by Nadia Lee
His father, Beau Madison, is an English lit professor with lots of significant publications under his belt and a bunch of public recognition. Still an attractive man, he looks distinguished, with silver at his temples. He has the same gray eyes and narrow-bladed nose that Luke has. From the way his chiseled bones come out so sharply in the face shot, it’s obvious he’s still in great shape for an academic in his early sixties.
Luke’s mother, Patrice, is a delicate brunette, a little younger than Beau, and comes from a wealthy family. I find a photo of them together at some kind of an ivory tower event. She isn’t particularly striking, her blue eyes slightly unfocused and dull in the picture, although her mouth is beautiful, still plump and smooth as she smiles. Luke got the best features from both of his parents, lucky him. Some children end up with the worst.
But other than the fact that they’re materially comfortable—a zip code can tell you a lot—there’s nothing really illuminating. They don’t have social media accounts where they brag about their son.
I sigh with disappointment, but quickly regroup. I’m not the giving-up type. All I need to do is persist until I have what I need.
After drying my hair, I select my outfit with care. One long-sleeve black dress, two cute Mary Janes in black calf leather, and some fancy eye makeup later, I’m ready. The skirt is just long enough to be okay for the office, but short enough to show off my toned legs.
I spend most of the morning in meetings. They aren’t often productive, more of a necessary evil of the job. Of course, I didn’t always think they were evil. Getting invited used to make me feel important—back when I was an intern two summers ago.
At five to eleven, I grab my laptop, a fresh cup of coffee, three bags of sour gummy worms, and make my way to the fourteenth floor.
Erin’s seated outside David’s office, her pale face pinched as she glares at the huge external monitor.
“What’s up?” I say.
“Hey,” she says, smoothing her blonde locks. Her hair’s so fine that it’s a bit tough to manage. I’ve never seen it totally sleek, ever. We make a little small talk, and as we do, she’s clicking around with her mouse. Finally, she sighs.
“Computer trouble?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says distractedly. “Nothing you can help with.”
I squint. Them’s fightin’ words. If my sleeves weren’t fitted so tightly, I’d be rolling ’em up. “What is it?” There are very few computer problems I can’t solve.
“Um. It’s my apartment, actually? My landlord’s selling the building? And she wants me to move out by the end of the month.”
“Wow. Is that legal?” Maybe I should see if Matt can help. Sadly, neither Nathan nor Stan is licensed in Virginia.
“I guess…? I’m on a month-to-month basis. It’s hard to move on such short notice. There aren’t many places within my budget.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that. You want to see David?”
“Yeah. I have a meeting with him to start on the specs.”
“Right.” She skims what looks like a printout of the week’s agenda, then bites her lower lip. “I sent out the invite last night.”
“That you did,” I say with a nod when she doesn’t continue. She seems good at her job—otherwise David would’ve never kept her—but she’s so hesitant and unsure. If I could, I’d give her a dollop of Nathan’s confidence. That brother of mine believes he’s God’s gift to the planet.
Her cheeks pink, she gets up. “David’s in. Do you…need anything for the meeting?”
“Nope. Get back to apartment hunting.”
David’s office is neat, like the man himself. And he’s in a button-down shirt and slacks, no jacket or tie. He smiles when he sees me come in. “On time, as always.”
I smile back. “How was your weekend?”
“Great, thanks.”
I look for signs of unhappiness. Just because a man says “great, thanks” doesn’t mean things are really great. Isn’t he supposed to be emotionally diseased at the moment—some non-terminal mental cancer—and self-medicating with that girl in anything-but-black? Or was she so good that he’s already cured?
I wait for some kind of emotion to stir. Maybe jealousy that she did what I couldn’t—or relief that he’s ready to move on. But if my mind were a lake surface, it would be a sheet of glass.
There’s nothing.
Maybe I need to finish my coffee to process my current state. There’s no way I can be this apathetic.
David continues, “Listen, I couldn’t have been more pleased when Tim said you were going to work on the specs. I know you’ll do a great job.”
