The Virgin Dating Game

by Sky Corgan

  His body seems to stiffen a bit, and he narrows his brows as if he doesn't quite understand the question. I open my mouth to try to clarify it, but then he says, “No. I don't think that's wrong.”

  I'm not sure what I should take from his answer, especially since I don't think he understood the question. My wording was so cryptic. It could have meant a dozen things aside from my intended meaning. Now I just feel stupid. I should come right out and say what I'm talking about, tell him about Flesh, but it's kind of embarrassing, knowing that it will sound like I'm confusing physical pleasure with emotional fulfillment. They're not the same thing. I'll never be emotionally fulfilled as long as I'm paying for attention. I have my own answer. It is wrong if I start getting attached to a phantom.

  I try not to brood too much as I realize that throwing the card away was a good thing. It doesn't feel good, but oftentimes, the right thing never does. I'll get over it. I just need time. Time for the experience to fade from my mind. Time to distance myself from all things BDSM related and redirect my focus on finding a healthy relationship with a man who will respect me and treat me as his equal. The perfect guy for me is out there somewhere. I know he is. He has to be.

  We pull onto Shaddelee Lane, and immediately I feel a tightness in my chest. I'm getting nervous, but I'm not sure why. There's no way we're going to land this client when there are two bigger fish circling around him. High-profile clients typically want the cream of the crop, and while our company is good, it doesn't have as many accolades as the others. All we can do is try our best and expect it to be a complete waste of time. At least, we'll still get paid for the consultation.

  “This is it,” Derrick says when we reach the end of the street and pull up in front of the behemoth of a house.

  It's every bit as beautiful as it was in the pictures. The concrete driveway is patterned to look like tile and seamlessly integrates with the path leading up to the house. Palm trees dot the small front yard, surrounded by perfectly manicured shrubberies and lush green grass. The terracotta color of the house and white trimmed windows give it an exotic feel, more like a vacation resort than a home.

  I try not to gawk too much as I follow Derrick up the path to the door with my plate of cookies in hand. It's a shame we probably won't actually be able to work with the house, but at least it will be fun getting to take a look inside. A place like this is my dream home, something I'd never be able to afford on my salary.

  When we reach the front door, we both take a moment to compose ourselves. Derrick clears his throat and boots up his tablet while I smooth the wrinkles out of my blouse and pencil skirt and make sure the cookies didn't shift too much during the ride. I had stacked them meticulously onto the plate, wanting them to look picture perfect.

  “You ready?” Derrick asks me, taking a deep breath. I can tell he's nervous. We both are. Landing this client seems every bit as important to him as it does to Tyra. He really wants that bonus.

  “As ready as I'm going to be.” I sigh, shifting my weight and staring up at the door.

  Derrick brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. I hadn't even noticed it had come loose from my ponytail, with all the butterflies in my stomach fighting for my attention.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He leans forward to ring the doorbell. Then we wait.

  I feel like a statue, standing there with the biggest fake smile I can muster plastered across my face. I hold the cookies at chest level, wanting them to be the first thing the client sees when he opens the door. The cookies, not my chest.

  In my head, I go over the strategy that Derrick and I had planned out. He'll take the lead on the walk-through with the client, showcasing the work we've done, getting details about the client's needs, and giving him an example of how we'd redecorate one of the rooms in the house, and I'll busy myself with entertaining Doctor Reddick's wife and kids, if he has any, getting her opinion on things, acting like a trusted friend, and trying to convince her that our design process won't disrupt their lives at all. Sometimes, you can negate the husband's desires if you can convince the wife that you're the right person for the job. It's always best to try to woo them both equally.

  I listen for footsteps on the other side of the door, but if there's someone there, they're moving soundlessly. A lot of these big houses have good insulation, and you can't always hear what's going on inside. It feels like a short forever before the door handle turns. My palms are sweating with anticipation beneath the plate of cookies, and all I keep thinking about is how we can't screw this up.

