by Maria Geraci
Let me tell you about Jason.
He’s our favorite guy friend. He’s also Torie’s ex. They dated for almost a year and I really thought he was going to pop the question but then they got in a big fight and broke up (I’m pretty sure their fight didn’t involve tuna fish). But instead of avoiding each other like most ex-couples do, within two weeks of the breakup Jason was hanging out with us as if he and Torie had never been serious. It should be awkward, but it isn’t, and I’m glad because I really like Jason.
Jason is a prime example of how plain-looking guys can get hot girls. Jason is a five even on a good night. He’s on the short side (but taller than Torie) and has an Ed Helms kind of smile that makes it hard to take him seriously, although, apparently, plenty of women do. I asked him once how he did it. Jason told me he credits his success with women to the three Ps: personality (yes, he certainly has plenty of that), persistence (as well as the ability to know when to back off), and podiatry.
You’d think the last one would almost be a turnoff. Jason is a podiatrist and I can’t think of a goofier medical specialty than feet. But apparently women don’t care what kind of doctor you are. Just having the word Dr. in front of your name adds at least three points on the attractiveness scale. Torie also told me that Jason gives a foot massage that will make you have an orgasm. I’m not sure how that works but I’ll take Torie’s word for it.
I don’t care how many conquests Jason has made in the two years since he and Torie split up. I’m convinced that he’s still in love with her. It’s kind of sad really, because I don’t think Torie feels the same way.
Jason and Nick shake hands and immediately ask what the other does for a living. This is something I think guys do because they want to find some common ground. I’m worried that Jason and Nick aren’t going to have much to talk about, then Jason finds out Nick is a cop and his eyes light up like a little kid’s and he starts grilling Nick for “cop” stories.
The pizza and beer arrive and we all dig in.
Jason wants to know what’s the weirdest thing Nick has ever seen as a cop and Nick obliges him by telling us a story about a woman he stopped for speeding on the outskirts of Catfish Cove.
“It’s pretty late, like two in the morning, and I walk up to the car and there’s this blonde behind the wheel. She rolls down her window and I ask for her driver’s license and registration,” Nick begins.
“First things first,” says Jason. “Was she hot?”
Nick takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “Yeah, she was pretty hot.”
Jason leans forward in his seat.
Nick looks my way and winks. “I can tell she’s just come from a bar because she’s pretty dolled up. And she starts giving me this story about how she lost her driver’s license and she’s slurring her words, so I ask her to please step outside the car—”
“Let me get this straight,” interrupts Jason. “You’re alone and she’s alone and she’s hot and she’s drunk?”
“Yep.”
Jason grins. “I think I’m gonna like this story.”
Torie shakes her head. “Is sex all you think about?” she asks Jason.
Kimberly sighs. “The average man thinks about sex every seven seconds.”
“I’m hardly average,” says Jason. “For me, it’s every three.”
We all laugh and Jason waves at Nick to continue.
“So then I ask her if she’ll take a Breathalyzer test and she panics and tears off running down the road in four-inch heels.”
“What did you do?” Kimberly asks.
Nick looks playfully insulted. “I ran after her, of course.” He pauses. “That’s when she starts taking off her clothes.”
“Wait,” says Jason. “She’s running and stripping at the same time?”
“Yep,” says Nick. He takes another sip of his beer to draw out the moment. Nick is a great storyteller, very relaxed and natural. It’s a side of him I haven’t seen and I like it. A lot.
“First, she throws her shoes at me, one at a time, and she’s got great aim. A pair of four-inch stilettos hit me right here,” Nick says, pointing to his right temple. “Left a bruise for a week. Then off comes her panty hose.”
“She was wearing panty hose?” I ask.
“It takes a while to take off panty hose,” Kimberly says. “And you still hadn’t caught up to her? Are you that slow a runner?”
