Caught in the Middle

by Kira Barker

  “With enticing messages like that, how could I resist?”

  Now his grin turned stupid, and I already knew what was coming next.

  “Shit, if I’d known that it only takes me texting you a dick for you to show up, I would have done that weeks ago!”

  One of the bimbos gasped. Another gave me the stink eye. That was too hilarious to resist. Reaching for my pocket, I made as if to get out my phone.

  “Wanna see? But, why bother—I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t seen plenty of times before.”

  How they managed those almost identical sneers I couldn’t say, but it was kind of fascinating to observe.

  “Someone’s in a good mood tonight,” Jack murmured under his breath, and when I gave him a sharp look, I got a bright smile for my trouble. “Yup, you definitely need to get laid,” he told me succinctly. Oh, finally something we could agree on, but sober I would never admit that. “You know where the booze is. I’ll catch up with you later,” Jack promised, then off he went to appease the ladies. It wouldn’t come as much of a surprise if one—or all—of them would stay the night. And that was just one more reason why I really had to get those stupid ideas out of my head.

  At any other place, such a brief welcome might have rubbed me the wrong way, but Jack was right. I knew where the booze was—also the shower, coffee machine, fire extinguisher, and even the spare toilet paper. Except for my own apartment and the hospital, this house was the closest to home that anywhere had felt to me in ages, and, if I was honest, it came a long shot before the other two options.

  Swinging by the kitchen, as usual crowded for no other reason than people finding kitchens insanely fascinating, I grabbed a beer and moseyed into the living room part of the shared open space. Not exactly a regular at these shindigs, I still knew a couple of people, and recognized a few more that I’d never bothered to get the names of. Sadly, the wispy blonde I was looking for wasn’t around, but then I could socialize like a beast without playing ugly stepsister to Kara’s superficial gorgeousness. It still made me wonder where she was—she usually didn’t miss these parties, but there were firsts for everything.

  Close to the makeshift bar that now also had to make do as a buffet table, I found the other regular inhabitant of these not-so-sacred halls. Unlike Jack, Simon didn’t notice me until I’d spent a full five minutes hovering near his right elbow, and even then he just graced me with a smile and offered no other greeting. I knew that wouldn’t change until his current conversation partner beat it, which didn’t seem likely to happen in the next, say, century, judging from the look of adoration on his face. Typical fan boy, likely an aspiring writer himself.

  Most people would have found Simon’s attitude rude, but I’d long since become so used to his ways that I didn’t even notice. Maybe he simply didn’t affect me like that, or perhaps it stemmed from the fact that I’d known him before he’d turned into the man he was now. Simon had always been different, but at eighteen, awkwardness had still surpassed arrogance. Now, there wasn’t any of that left in him, of course, and after I’d listened in on their conversation for a while, I decided that befriending the half-empty bottle of tequila held more merit. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had anything stronger than coffee; it was about time that I changed that.

  An undefined while and two glasses of tequila later, I found myself smiling at a guy who I vaguely remembered from somewhere. He didn’t look like any of Simon’s typical crowd—no pretentious tweed jackets in sight, nor a starved artist look going on—and when he introduced himself as Barry, I tagged him as one of Jack’s coworkers.

  “You’re Erin, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” I replied at my most eloquent, and nursed my tequila for all the moral support it was worth.

  Don’t get me wrong—I can be civil, but Barry wasn’t really pushing any of my buttons. He wasn’t even that bad looking, more like the better half of average, but he was exuding blandness like a good cheese aroma. Maybe it was his haircut, maybe it was the funny slogan on his T-shirt—which should probably have been a dead giveaway regarding his affiliation, unless it was a Fight Club quote I had missed that obviously put him in the Jack corner of the world—but something about him made me want to smile politely and talk animatedly to a potted plant instead.

  “Jack talks a lot about you.”

  Clearly, the message I’d tried to send had not landed with the receiver. Or he was just desperate. That made two of us, but if Barry was the catch of the night, I could easily go celibate for another couple of, oh, years.