  When the door opens, I expect to see a man in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair and a charming smile. Maybe he has his beautiful wife by his side or a child hanging off of his hip. Like any rich surgeon, he'd be dressed dapper, perhaps in golfing attire.

  It takes my eyes and mind a minute to adjust to reality. My mouth falls open, and the cookies that I've been so anal about not messing up slip from my hands like sand.

  Everyone moves at once to retrieve them. Doctor Reddick manages to catch the plate, but at least half of the cookies slide out from under the saran wrap and make a crumby mess on his front porch. I'm on my hands and knees in an instant, keeping my eyes low and apologizing profusely as I gather the cookies up off the floor. My heart is pounding so hard that I can feel it in my throat. I don't want to be here. Just want to disappear. Don't want to look up. Because if I look up, I'll see those two blue pools. I'll feel things I shouldn't. And oddly, right now, feeling embarrassment from my clumsiness is a lot better than feeling shame from the realization that I know this man.

  Sir now has a name, and it's Lucian Reddick.

  “Doctor Reddick,” Derrick quickly tries to salvage the situation, extending his hand in greeting to distract Lucian from trying to help me. “My name is Derrick Hoover, and this is my partner Amy Underwood. We're from Environ Design, here to give you your interior design consultation.”

  I finish picking up the cookies and stand, though I can't force myself to look at Lucian. Man, am I ever screwing this up. Just knowing he's standing in front of me, only a few feet away, is doing strange things to me, and not all of them are good. I feel nauseous and horrified and aroused, all at the same time. And even though I can't look at him, I'm acutely aware of the skin-tight black T-shirt he's wearing and distressed jeans. Good God, he's far more gorgeous in the sunlight. Far more pale. His hair darker. His eyes bluer. It makes me sick to think that I just made myself look like a complete klutz in front of him.

  “I made you cookies,” I say awkwardly.

  “I see that,” he replies slowly, as if he thinks I'm stupid. Oh God, he does think I'm stupid. I'm sure acting stupid, but I can't seem to do anything about it.

  I can feel eyes on me. His eyes. Derrick's eyes. The sweating that started at my palms takes over my entire body. Even though my blouse is short-sleeved, and I'm wearing a skirt, the air feels too hot. Stifling. I just want to run back to Derrick's car and leave.

  “Shall we.” Lucian's feet leave my line of sight, and I can only assume he's showing us in, because Derrick steps forward. I follow behind like a mouse, looking everywhere but at the man who had me under his broad muscular body just last night.

  We enter the grand foyer, and the first thing I notice, since I'm looking down, is the gorgeous marble flooring. My awe ends there though. As I finally force my eyes up, I realize why Doctor Reddick called us. The inside of the house is an interior decorating disaster. None of the furniture matches. The walls are cluttered with old pictures and paintings of various styles. It looks like someone took everything they'd ever collected in their entire life and just placed it out randomly with no thought as to how everything looks together. Awful, and definitely not what I expected from a man who seemed so put together.

  “Let's take these to the kitchen.” Lucian lifts up the plate of what remains of the cookies and leads us towards the kitchen.

  My eyes roam over the dining room and formal living room as we pass them. E
very room is decorated so differently, with no thought towards cohesion. The only thing that is consistent is the clutter. It's sad to see a house that's so beautiful on the outside look so chaotic on the inside.

  We reach the kitchen, and Lucian sets the plate of cookies on the island. To my surprise, he reaches under the saran wrap to grab one, taking a bite. His attention is entirely focused on Derrick, as if the moment he took the plate from my hand, I ceased to exist. Part of me wonders if he even remembers me, and that part is both pissed off and sad.

  Derrick flanks Lucian's side, tapping the screen of his tablet to life before launching into his presentation on the work our company has done in the past. I feel like a ghost, left out. Derrick is obviously pissed at me for dropping the cookies. There's this silent vibe flowing off of him, telling me to stay away so I don't fuck anything else up.