“I was calling for backup,” Nick explains with mock indignation. This is twice now that Kimberly has questioned his cop actions and I can tell he is both amused and slightly irritated by it. “You obviously have no idea how much damage a pair of four-inch stilettos can do to a man.” He gives Jason a sly look and the two of them grin knowingly.
Torie punches Jason in the arm. “I never threw my shoes at you!”
Jason stares her down for a few seconds, then Torie’s face turns pink and she starts to giggle.
At first, Nick looks confused by Torie and Jason’s exchange, but then he seems to get it. Kimberly and I are used to Jason and Torie making private jokes like this. These are the times when I start to think that maybe Torie still harbors a secret thing for Jason, but then the moment will pass and I think I’m just reading more into it than I should.
“She’s running fast, like she’s high on something, but she still manages to take off her dress,” Nick says, continuing with the story. “And she’s not wearing underwear.”
Jason’s jaw drops.
“Then she takes off her bra and I almost trip over it but I keep going. I’m just a few feet behind her and I’m ready to tackle her ass to the ground when I can see there’s something not right about her.”
I meet Nick’s eyes and immediately know where this story is going. I want to laugh but try my best not to so that I don’t give anything away.
Jason frowns. “Not right like how?”
“Not right ’cause she’s got a package. Only I don’t put two and two together until I’m completely on top of her. Or rather, him.”
“So…you’re like…on top of a naked guy?” Jason asks.
“Turns out the guy likes to hang out at a tranny bar near Tallahassee. He starts crying about how he can’t let his wife and kids see him like this and how it was the first time he’d dressed in drag. Poor schlep was more afraid of being outed than he was of a DUI charge.
“I tell him he has about three minutes till my backup gets here and if he wants to change then he better hurry. So he pulls off his wig and starts wiping off his makeup, only he’s so drunk he can’t remember where he left his guy clothes, so I give him the dirty clothes from the gym bag I keep in back of the cruiser and he takes it like it’s manna from heaven.”
Jason is now laughing, and while, yes, it’s funny the way Nick tells it, it’s also kind of sad. I’m glad Nick gave the guy a chance to “right” himself before being hauled off to jail.
“So while this guy is trying to get into my dirty gym clothes, he’s begging me to get rid of the ‘evidence,’ as he calls it. And I feel kind of sorry for him, so I take his clothes and his wig and his stilettos, which, by the way,” Nick says, playfully rubbing his temple to elicit sympathy, “are like a men’s size thirteen, and stuff them in my gym bag. Then my backup gets there and we haul this guy’s ass down to headquarters and charge him with a DUI, and the whole time he’s thanking me, and my buddies think he’s seriously whacked. By this time it’s early morning and my shift is over, so I go home. And I forget all about my gym bag sitting in the back of the cruiser.”
Jason starts chuckling again.
“The next day I get off work and I head to the locker room to change out of my uniform and I find the gym bag with the tranny’s girl clothes hanging on the handle to my locker with a great big sign that says”—Nick glances around the table with a grin—“‘Nice outfit, Nicole.’”
We all burst into laughter and Jason orders another pitcher of beer.
I couldn’t have wished for a better evening. Nick has fit in perf
ectly with my friends, something both Kimberly and Torie make a point of telling me while we’re in the bathroom.
“Emma, he’s perfect,” Torie says.
Kimberly nods. “We’re so happy for you!”
“We’ve only been dating a week,” I remind them. “It’s no big deal.”
“Oh, it’s a big deal,” says Torie. “He’s the one. I can feel it.”
Eleven p.m. rolls around and the pizza place prepares to close for the night. Jason yawns and says he has to get up early but Torie wants to go dancing. At first, Jason balks, but then Torie wraps her arm around his and whispers something in his ear, causing him to grin. Game on. They convince Kimberly to join them. Jason calls a cab and urges us to join them as well, but Nick and I politely and unanimously decline. We are not interested in clubbing. We drive back to my town house. The mood between us is almost electric.
