by B. E. Baker
Jim, on the other hand, eats as though he endured training similar to mine. “Sometimes I do stupid things.”
“Me too,” he says. “Actually, it might be more like regularly. I do stupid things pretty often.”
“Is that why you don’t have any friends?” I lift one eyebrow. “Or any girlfriends, past or present?”
“Probably.”
“What dumb thing does Trudy know about?” I ask. “I mean, I can ask her, but I’d rather ask you. What makes you such a bad egg?”
Jim smiles. “But I’m enjoying talking to you.”
“Wow, so it’s, like, really bad.”
“Let’s say I hold grudges longer than I should.”
“Admitting that is the first step,” I say. “Or so I hear.”
“Have you seen the movie Cinderella?” he asks.
“I’m surprised you’ve seen it,” I say. “Isn’t that a little girly for someone who has never had a girlfriend? Do you have sisters?”
“My grandmother loved all the Disney animated films,” he says. “And I humored her.”
“Color me impressed. Mr. Bad Egg loves his grandmother.”
“But you’ve seen it.”
I nod. “Who hasn’t?”
“Every bit of magic goes up in a cloud of smoke at midnight.”
“Okay,” I say.
“This whole wedding is a little early, so instead of midnight, I’ll confess when Luke and Mary leave,” he says.
“You’ll tell me the whole story of whatever bad thing you did to make Trudy tell me to steer clear?”
“I will.”
“That’s fair.” I look down at my empty cake plate. “But what do we do until then?”
The band starts up as if on cue.
“We dance.” Jim stands and offers me his hand.
I recall what happened the last time he touched me, and my heart accelerates. “Maybe I don’t know how to dance.”
“I very much doubt that,” Jim says. “Having seen you walk, I’m pretty sure you learned to dance early in life.”
I lean back and eye him. “What does that mean?”
“You walk like a dancer.”
I wonder whether hundreds of hours of dance training really shows up in my walk. If he noticed that, he has a good eye. I stand up slowly and place my hand in his, and it happens again. A shiver shoots right up my arm, and my heart hammers in my chest in response.
His hand tightens on mine, and I wonder whether he feels it too. He leads me around our table, between two others, and to the edge of the dance floor where Luke and Mary are dancing their very first song as a married couple. He should drop my hand while we wait.
He doesn’t.
But when I shift, he takes the movement as an opportunity and shifts our hands so that our fingers interlace. For someone who hasn’t ever had a girlfriend, he’s sure got the basics down. I glance up at him and he’s looking at me already. I can’t read his expression. It almost looks bewildered.
When that song finally ends and the next one begins, he tugs me toward the dance floor. I notice that Paul and Trudy are dancing, and I can’t help smiling.
“Those two certainly seem like they’re making up from their disagreement,” I say.
“Was it a disagreement?” Jim pulls me onto the floor, his hands taking position perfectly.
“Well, a misunderstanding might be a better way to put it,” I say.
He leads with confidence and clear cues. “I heard he lied to her about who he was.”
“He wanted to do something apart from his family,” I say. “I don’t think that makes him a villain.”
“But he lied to his family in order to do it.” He dips me and my heart skips a beat.
“Sometimes you can’t escape the expectations without telling a few lies.” This whole line of questioning makes me uncomfortable. “But in case you didn’t know, what happened in this case is that Paul wanted to try creating a business on his own, without Luke’s help, without everyone assuming Luke was the brains behind it.”
“Paul is a grown man,” he says. “It’s too bad he never learned to share back in kindergarten. It might have saved him a lot of trouble.”
“I don’t think it was about sharing,” I say. “It was about keeping it all a secret until he either sunk or swam.”
“Which makes him a coward.” Jim stops as the song does. “In two distinct ways. First, he should have come clean to his brother, who would have understood his reasons and his desire. Second, he was jumping with a net. He kept it a secret so that his family and friends wouldn’t find out if he failed. You never try your hardest when you’ve got a net.”
“You’re a trapeze artist now?”
A new song begins, and Jim doesn’t even ask. He simply spins me back in to a dance on the beat. “We’re all trapeze artists. We leap halfheartedly when we’re playing it safe. The only way to truly succeed is to lose the net.”
“And that’s what you do?” I ask. “You leap without any security that you won’t die?”
“The answer to that will lead right in to what you’ll find out when the clock strikes midnight.”
“Do you mean when Mary and Luke leave?” I glance around at the bright sunlight. “Because they’re leaving soon. They held this whole thing during the early hours so that their kids wouldn’t get tired and crabby.”
“Right.” He clears his throat. “Speaking of, why are you so good with the kids?”
“I told you. My friends just started having them.” I toss my head at the corner where Amy, Chase, Troy, Addy’s twins, and a handful of other children are dancing.
“But you could’ve easily dodged interacting with them.”
I shrug my shoulder. “Maybe, I guess, but when someone has kids, they need help.”
“And easy as that, you provided the help?” He spins me. “I didn’t realize I was dancing with a saint. I’m surprised my touch doesn’t burn you.”