A smile lifts a corner of my mouth. No matter how many times people praise me, it never gets old. Because my career matters, and I do my best to ensure I’ll never be pushed out of my very competitive field.
Oh wait. I just felt something…which means there’s enough caffeine coursing through my veins.
So… I honestly felt nothing about David and the other girl’s effect on him?
Shaking myself inwardly, I pull up a chair. Maybe I’m not perturbed because I know she doesn’t mean anything. What did Michelle say about men and keeping rebound girls?
Yeah. Not happening. So the girl means nothing.
David and I sit closely so we can share a laptop—mine. Then as I pull up a template to fill out, I lean even closer—very subtly, of course; I’m not a total newbie here—and wait for something to happen between us…
Like a spark.
It isn’t something I’ve ever felt around him. But that’s because I made sure I never experienced it. He wasn’t single, and I have a strict rule about stuff like that. Despite what happened a few hours ago, Luke and I aren’t anything. We kissed. It was hot as hell. Okay, the hottest I’ve ever had. But that’s it, nothing more. I’m sure David can easily top it.
All I have to do is make myself totally receptive to the irresistible attraction between us.
David smells good, he’s as handsome as ever, and I like him. His mouth is well shaped, his lips firm and slightly chapped where they meet each other. But…
I try to imagine what it would be like for him to kiss me. He’s probably an excellent kisser. A guy can’t keep a girlfriend for so many years if he’s lousy at it. Would he be firm and controlled? Maybe soft?
No matter what, I can’t seem to lose myself in the thought of it. It’s probably because he keeps going on about the app features, which he’s really excited about. It’s tough to go from tech excitement to smut excitement. Although my job is awesome, it’s not exactly dirty talk material.
But it’s more than that. Something just isn’t there. I even let my arm and bare leg brush against him, but…nothing. I felt more rubbing my frozen limbs against a utility pole during a blizzard on a drunken dare in college.
What the hell?
After the chat, I thank him for his time and promise to send him a preliminary draft for review before I write up the detailed specs. He gives me a warm smile. “Thanks for taking the time. I understand this isn’t your favorite task.”
“We always take turns, so it’s okay.” I give him a pat grin, then leave, more confused than ever before.
And I spend all day reviewing what happened—or didn’t happen—at the meeting, even as my fingers type up the draft I owe him. I’ve written a ton of them, so it doesn’t take much focus to pull one together.
I shoot an email to David that afternoon with the preliminary version and work on refining features from the last update. Coding doesn’t help either. Even Tim asks me if I’m okay, and I tell him I’m fine—it’s a policy of mine not to discuss my personal life with my team lead.
When I have a little break, I see a text from Michelle to me and Jan.
–Michelle: How’d it go with David?
–Jan: Are you wearing something hot?
Jan spent the night at Matt’s house, but she, like Michelle, knows I always put on something nicer than
usual when I know I’m going to be in a meeting with David.
–Michelle: She’s showing off her legs today, which are fantastic, by the way.
I do have great legs. All the running has paid off in that department. I know my friends are expecting a response, but I’m not sure what to say. The whole thing just…didn’t go the way I wanted…or hoped for.
–Sammi: It was just a meeting.
–Jan: It’s never just a meeting when it involves him.
–Michelle: You didn’t do anything stupid, did you, Sammi? Like make a premature move?
–Sammi: Not really.
There’s a small pause. Michelle’s most likely frowning. She overthinks things a lot. It’s a personality tic that makes her good at her HR job.
–Michelle: You either did or didn’t.
–Sammi: It’s hard to explain.
I’m still not sure what the hell really happened.
–Michelle: We need to do a postmortem.
–Jan: Definitely. After work?
I make a face. Postmortems are great when they aren’t about you. There’s a reason why it’s called a postmortem.
–Sammi: Don’t you have to go bang Matt or something?
There. That should distract Jan. As for Michelle…
–Jan: He’s working late again. *pout* I think it’s against a bunch of labor laws to make him work so much.