I wish I could say where our relationship was going. I wish I could say I’m patient enough to take things slowly and not ruin everything for a little instant gratification. And I certainly wish I could say that I’ve miraculously lost twenty pounds today. But none of that matters right now because I am definitely going to sleep with Nick tonight. I think I made up my mind while he was telling the tranny story.
First off, I’m incredibly attracted to him. Sure, I had a huge crush on him in high school, but this is different. This is grown-up-I-want-you-and-you-want-me attraction at its finest. I’ve been attracted to lots of guys before but I would never dream of sleeping with them after just a couple of dates. For one thing, unless you’ve been set up by a friend who knows the guy really well, you can never tell if someone is a whack job or not, and before you know it, it’s looking for Mr. Goodbar all over again. But I’ve known Nick over half my life. He’s what Mom calls “good people.”
Second, if there was ever a test to see if a guy was worthy of my affections, then Nick has passed it. He just spent three hours in the company of my beautiful friends and never once looked at them the way he was looking at me all night.
I think I must have been looking at him the same way, because the minute we get in my town house, he takes my hand and leads me straight to my bedroom, where we stay until Nick has to leave Sunday evening to head back to Catfish Cove. I think we hit the kitchen once for food. I’m not sure. And in case you’re wondering, yes, Nick did find my bullet-point list of reasons why I should not sleep with him (what was I thinking when I taped it to the mirror in my bedroom?).
He got a big kick out of reasons A and B. But he got very quiet after reading reason C. “Seriously, you weren’t going to sleep with me until you lost twenty pounds?”
“Well…this was just sort of a general guideline, you know?” I smile, but Nick is astute enough to know that I’m embarrassed.
He sighs and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Emma, I like you just the way you are. Okay?”
Maybe Nick has seen Bridget Jones’s Diary, or maybe not. It doesn’t matter, because even if he has ripped off this best-line-ever from Colin Firth’s Mark Darcy, it’s the most perfect thing for him to say.
The sheets on my bed are still warm when I call Torie and Kimberly, who both squeal with happiness for me. Now that my two best friends have been informed, I go to my computer and open my Facebook account to change my status.
It’s official.
I am now in a relationship with Nick Alfonso.
chapter ten
For the second Monday in a row Ben has beaten me to the office. He’s waiting in the conference room sipping his coffee when I walk in with my box of donuts. I used to live for moments like this, but for the first time ever, I wish we weren’t alone.
“How was your weekend?” he asks like he does every other Monday, only this Monday his question feels like a grenade ready to explode in my face.
“It was…great.” Visions of Nick and me writhing on my bed dance through my head. I don’t know why I suddenly feel guilty about sleeping with Nick. I can feel my face go red. I wish I could help it, but I can’t.
Jackie, Lisa, and Richard all arrive at this exact same moment, so I don’t have to elaborate on just how great my weekend was.
Richard is not here two seconds before I wish he’d called in sick. “So, Emma, how’s your relationship going?”
Everyone turns to look at me.
“Emma has a new boyfriend,” Richard announces. “His name is Nick Alfonso and he’s my latest Facebook friend.”
Richard prides himself on having more Facebook friends than anyone else in the office. He’s up to four thousand eight hundred and fifty-two (correction: apparently that number is now four thousand eight hundred and fifty-three). Personally, I think Richard trolls Facebook in search of potential victims to friend, because he couldn’t possibly know that many people. Could he?
“Nick friended you? How did that happen?”
“I woke up this morning to update my Facebook status with some clever little quip, the same way I do every day, and I started browsing. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that our very own Emma Frazier is now in a relationship with this Nick Alfonso character. Being the conscientious friend that I am, I had to look him up and make sure he wasn’t sketchy. So I sent him a friend request. Told him you and I worked together, how we were great pals, you know, the usual. He accepted an hour ago.” He pulls out his laptop and gazes around our little group. “Wait till you get a load of this guy.”
Everyone is rapt with attention. Including Ben.
Lisa slides her chair next to Richard. “Show us,” she urges.
