she expected him to say. Oh sure thing, Sarah—hang on and I’ll give her a call right now to schedule a time?

  At least Sarah had the grace to fidget while she waited for his response. Deciding to let her stew, he finished his slice of pizza and reached for a new one.

  She cleared her throat. ‘You said you’d do it. That night at Midnight Madness, when I was talking to you about how … how it would be on my conscience if … if Lane was suddenly single and I’d somehow come between you. I mean, because you wanted this … this secret deal we have going on more than you … than you wanted …’ Trailing off as her eyes shifted to his hand, which had tightened on the pizza slice until it was mangled between his fingers.