“I’m hardly a saint. I’ve actually always liked kids,” I say. “So I enjoy watching Troy and Amy and Chase. Kids in general are uncomplicated. They take things at face value, and they’re not buried in preconceived notions. And Amy’s hilarious, Troy’s as sweet as can be, and Chase is a little imp. I enjoy all three of them. I even like the little ones who can’t wipe their own bum.”
“I never should have said that,” he says. “I didn’t realize I was surrounded by parrots.”
“They really are little sponges,” I say.
“I meant you,” he says. “And with such beautiful feathers.”
It’s a weird compliment, but it still causes my cheeks to heat. Time to change the subject. “Children are constantly observing and assimilating data. They’ll be sure to regurgitate it at horrible times, always.”
“I’ve been trying to observe how you handle them and assimilate it myself. In case I ever have to spend time with one.”
“Spend time with one? Do you mean. . . a kid?” He really hasn’t been around children often.
“Right. I don’t come in contact with them socially or at work.”
“But your one friend has two kids. In fact, his kids are two of the three I see the most.” The song ends and we walk to the edge of the dance floor. I’m a little disappointed.
“That’s a good point,” Jim says. “But I live in New York and rarely see Luke, sadly.”
“Oh, you live in New York.” The news saddens me, which is irrational since we just met. “Are you heading home soon?” I could kick myself for asking.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Well, that sucks,” I say.
Jim’s smile lifts my spirits a bit. “Do you always say whatever you’re thinking?”
I shrug. “Usually. When I watch a romantic comedy where the only thing keeping two people apart is bad communication, I usually end up throwing my popcorn at the television.”
“You could solve that pretty easily,” he says.
“How?”
“Don’t watch
romantic comedies.”
I walked right in to that one. “But then I’d be even sadder.”
“We can’t have that,” he says.
“Excuse me?” A broad man in a dark grey suit is standing on my left side. “I work with Luke, and he mentioned you were one of Mary’s single friends. I thought you might like to dance.”
“Do you have a name, Luke’s presumably single friend?” I ask.
“Greg,” he says. “Greg Barrett. Fair warning, I’m actually a competitor of Luke’s, but we get along pretty well, obviously.” He smiles then, and his teeth practically blind me.
But overuse of whitening toothpaste is hardly justification for rudeness. I pause for an extra second to see whether Jim will stop him, but when he says nothing, I bob my head. “Sure, Greg Barrett. I’d be happy to dance with you.”
Greg doesn’t step on my toes. He doesn’t have bad breath. He makes pretty smooth conversation. He’s got a nice smile, even if he tries a little too hard.
But I spend the entire dance looking for Jim. He’s watching at me every time I glance his way, unabashedly. But when the song ends, I’m on the opposite end of the dance floor, and there’s a short guy in a tan suit waiting for me. “You’re Paisley, right?” he asks, before Greg has even had a second to say goodbye.
Greg holds up his hand to indicate that he’ll call me before he walks off. I have no idea how he could possibly do that, unless Luke gave him my number, but I nod and turn toward the new guy.
“I am.” I wish I could lie.
“Luke told me you were Mary’s coolest single friend. I’m Holden. Luke and I play racquetball sometimes.”
I’m going to strangle Luke the second he gets home from his honeymoon. Unfortunately I can’t think of a single excuse, so I wind up dancing with Holden. I’m sure Luke didn’t know this, but Holden’s hands are unbelievably sweaty. I almost feel bad for him. This time, when I glance Jim’s way, he’s not there.
I scan the dance floor with alarm and notice him dancing with Trudy. I sigh with relief. At least I know she has zero interest. Paul watches her as closely as I’m watching Jim, which reminds me to chill out. Can’t have Jim realizing I’m crazy.
Not yet, anyway.
But when that song ends, Luke and Mary start waving and I realize they’re leaving.
Which means it’s basically midnight. A sense of inexplicable dread seizes my chest like claws, compressing my heart in a way I don’t quite understand. I barely know Jim. I should be dying to know what he did that makes him unsuitable. I should be interrogating him.
I always spend the first date digging around for flaws. I’m relentless. After all, if I wait, if I don’t push to find out what’s wrong with him, I could waste weeks and weeks on someone who I’ll dump later. And the longer you wait, the more it hurts if he’s not right. Better to throw the bad stuff out there immediately and find out whether it’s something I can live with.
“Thanks for the dance,” I say to Holden. “But I better go—” I point at Mary and Luke.
“Right,” he says. “Totally.”
I practically sprint away from him, wiping my hands on my full skirt as I go. By the time I reach the gate that takes me through to the front, Jim is by my side.
“You’re a hard lady to keep ahold of.” His voice is deep, rich, almost naughty. I could listen to it all day.
That tiny thrill runs up my spine again, and I lick my lips.
Jim reaches down and takes my hand. “Don’t want to lose you again.”
A bigger thrill this time, and I find myself looking at his lips. They’re full, almost too full. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.
I shake my head and focus on Mary and Luke. I wave wildly with my free hand, as though it will prevent anyone from noticing that my other one is taken. When I glance sideways at Jim, his lips are compressed.
He’s bemused.
Well, let him smirk. I’m excitable. It’s who I am. “Have so much fun!” I shout.