  I throw away the ruined cookies I've been holding. Then I take the non-verbal queue of shunning and decide to walk aimlessly around the kitchen, admiring it, trying to seem like I'm actually doing something. The expansive chef's kitchen is rather impressive, with three dishwashers and a separate refrigerator and freezer. The guy must do a lot of cooking to need all of this. He also must have kids. No one has this big of a kitchen and doesn't have kids. Which means he also probably has a wife. My heart sinks at the thought, though I'm not sure why. Maybe because I feel like a home-wrecker now. Does his wife even know he does the BDSM thing when he's not playing doctor? It's none of my business, but I can't help but wonder.

  Derrick finishes his presentation, and Lucian doesn't seem too impressed. Or if he is impressed, it doesn't show.

  “Let me tell you what I'm interested in,” he begins, as if Derrick was making the consultation all about our company, which he kind of was. “I inherited this house from my parents a year ago. This is all of their stuff, and as you can tell, there's a lot of it. I've been putting off doing redecorating because, well, that's my business, not yours. Anyway, the point is that I'm ready now. I have a busy schedule and a lot of money, so it's just easier to have someone else handle everything for me. I'm wanting to go contemporary and for this to be an inviting space where I can bring friends and clients, because right now, it's very rare that I entertain here.”

  “Alright. So modern with a lot of space.” Derrick taps notes into his tablet. “Are you wanting to go with one specific color scheme through the entire house or do you want to diversify? What about structural changes to the house? New paint? Tile? Adding and/or removing any walls or windows?”

  “As far as any structural changes to the house are concerned, I'd like to leave it as is. There's Turkish Marble throughout, very expensive stuff. I definitely don't want that replaced. And I don't want it to get messed up while furniture is being moved around and what not,” he says firmly.

  Doctor Diva, I smirk to myself. Really happy we're not going to get him as a client. My fumble should be proof enough that careful isn't something we do well. Not so much the company, but me. I am a representative of the company though, a reflection. If he doesn't remember me from Flesh and is basing his choice on first impressions, we've already lost him.

  “The walls are lovely,” I chime in. “I wouldn't change them.” My eyes dance over the soft beige paint and white trim.

  Both Derrick and Lucian look at me, but neither of them say anything. In an instant, I'm forgotten again. Did I even speak at all?

  “So you basically just want us to move everything that's in here now out into a storage facility and then come in and redecorate. I think we can do that.” Derrick nods. “Shall I go over the decorating process with you while my partner takes some pictures of the house?”

  That's my queue to bust out my digital camera. At least, this gives me something to do while they're talking business. I don't really want to be around them anymore anyway. While I still feel nervous, the daydreaming sickness has worn off. Lucian Reddick is a dick. I'm glad that I threw that business card away.

  I lift up my camera and try to let them know that I'm going to walk around to take pictures, but I'm just ignored again, so I go about my job, trying to capture every angle of each room. I start in the kitchen, then move into the formal living room and continue to the dining room from there. Derrick spirits Lucian away to his bedroom, one of the easiest rooms to do a redesign on. I'm left alone, but I prefer it that way. I feel a lot less nervous without them standing around.

  I walk into a room that's a small home gym. There's a treadmill, elliptical, and free weights. One wall is lined with mirrors. On the opposite wall is a huge big-screen television mounted for easy viewing. Compared to the rest of the house, this room is perfectly laid out. It won't need a redesign.

  I'm about to move on to the next room when Derrick comes to retrieve me. Lucian whizzes past us, his cell phone held up to his ear.

  “He got an emergency call,” Derrick tells me. “We have to leave. He says he'll reschedule later.”

  Oh, thank God. Pretending like I'm working is always lame, especially when I know there's no point to it. It's obvious that Lucian isn't interested in what we're offering. The call probably wasn't even important. He likely just faked it to get us to leave sooner.

  I follow Derrick toward the front door, trailing behind him like a puppy. Lucian is already there, holding the door open for us as he talks into his phone. He barely even glances at me as I step out behind Derrick. Then the door is closed on my heels, and the horrible, awkward consultation is over.

