I’m horrified. I step close enough to whisper in her ear. “What’re you doing?” I ask nervously.
“What does it look like?” she whispers back. I can see Nick off to the side watching us.
“So where are you two going?” Billie asks playfully like this is a game. If she only knew.
“I bet somewhere romantic,” Dani teases. Just then her phone rings, and she scrunches her nose after looking at the screen. “Sorry guys, love to talk about our date but I’ve got to take this…gotta step outside.” And she moves quickly out the door.
“What the fuck is that all about?” Billie asks me, her eyes squinting suspiciously.
“Billie, please,” I half whisper. “Not now, I’ll tell you about it later.”
“You better,” she warns. “Or else.”
Billie scares me enough that I believe her. She’d make a great dominatrix.
I nervously move over to the New Release section, hoping if I buy some more stuff it will distract Billie from torturing me. I follow our group out of the store fifteen minutes later with two shopping bags, one hundred-fifty bucks less in my wallet, but my dignity still intact.
Late that night, as I put the final touches on the fifth page of the latest B-Girl story I think about the complicated mess I’ve made with Dani and Brooke, and now Billie is going to stir things up and regularly give me shit about it. I get exhausted just thinking about all the ways things could go wrong. Before I know it, I’m pulling on my hair and my pencil is frozen over the drawing. I make a few more attempts to focus before surrendering and turning off the lights. I hope that tomorrow things will look better.
• • •
The next evening Brooke and I sit at her dining room table with a sketchbook and two beers. It occurs to me that it’s amazing at how comfortable I’ve become with her. “Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Of course.” She smiles softly as she watches my pencil move from one side of the paper to the other.
“I know we talked about this once before, but people are still gossiping and it bothers me. Have more people been telling you I’m buttering you up for a pitch?”
“Is this where the title goes? Or do you think it should be in the center?” Her perfect finger points to the vague shapes I have sketched out.
“Brooke? Are you avoiding my question?” I ask, the insecurity seeping into the tenor of my voice.
“Oh, buttering me up? Yeah, maybe…particularly Arnauld. But I don’t mind. It doesn’t mean you don’t genuinely like me. That’s just how business is done.”
“But this…” I wave my hand between us. “This isn’t business to me. It’s a lot more than that to me.” I immediately feel the burning across my cheeks. I sound like such a pussy. On top of that, now I want to kill Arnauld for wanting Brooke to think that about me.
“How do you know I’m not just being nice to you so that I can keep getting those fabulous soy caramel macchiatos every day?”
“Actually I thought you wanted me for my cup art.” I inwardly smile, pleased with my pussy-free rebound.
“That’s what I’m talking about; you can see right through me. Do you know today Arnauld asked me why I didn’t bring him coffee? Something about the snarky, entitled way he said it, made me want to kick his teeth in. But you…well, you overheard my ridiculous drink mentioned in an elevator, and you wanted me to have it. Now look at us. We’re besties.”
“So it is the Starbucks then.” I smile at her, but inside I ache knowing being besties is a one-way ticket to endless frustration for me. “You may have had an agenda, but you still really think about me, Brooke—not just the development chick.”
I push the pad aside and grip the edge of the table. “It’s just important to me for you to understand that I’m not going to pitch you.”
“What, now I’m not good enough for your show ideas?” she teases.
“It just wouldn’t be right. So you can beg and plead, spoil me with more of these amazing dinners…”
“It was just take-out Thai.”
“Don’t interrupt me. You can beg all you want but I’m not pitching you. Understood?”
“I guess so—if it means that much to you. But if you have some great idea, and take it to another studio and they make it, and it’s it big hit; I will hate you forever. But if you’re willing to take that risk, I guess I’ll be willing too.”
I groan and let my head fall into my hands, my floppy hair falling across my face.
“Hey you,” she says, shaking my shoulder. “Snap out of it, we have a website to design.”
We work too long but I’m not ready to leave yet, I’m on my third beer again. I guess I’m headed toward alcoholism or at the very least a beer gut, but it means more time with Brooke, it’s worth it.
On our final work break of the evening, we are sitting on the balcony looking out at the view. Brooke seems lost in thought.
“What’re you thinking about?” I ask softly, nervous to be too nosey.
“For some strange reason I was thinking about my parents. Do you know that if they’d stayed married they would’ve been married thirty years by now?”
“They got married after you were born?”
“Yeah, my mom didn’t even want to but the families kept pushing. A lot of good it did; they always fought, and finally divorced when I was thirteen.”
I feel sad for her. As weird as my parents are, they love each other deeply. I can’t imagine what my home life would have been like if they didn’t.
“I think that’s why I’m with Arnauld. I purposely picked someone who is as adverse to commitment as I am. He doesn’t ever want to get married or tied down to just one person.”
“And you feel the same?” I boldly ask. “You couldn’t be happy with just one person if you loved them?” I hold my breath waiting for her answer.
She examines the beer bottle intently before taking a swig and looking back out at the view. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt that strongly about anyone. It’s hard for me to imagine, but I guess that with the right guy it could be possible.”
I turn and look at the view mulling over what she’s revealed. Again, the lottery odds and my willingness to gamble on her drift into my mind. She only left the lowest odds with her answer, but that doesn’t mean I won’t bet all my chips on her anyway. What choice do I have? She’s all I want.
We finally carry our beer bottles into the kitchen and I gather up my things.
“Oh,” she moans, rubbing her tummy. “All that beer and I’m stuffed, my jeans feel tight.”
“Next time we do this just wear your yoga pants, they’re stretchy,” I suggest in my most innocent voice…the sex fiend inside of me howling with delight.
“Oh, you just want to ogle my ass,” she teases.
What does she expect? Her yoga pants have become a visual cue to my sexuality. “So what if I do? Anything wrong with that? I’m a guy, you know.”
After all…now that I’ve seen Brooke in yoga pants…I have seen the light.
She steps behind me, puts her hands on my shoulders and starts massaging as she pushes me to the front door. “Speaking of which, when is your date with lucky Miss Dani?”
“Saturday,” I lie. I haven’t even set the faux date up yet.
“Where are you taking her?” Brooke’s hands work harder digging into the knots under my shoulder blades.
“I don’t know yet, do you have any suggestions?”
“Let me think about it when I’m not beer buzzed.”
“Okay, I’ll ask again tomorrow when I bring you your coffee.”
As much as I hate to end the massage, I turn around to hug her goodbye. “Thanks. I had fun tonight.”
“Working on my website was fun?”
“Well, yeah, you’re always fun.”
She pushes my hair out of my eyes in a gentle way and smiles warmly.
As much as I know I shouldn’t say anything, being this close to her does something to me.
“Hey, would you mind if I practiced with you one more time? You know, to get ready for my date with Dani.”
“You want me to kiss you?” she asks, not sounding against the idea.
“I thought maybe this time I could try to kiss you. You know, learn to be more assertive.”