  “He does?”

  “Only good things,” Barry was quick to assure me, which told me two things. First, he really was trying to pick me up, and second, he was a hell of a bad liar.

  “Is that so? Like what?”

  Not happy that this conversation was taking a turn toward interrogation territory, Barry gave an uncomfortable shrug.

  “You’ve known each other for ages, right?”

  “About.”

  I stayed with the most useless affirmative answer I could think of. Taking another sip, I decided that this was fun after all. Not the kind of fun Barry was after, but it beat waiting for either of the guys to have time for me, or wondering just what made normally sensible guys like Jack lust after bimbos like those blondes. The one who’d given me the stink eye was right now glancing over to me and looked way too satisfied about who I was trying to avoid having to talk to. Or maybe that was her signature expression when she wasn’t trying to get into some guy’s pants. Maybe it was a neural condition. Or psychological. Either way, out of my field of expertise.

  Belatedly I realized that Barry had asked me something that I’d droned out thanks to the glory of a momentary bitch-staring contest.

  “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked what you do for a living?”

  And here, ladies and gents, was my chance to either make or break my evening entertainment. If Jack had really told him anything about me that went beyond stupid anecdotes, it probably was a bad idea to lie, but then most guys didn’t react favorably to the truth. Something about manic work obsession always threw them off. Why I even considered those consequences, I didn’t know, because I still wasn’t exactly warming up to the idea of mashing privates with Barry—but then again, I could do way worse. He had approached me, and my baseline hostility hadn’t chased him away, either, so maybe…

  But no. I didn’t exactly consider myself to be a truly honest person, but I was proud of my achievements, and it wasn’t like I could shine with anything other than my work.

  “I work at a hospital.”

  No idea why I was so vague, but the words were out before I could take them back. Another sip of tequila helped chase them down. Barry’s eyes hung on my lips just long enough to make me grin, not because I wanted to entice him, but simply because it wasn’t my first glass, and this was comically hilarious.

  “So you’re a nurse?”

  He ventured a guess that both widened my grin and utterly destroyed any chance of him tapping my ass tonight. Not that there was anything wrong with being a nurse—I wouldn’t have a job if not for the army of nurses who kept the hospital running, and like every sane person I tread carefully around Nurse Dana if I couldn’t altogether avoid her, but it was kind of insulting to aim for the lower income jobs first. Sure, there was the possibility that he meant it as a compliment, as in pretty girl in a skanky nurse’s outfit, but that was one way of thinking my brain simply wasn’t wired for.

  “Surgeon, or surgeon-to-be, if I survive the remaining months of my residency and pass the board certification exam. If you ever chop off a finger or split open your skull, I’m your girl!”

  That was definitely the tequila talking, and I took another drink to hide the wince at the last part. Nothing of mine would ever be Barry’s, but it had sounded like a nice way to end the sentence. And that was just one reason why I should have laid off the booze after that first glass of tequila.

  �
��Oh. Well, that’s good to know,” Barry enthused, not very enthusiastically. I rewarded that with a bland smile that grew exponentially when Jack made a surprise appearance. He eyed my glass critically, then looked from me to Barry and back. The way he clapped Barry on the shoulder was more intimidating than jovial, a sentiment Barry seemed to pick up on immediately from the way he stiffened.

  “Barry, my man, you should go harass someone else.”

  “Hey, I’m not harassing her!” he protested, then shot me a glance that made me wonder exactly what Jack had told him about me. “Am I harassing you?”

  The jury was still out on that, but I definitely didn’t like the asshole move Jack was pulling just then.

  “Of course not. We were having a very pleasant conversation before Jack came barging in.”

  I might have sounded more sincere if I could have wiped that silly grin off my face, but there was booze! And Jack! And a way out of this fucking stupid conversation!