And then they’re gone and people are dispersing, grabbing their purses and jackets and murmuring goodbyes. Jim tugs me back toward the tent pavilion, and I notice my purse on the central table. “I guess I should grab my purse.”
“Are you ready to hear my confession, Saint Paisley?” he asks.
“It’s Aunt Paisley. Get it straight.”
“My mistake.” He sits down in the seat next to my purse, and I drop into the one next to him.
“I suppose I’m ready,” I lie.
“Here’s what I propose,” he says. “I’ll tell you why Paul hates me, and then I’ll hand you my phone. You put your phone number in there. If you’re okay with me calling you after you hear what I did, then you put in your real number. If you’re not, you put in a fake number. I’ll wait a day to call, and if you don’t answer, I’ll understand.”
That’s pretty considerate. And it sounds like he’s interested in calling me, which is promising. “Sure, I can do that.”
Jim smiles. “Luke and I were friends at Harvard even though Luke was a year behind me. I was actually in school with Paul, but he hated all the legacies.” At my blank look, he elaborates. “Kids whose parents had been to Harvard before them.”
“Okay,” I say. “So far, so good.”
Jim smirks. “I hope so. All I’m guilty of so far is being a spoiled rich kid.”
“Which isn’t promising, but it’s not really a deal breaker.”
“At Harvard, I had a friend who always bought the answers to tests and gave me a copy. Always. I didn’t use them much, but I didn’t turn him in or throw them out, either.”
“Now we’re a little grey,” I say.
“Duly noted. One night, I saw Paul studying frantically for a very difficult exam. I told him I had the answer key, if he wanted it.”
My eyes widen. “What did he say?”
“Oh, Paul turned me down flat,” Jim says. “It was extremely stupid for me to offer anything to him at all.”
“Wait.” I’m suddenly afraid. Terrified that he’s going to tell me something I can’t handle. And I’ll never get to kiss him at all. I should think this through, but that’s not really my thing. So I act.
I’ve always been a doer.
I lean forward and put my palms on his knees. Then I kiss Jim on his beautiful, shocked mouth.
His lips part in surprise at first, but he catches on fast. His right hand comes up to cup my jaw, pulling me closer. His other hand covers my hand on his knee. His mouth is warm on mine, and just a little bit demanding.
I don’t want to stop, which is how I know I should. I finally force myself to pull away and sit back.
Jim’s eyes blink quickly. “I don’t think anyone has ever kissed me for telling them I cheated in college.”
“I’m not like anyone else you’ve met,” I say. “And I was afraid I might not want to kiss you in a minute.”
He groans. “You might not, but now I want to more than ever.”
Good. “Go on.”
“Is it too late for me to plead the fifth?” Jim asks. “Because maybe I should.”
I shake my head. “Cinderella’s slippers have to come off.”
He sighs. “Fine. Well, Paul turned me in and got me kicked out of school. He never liked me, and I guess that was the last straw.”
I didn’t expect that. Maybe I should have.
“For what it’s worth, I had studied. I didn’t need the answers.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m trying to defend myself. Harvard didn’t care, and neither did my parents.”
“Sounds like things got a little rough.”
Jim snorts. “Unbelievably rough.”
“But it sounds like you already repaid that debt.”
“I did.”
A sinking feeling tells me he’s not finished. “Hand me your phone,” I say.
“Why?” Jim asks.
“So I can put my phone number in there.”
Jim reaches his hand in his pocket, but when h
e pulls it out, his hand is empty.
“There’s no phone there,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Because I’m not through.”
I was afraid of that.
“I moved on. I figured out how to succeed without Harvard and without my dad. I did what I do. I persevered.”
“Okay,” I say.
“But I never forgot that Paul turned on me—attacking me when I hadn’t done him any harm.”
Well, he kind of did it to himself. But sure, Paul had a part.
“And I don’t let go of things very well.”
“You don’t forgive?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I guess not.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
“I could lie, you know,” he says. “I doubt Paul would admit the whole story. Although I don’t forgive easily, I’d like it noted for the record that I don’t lie. I didn’t lie to the disciplinary board at Harvard either.”
“Okay,” I say.
“I was angry with him for a long while, but I couldn’t do anything to Paul that wouldn’t hurt Luke. I told you already, he’s my only friend.”
Which still strikes me as tragically sad.
“I hired some private investigators. I didn’t want to hurt Luke, but I resolved to pay Paul back someday. They provide me periodic reports on a number of things and people, Paul being one of them. So when he struck out on his own, I saw my chance.”
My heart sinks. “What did you do?”
“I hired a corporate spy to work for Paul’s startup. I stole his tech and patented it first.”
I gulp.
“Then I sold it for ten grand to a competitor. It wasn’t about benefitting myself, you see. It was about punishing him.”
“And that was it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid I felt like that wasn’t quite good enough. After all, he simply started over with another idea.”
“And you did the same thing again?” I ask.
“Something like that, but this time, it didn’t work. Your friend Trudy found my key logger, and I failed.”
I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
This time he complies.
I put my phone number in, my real phone number, and then I look up at him. “I’ve given you my real number. I’ll tell you that right now, but I’m going to tell you the circumstances under which you may call me.”