I smirk. She doesn’t know he’s been working like a demon because he’s taking her on a secret week-long getaway this Saturday. Matt, being a smart fellow, asked me and Michelle to pack Jan’s bag, since he would undoubtedly forget something important. I’m pretty certain he’s going to propose. Just got this feeling, and it’s killing me to keep my mouth shut, but I’m not ruining things for my best friend.
–Sammi: I’m sure he knows what laws are being broken better than you.
–Michelle: I’m going to pick up pizza. We can do the postmortem at home.
I sigh. There’s no way to stop them when they’ve decided to gang up on poor little moi. Maybe I should start a yoga class this evening to avoid talking to them. I give it two seconds of thought then shake my head. Stupid idea. They’d just join me and pester me in the middle of a downward dog.
And the last thing I want is to discuss my failing love life with my ass in the air.
Chapter Eleven
By the time I arrive home, I spot Jan and Michelle’s cars. Damn. I can’t believe Michelle beat me when she also had to pick up a pizza. She must’ve left work in a hurry.
And I tell her so when I step inside and toe off my shoes. “Isn’t it against HR policy to leave early?”
“Not if you’re done for the day,” she says. “Do you know how fast I worked?”
“What for? I’m sure that’s against HR policy, too.”
Jan snorts from the couch, flexing her bare feet. “It’s not. And it’s not every day we get to interrogate you.”
I shake my head.
“It’s true. Usually you do the interrogating,” she adds.
“I do not. I seek pertinent information so I can be helpful.”
Michelle places the pizza on the dining room table. “Well, we’ll be doing the same for you.”
For me, my ass. More like to me.
Jan grabs plates, napkins and utensils, and I pull out Diet Coke, wine coolers in two different flavors, and cranberry juice and vodka. Jan and Michelle aren’t into vodka. It’s really for me, in case the interrogation turns ugly. Just because they’re not pulling out a dental drill doesn’t mean the questioning is going to be civilized.
“So…?” Jan prompts.
I merely start on the wine cooler first before taking the first slice of the cheese pizza. Jan and Michelle wait; they know I won’t say a word until I’m ready. Finally, I start talking to them, beginning with the encounter with Luke. Then, before I can get to the thing with David, I pause because I need more vodka.
Michelle peers at me. “You and Luke?”
“I know.” I bang my forehead against the table a few times.
“That was seriously hot,” Michelle says.
“No, it wasn’t.”
Yes, it was, my mind whispers, because it’s a worthless traitor. It belongs in a horrible jail where a bunch of bald, tattooed bad guys can beat it up.
“Yeah, it was, but forget that for the moment. What happened between you and David, then?” Jan asks.
Michelle regards me with sympathy. “Was he still crying about his ex?”
“That would’ve been better,” I say.
She blinks. “‘Better’?”
So I tell them. Both of their jaws loosen, then their mouths turn into big Os. It’s comical how in sync their reactions are. I’d laugh if we weren’t discussing my life.
Michelle recovers first and takes a big gulp of my vodka and cranberry juice, which tells me she’s either flustered or too thirsty to care. “Are you kidding? You’ve been after a guy with zero chemistry all this time?”
“It wasn’t zero chemistry. I just made myself not feel it because he was taken.”
She sighs. “Sammi. You can’t will yourself when it comes to chemistry. It’s either there or it isn’t.”
“Oh come on.”
“She’s right,” Jan says matter-of-factly.
I glare at her. When did she become a certified love expert?
“Didn’t you have to take chemistry in high school?” Michelle asks.
“Of course,” I say.
“So did I.” She scrunches her face. It’s no secret that math and science aren’t her favorite subjects. “At least it wasn’t as gross as human anatomy. Anyway, we had to blow up an Easter bunny.”
“You did?” My chemistry class never did anything that cool. My teacher was more interested in droning on and on about stuff that I scrubbed from my brain as soon as the final was over. It was that or therapy.