  “I sincerely doubt it,” Jack muttered, just low enough that I could have pretended not to have caught that, but of course I didn’t.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I complained, then hated myself for playing right into Jack’s hand, judging from his snort. “I really don’t need you to come riding in on that shiny steed of yours and rescue me like a damsel in need of, well, rescue.”

  Now Barry started looking really uncomfortable, but that might have been due to the fact that Jack still hadn’t let go of him.

  “Rescue you? On the contrary. I’m here to save Barry the trouble of getting his ass handed to him.” Looking from my face to my glass, Jack raised one eyebrow, a feat I’d always envied him for. “Exactly how many beaker-sized portions of tequila have you chugged down already?”

  “That’s my third. I think. And it’s a normal long-drink glass, not a beaker. Even if it’s not rum, I still only get two fingers each time.”

  “Yeah, I know your two fingers measuring thing,” Jack offered, spreading his right forefinger and middle finger as far as they went, the gesture distinctly obscene—but then that might have been just me again.

  “It’s quality tequila. What can I say?” I shrugged off his criticism, if it even was that. Unless I barfed in his sock drawer again, Jack was usually cool about me drinking a little more than I should. It happened maybe once a year, nowadays usually not even that often. I had a penchant for hangovers and not enough time in my schedule to suffer them in style.

  “Anyway. I’m sure Barry is very pleased to have met you, Erin, but he just realized that it’s time for him to go fetch something from the kitchen.”

  “Fetch what?” Barry asked, making both Jack and me stare awkwardly at the floor for a second. Some people just made it too easy.

  “Your sense of self-preservation,” Jack replied, then turned them both around and started marching Barry in the indicated direction. “If that’s her third glass, you only have one more stupid answer left before she goes for your jugular, and I think you just used that up. You can thank me later.”

  And, just like that, my dear friend deprived me of my only chance to get some tonight. That rankled. Not because Barry would have been such a catch—and it had been a very slim chance to begin with—but the fact that Jack had the audacity to interfere got my temper rearing its ugly head. Like anyone needed protecting from me. Seriously? The gall!

  “I’m sure that whatever this most offensive glass has done to you, it does not deserve that gorgonesque glower, even if by now you’ve scared it enough and I’m sure it won’t become a repeat offender.”

  Pursing my lips to hide a smile, I turned around to fully face Simon. He was a decidedly pleasant change to look at compared to the blandness that was Barry. And better yet, he came bearing gifts!

  I held out my glass, which he dutifully sloshed tequila into, but I refrained from doing that spread two fingers gesture Jack had just made fun of. A hint of a frown appeared on Simon’s forehead, but he must have figured it was wiser not to point out my uncustomary meekness.

  Where Jack was all California sunny boy, Simon rocked that tall, dark, and handsome cliché, mostly thanks to his mother, who could give Sofia Vergara a run for her money on her good days. Over the years, I had seen many a woman succumb to that charm—until he opened his mouth. The only thing about him that surpassed his intelligence was his arrogance and lack of a filter, both attributes I valued highly but that most people couldn’t stomach. Jack was pretty much immune to it, and Kara had her own thing going on that made Simon appear civil, but off the top of my head I couldn’t think of anyone else who wasn’t hesitant about approaching him again after a lengthy discussion. Except maybe for the avid readers of his Friday column, but I still wasn’t sure if those didn’t already qualify as a cult.

  “So are you going to answer my question, or do I have to spend the night tossing and turning, anguished by the lack of knowledge?”

  I had to work hard to keep a straight face and not let my brain spew out some alternate options of how to spend that time better—like, with me, against a wall—and once again, a sip of tequila gave me the time to clear my head.

  “Jack is being a protective asshole again. The glass is innocent. And I’m not sure if ‘gorgonesque’ is a word.”

  Simon deflected that with a smile that should have been easy but was everything but.

  “And there it is again, that look on your face. Even if it wasn’t a word before, if I send a picture of you looking at me like that for an example, I’m sure it will be officiated.”