Richard doesn’t need any more encouragement. He types in his user name and password and his Facebook page pops up. “By the way, Emma, you really need to update your photos.”
“How did you get to my photos? I’m pretty sure I marked those private.” Private as in only a few of my friends can see them, Richard not being one of those. Not that I have anything against Richard seeing my photos, but I heard once that you should block your photos from everyone you work with in order to keep your professional and private lives separate.
“Check your settings. Everyone in the world can see them. Rule Number One: If it’s on Facebook, then it’s not private unless you make it private.”
I send Ben a pleading look. “Don’t we have work to do this morning?”
But instead of breaking up the shenanigans like he would normally do, Ben gets out of his chair to stand behind Richard so he can get a better view of the computer screen.
I grit my teeth because there is nothing I can do to stop this without looking like a great big party pooper. I have only myself to blame. But my relationship status on Facebook has read “single” for so long I just couldn’t help myself. Plus, what’s the use of having a boyfriend like Nick if you can’t show him off?
Richard pulls up Nick’s Facebook page. Everyone stops talking.
Jackie stares at the photo for a few long seconds, then turns and looks at me as if she’s never seen me before.
“Wow!” Lisa says finally.
I know exactly what everyone is thinking. How did a girl like me land a guy like Nick? I have to admit, I’ve been thinking the same thing myself.
Richard proceeds to read Nick’s statistics with an obvious relish. “Works for the Catfish Cove Police Department.”
“He’s a cop?” Lisa says. She makes the overused bow chicka bow bow porn sound and she and Jackie laugh. Why women equate cops with sex, I have no idea. I guess because they think cops are sexy, which Nick definitely is, but if you could see the majority of the rest of the cops on the Catfish Cove Police Department, you’d quickly change your mind on that one.
“Religious views,” continues Jackie. “Catholic.”
“Uh-oh,” says Richard. “Emma’s an atheist.”
“I am not an atheist. I’m an agnostic. There’s a difference.”
“For him,” says Jackie, pointing to Nick’s profile picture, “you can convert.”
In his profile picture Nick i
s wearing a baseball cap and a grin that makes my cheeks burn. I know that grin. Intimately. I saw it twice Saturday night and twice more on Sunday. Richard zips through the rest of Nick’s pictures and each one is better than the one before.
“Birth date: March twenty-fifth. That makes him what? Pisces?” asks Jackie.
“Aries,” corrects Richard. “I’m one too.” Richard’s birthday is April first, something we have joked about in the past.
Lisa claps her hands like a little girl who can’t wait to open her presents Christmas morning. “Let’s see if Emma’s sign is compatible with Nick’s! You’re a Gemini, right, Emma?”
Lisa knows well and good that I am a Gemini because we just celebrated my birthday a few weeks ago and she “read” my palm for me. It’s like the three of them—Richard, Lisa, and Jackie—are on a mission to embarrass me in front of Ben. Damn it. I thought these people were my friends. I bring them donuts every Monday. What have I ever done to warrant this kind of shoddy treatment from them?
“Yep, I’m a Gemini,” I say, forced to play along with their little game.
Lisa takes back the laptop and minimizes the Facebook screen. She goes to Google, where she punches in some information and comes up with a Zodiac “love compatibility chart.” She hits the information for Gemini and Aries.
“Oh my God, Emma. You’re a perfect match. ‘Aries’—that’s Nick,” Lisa points out as if we don’t already know, “‘lives for a challenge, and Gemini’—that’s you,” she unnecessarily points out again, “‘is drawn to Aries’ sex appeal. Aries is drawn to Gemini’s intelligence and humor, both big turn-ons for the fiery Aries. Sex between these two signs will be hot and love will be very possible.’”
“If things don’t work out with this guy, Em, remember, I’m an Aries too,” says Richard.
He waits for my comeback, but I have absolutely nothing to say to this because I’m so frazzled. This is the first time in the six years I have worked with Richard that I have failed to come up with some cleverish retort to one of his taunts.