“Anyway, you put a marshmallow bunny in a tube then add some chemicals—I forgot which—and it sparks and…” Michelle lifts her fist, then pops open her hand, splaying her fingers. “Bam! Huge flames shoot out of the test tube. It’s pretty amazing.”
Huh, that sounds like a legit cool experiment, but… “What does that have to do with me and David?”
She takes a bite of her pizza. “Obviously, it isn’t there.”
“I don’t want to explode and have flames shoot out of me on contact with David.”
“Not the explosion. Chemistry!” Michelle says in a “duh!” tone. “Two things either react or they don’t. That’s why when you add salt to water—nothing happens, no matter how much you want it to spark and burn.”
She’s gotta be kidding me. “Are you calling me water?”
“I’m sure you can be salt if you want,” Jan says helpfully, which is…really…so unhelpful.
“Look,” Michelle begins, “you either felt something with David or you didn’t. Just so we’re clear, did you feel anything with Luke?”
I hesitate, then say grudgingly, “Yes.”
“The moment you saw him?”
I remember the static electricity on my skin when I first brushed past him. Does that count? “Possibly.”
She snorts. “There’s your answer. You’ve been barking up the wrong man for four years. My God.”
Jan shakes her head at Michelle’s pronouncement.
“Shut up,” I say, pouring myself more vodka and cranberry juice. “I don’t see why I can’t reject chemistry when it doesn’t suit me.”
“Try it with Luke and get back to us with a lab report.” Jan’s tone is too prim. I swear she’s enjoying my misfortune, and all because I gave her a tiny bit of shit when she was getting to know Matt.
Besides, I don’t need to try. I already know the results. When I was flying home from California, I felt it…to the point of fantasizing about his mouth, even though I told myself to ignore him. I rest an elbow on the table and prop my forehead on my palm. This is so…unexpected. I’ve always been able to do whatever I want
ed by willing it so and then working hard.
Michelle laughs softly, but not unkindly. She and I have been friends long enough that she can read my body language. “If attraction could be willed, nobody would cheat on their significant others, and I wouldn’t be able to moonlight as a honeypot.”
“That’s them,” I say. “I’m me. I thought I was beyond animal attraction to…something more refined and controllable.”
She snorts. “Refined and controllable? What is this, Bad Sex R Us? Like those PUA dorks say, attraction isn’t a choice. But you’re so stubborn and strong-willed, I’m not surprised you thought it was.”
Jan nods. “What she said. I did everything I could to not feel it with Matt, but it was just meant to be. Of course, he was super-persistent, too.”
“He wanted you,” I point out.
“Uh-huh. Just like Luke wants you.”
I keep going as though Jan hasn’t scored a point. “Besides, you weren’t waiting for David.”
“Please!” Jan gags. “I’m trying to eat here.”
“You know what I mean.”
She pushes more pizza my way. “Seriously, you just never met the right guy until Luke.”
“No. I never had a proper chance with David because he wasn’t available. And even now, he’s unavailable.”
Jan and Michelle exchange a look.
“I can read your thoughts, girlfriends,” I say. “I’m not dumb. I just need a new plan.”
Chapter Twelve
It takes me a night of deep thinking. Maybe to some, it feels like it should be an easy decision—David or Luke—but I’ve been thinking David was the man for me all along, so it’s not a simple thing for me to just decide I’m going to change tracks. But I concede—grudgingly—that maybe Jan and Michelle have a point. Maybe…just possibly one percent maybe…David and I don’t have any chemistry.
No, no, no. I shake my head. What do they know about chemistry? Jan was a virgin until, like, four months ago, and Michelle’s an English lit major. Seriously, I’m certain I haven’t felt anything with David because I’ve been trying to be noble, as in not the other woman in a relationship. I’ve played that role unwittingly, thanks to an asshole ex of mine, who just happened not to mention that he was engaged to a girl who lived out of town. The spectacle that ensued when she found out and confronted me is one humiliation I’ll never forget.