  “Oh, you say the sweetest things!”

  “And you always deserve them.”

  It was moments like these where I was ready to dispute my common sense—or obvious lack thereof—but I couldn’t help breaking out into a wide grin at his retort.

  “Maybe I do, but that I admitted it has to stay between you and me. Jack can never know a thing.”

  “My lips are sealed,” Simon was quick to offer, a wry grin twisting his mouth as he made a zipping gesture. My eyes probably lingered a moment too long there, but I figured that he’d easily attribute that to the booze. And if not, Simon was the kind of guy who’d come up with a really obscure reason instead of the obvious truth. Calling him a little out of this world was maybe unfair, but his mind did work in mysterious ways sometimes.

  “So what did Jack do this time? Not that he needs to do much to get you throwing hissy fits left and right.”

  “Those are not hissy fits, those are justified expressions of anger. Whatever. He was just Jack being Jack. The usual.”

  “Come on, give me the details. You know you want to.”

  And one day in the sadly very near future, a sentence like this would be my undoing. I knew it. It was inevitable!

  Licking my lips, I tried to clear my head, but now all that seeking wisdom at the bottom of my glass was turning the tables on me.

  “Actually, I’m not a hundred percent sure what happened. It kind of looked like a rescue attempt, because, you know me—I eat guys like Barry for breakfast, but now that I think about it, I think he was cockblocking me.”

  Simon winced, and chances were that it had nothing to do with sympathy—a normal human reaction—but rather the fact that I dared to use colloquialisms and word repetitions.

  “Well, it’s been known to happen,” he supplied wisely.

  “What, me turning into a post-coital praying mantis?”

  His smile turned a little dark, hinting at deeper amusement.

  “I’m lacking hands-on data for that, but what I meant was that on more than one occasion, I’ve observed Jack running some guy off because he himself was more than just passingly interested in genital contact with the involved female.”

  Which brought me about a mile closer to that very special breaking point.

  Thankfully, my level of inebriation made me laugh shrilly instead of showing any other reaction, and gave me a very good excuse for the color surging into my cheeks.

  “You can’t ju
st say shit like that to me!” I complained, or tried to, a few of the words getting mangled in the effort. Simon still understood what I was trying to say, once again proving that he was only dense when it concerned people he really didn’t like.

  “Why, am I using words that are too big for you again?”

  “Yes, that too!” I tried to do damage control, failing horribly, but it didn’t really matter. “But, seriously, ‘genital contact’? Can’t you just use slurs and expletives like everyone else?”

  To myself, I could easily admit that I had ulterior motives for provoking him, and judging from the way he looked at me, he knew that. Shit.

  “Whatever do you mean by that? Wasn’t it you who once held a fifteen-minute lecture on how to perform cunnilingus in proper anatomical terms because Jack used the word ‘shlong’ ten times in a sentence? I’d even go so far and bet that it was after you killed the first half of the bottle of tequila that you’re now polishing off at an astonishing rate.”

  Ah, fond memories, and the perfect excuse to bring our derailed conversation back on track.

  “You mean I have my very own special bottle of tequila? Aw!”

  I made a grab for it, even though my glass was still half full and I had no intention of letting myself slide any further into casual alcoholism, but Simon easily plucked it out of my grasping hands and held it out of reach. That incidentally brought us close enough that when he replied, I was the only one who heard.

  “Okay. Jack has a habit of scaring off guys when he really wants to fuck the girl they’re trying to chat up. Happy now?”

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, was an observation I didn’t have an answer to—a first, as Simon probably would have pointed out if he hadn’t been so busy staring straight into my eyes, unblinking. From way too close, with my hand still on his shoulder as I tried to gain leverage to reach for the damn bottle.

  The moment passed, or so it did for Simon, who let that intense look on his face fade into a pleasant smile after he put the bottle back onto the bar beside him. My mind was still stuck, and I had the sinking feeling that it would remain so for the time being.