  ***

  “Did you really have to drop the cookies?” is the first thing Derrick says to me when we're safely buckled up in his car.

  “Yup. As soon as I saw the guy, I knew he'd be a prick, so I thought I'd rescue you from having to deal with him by tossing my cookies at him.” I cock a sideways glance at Derrick and smirk.

  Even though he's obviously upset, he can't help but laugh. “He was kind of an asshole, but I still wish you would have tossed a different set of cookies at him. I could really use that bonus,” he sighs.

  “Derrick Hoover!” My mouth falls agape, and I reach over to slug him on the shoulder.

  “Ow! Don't hit me. And don't act like you weren't thinking about it. I've known you long enough to know you like pretty boys like him.”

  “Pfft!” I roll my eyes. “There's not enough pretty in the world to make up for being that much of a dick.”

  “I told you he'd be entitled, didn't I?” He points at me as he pulls out of the driveway.

  “You did.” I nod, though it's not like I hadn't already figured that out on my own. “So what are we going to tell Tyra?”

  Derrick's shoulders slump. “I don't even want to think about that.”

  “I know, but you know she's going to ask how the consultation went.”

  “I'm going to tell her the truth, that we didn't finish it. The client got a phone call while I was showing him how we'd re-do the bedroom, and he had to leave. It happens when you're a surgeon. Without us doing a full consultation with him, I don't think she can be too pissed if he doesn't pick us,” Derrick's voice is full of uncertainty.

  I place a hand on his shoulder and give him an earnest look. “It will be fine. I'm sure he won't be the only high-profile client we ever have.”

  “I know, but this guy was like...the gateway to future bonuses. Besides, who knows if we'll get assigned to the next high-profile client, or if Tyra will think that we botched this up and pass them off to someone else. This was a really big deal...for all of us.”

  I sigh, suddenly feeling guilty for dropping those cookies. Derrick is right. Gaining Lucian Reddick's business could have been a life changer. Perhaps I should have tried harder. It's too late for should have's though.

  “I'm sorry, Derrick. I really am.” I rest my elbow on the window ledge, staring outside and watching all the other expensive houses pass us by.

  “It's alright. You were stressed,” his voice softens with unmerited sympathy. “You were acting like you wanted to talk about something
before we got to the house. Is there anything you want to get off your chest?”

  “No.” Not anymore. I shake my head slightly. Everything that I was consumed with before we got to the house is behind me now. Lucian Reddick is in my past, and so is Flesh. The confusion is gone, and it's time to move on with the regularly scheduled programming of my life.

  We spend the rest of the short commute in silence. When we pull up in front of Environ Designs, and Derrick kills the engine, we both just sit there for several seconds.

  “Put on a happy face. Pretend like everything went just as we had planned.” Derrick takes a moment to drill me. “If Tyra thinks we did our best, then maybe she won't cross out the possibility of sending us to work with the next high-profile client.”

  I nod curtly. Internally, I'm thankful for Derrick's guidance. Even though I'm kind of glad that things went the way they did, I still feel emotionally frazzled and out of focus.

  “Better get this over with.” I take a deep breath and open my car door to get out.

  Derrick and I walk back into the office side by side. As soon as we cross the threshold, I plaster on the best fake smile I can muster. My face hurts from all the fake smiling that I've done today. It feels like I'm trying even harder here than I was in front of the client. This is mostly for Derrick though. As soon as we get to Tyra's office, I plan to rave about him. He doesn't deserve my screwing this up for him.

  “Knock, knock.” Derrick pokes his head into Tyra's office.

  She's busy eating a sub sandwich, her mouth full from having just taken a bite. She gestures for us to come inside before quickly grabbing a napkin to wipe her mouth. The excited look on her face makes my heart sink. She's expecting good news, and we have none to deliver. Still, I have to pretend. Have to help amp her up, even though nothing good will come from it in the end.

  “How'd it go?” she asks, her mouth still full of food, though she gulps it down immediately after the question.