Chapter 3 DIEGO #2
He snorted too, his ears pinking up. “Yeah, I know. But I just want to prove that I’m not that stupid kid anymore.”
I nodded, considering. It was sweet as fuck of him, but it definitely made something itch in the back of my mind.
He squirmed a little in his seat, took a long drink. Then added, “And it wasn’t just about the hookups, even then. I just realized it too late.”
It was way too fucking early in the day, and I had way too little alcohol in me for this conversation.
I pushed down the ecstatic teenage Diego that still existed somewhere deep in my subconscious and promised him I’d let him out some other day.
Preferably when Taran Kovacs wasn’t across the table from me, and I could unpack that reaction in relative safety.
“It’s a good idea,” I decided to admit. “I wouldn’t have thought of it, but I like it.”
He smiled and glanced down at his drink almost shyly.
“Really glad I didn’t try and jump you the second you walked through my door,” the incredibly perverse part of my brain made me say.
He laughed and looked up again, though, so it was worth it.
“You think I’m joking. I had a whole crazy plan for a second, where I was going to dress all slutty and grab you and insist that we fuck first.” But I was chuckling now too. Saying it out loud didn’t make it sound less unhinged, but it did make me feel a little better.
He shook his head, laughing even harder. “Really?”
“It’s what I do when I’m nervous. I retreat into the familiar. I mean, granted, I never bounced on it before, but I sure wished I had, so…”
He barked out an even louder laugh and hid his face in his sleeve.
I’d forgotten how loud he laughed when he really lost it like that. It was dorky and awkward and therefore wildly charming.
“But I put on some pants at the last minute because I realized that’d just make it look like I’d devolved into a nymphomaniac between school and now, and that wasn’t really the impression I was going for,” I admitted. “Bad enough I dragged you to my shitty car last night.”
“Yeah, I didn’t exactly need my arm twisted,” he reminded me, eyes wet from laughing. He took off his glasses and swiped at them with his free hand. “Holy shit, Diego.”
“What would you have done?” I asked after we both stopped giggling like idiots and I had another nice long drink of my paloma. Wasn’t supposed to drink grapefruit juice. Zero self-control. “If I’d suggested it? Or just, I don’t know, worn something sexy and shown off my ass?”
“Dropped to my knees in gratitude.” He was still grinning but clearly not joking. He arched one eyebrow. “Would’ve thrown my whole plan out the window without batting an eyelash.”
“Good to know,” was all I said, hoping my little smile was mysterious or something instead of just giddy. “I mean, not that fucking on the first date—or fucking as a first date is weird, for me. But this is…” I just watched him. As if I didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
He nodded. “Yeah. To me, it is.”
The rest of the pre-show drink was relaxed, like we’d laughed away our nerves and could finally get comfortable.
In the line to get into the theater, he put his hand on the small of my back and leaned over to speak into my ear.
Our seats were in the balcony, and I expected them to be up pretty high since they’d been last minute.
To my delight and amazement, they were in the first row but all the way on the end, which was always the best since it meant more room.
“Did you know these seats were so good?” I asked as we settled in.
“Yeah. It’s close to Mom’s season tickets.”
“I love that you still hang out with her.” His mom always seemed way chiller than his dad. My mother was… something else. Loved the woman, but let’s just say it was a stretch to even think of her as Mom. I’d always wondered what it’d be like to grow up with a normal one, like Taran’s.
“If I wanted the ex to come, it always had to be matinees, because she wouldn’t spend a Saturday night sitting still,” he said, squeezing his long legs into the space. He’d let me have the end seat, of course. “You ever on this stage?”
I shook my head, filing the tidbit about the ex away for later. “It’s always musicals when they do local casts here. I can’t sing for shit.”
“Yes you can.” He chuckled.
“I mean, for Stanley County, yes. For here? No.”
“That’s not—” But he went silent as the house lights dimmed and the overture began.
In the intermission, we hit the bathroom and got glasses of cheap sparkling wine, then settled at a bar table in one of the elaborate baroque galleries. He said, “Didn’t you do voice lessons and stuff?”
“No. Well, yes, when I finally got serious about school. But I was more into the speaking voice lessons, like changing it for different occasions. Not vocal music.”
“Like voice acting?” he asked.
I shrugged, as if I hadn’t been thinking about that very thing day and night for years now. “Yeah. Shit is cool.”
“Ever done any?”
“Nah.” I fucking wish. “I’d love to do a video game. One of those big sprawling RPGs with crazy character development, or something. That’d be a dream.”
“I play the hell out of those.” He raised his glass. “Who’d you romance in Baldur’s Gate 3? Wait, lemme guess: the vampire or the wizard?”
“Vampire,” I snorted. I’d kind of regretted it once I met the beefy druid later in the game, though. “You? No wait: God’s favorite princess, the cleric?”
“The warlock, obviously.” He made a face and pushed his glasses up. “How boring do you think I am?”
“You have a business degree,” I said flatly. Even though I was secretly impressed. The warlock was also fine as fuck.
“Right, but I’m in marketing, not accounting.”
“What’s the difference?” I instantly wondered if I’d regret asking that question.
“I like consumer behavior. Why people buy the stupid shit they buy, how companies get them to do it, all that.”
I’d never heard of it, but I could guess, “Is the answer always sex?”
“Mostly. But sometimes it’s something they didn’t even want until the marketing made them think they were the only ones missing out.
” He leaned forward, getting animated with his hands as he talked.
“These companies don’t just make products to fill niches, they make niches that shouldn’t even exist so they can make more products. ”
Okay, that wasn’t as boring as I’d expected. “Like what?”
He thought for a second, then grinned. “Man Wipes.”
“Like, the butt wipe things?” They were in every store, nowadays, and in weird seasonal scents too. Nice to see the straights finally getting on board with ass hygiene, but still kind of baffling.
“Yeah. They’re just baby wipes in a different package with different branding. They look sporty and manly and whatever. They cost way more than a package of baby wipes.” He cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair.
“I mean, I love me some ass hygiene, but…” If anything, a wipe would just make my ass taste weird. Bidet for life. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“No man in his right mind was running around out here going, “Wow, if only there was a butt wipe specifically for my gender identity!” And yet, that company makes bank because they preyed on a societal weakness to create a new market that didn’t exist a few years ago.”
“Cursed knowledge,” I said. It was diabolical how easy humans were to manipulate. Was this seriously what Taran thought about all day? That was… kind of badass. “It’d warp your whole view of reality.”
He shrugged and sipped his mimosa. “It does make you more aware that you live in a capitalist hellscape, yeah. But that’s pretty inescapable these days.”
“I think you just made me interested in something to do with business. Wow.”
He laughed. “I mean, don’t get me….” But then his face paled a little and he went quiet.
I glanced over my shoulder to see a tall, gorgeous, blond woman in a sundress, frozen in place and staring at him.
My stomach clenched. No way. No fucking way this was…
“Jennie,” Taran said, voice suddenly gravelly. He shot me a look that was all apologies. “Hey.”
That seemed to snap her out of her trance and she approached the table, inspecting him like she was his professional stylist and had some notes. “Hey. Taran. How have you been?”
His eyebrows went up, and for a second I thought he was going to laugh. Instead, he just nodded. “Great. Jennie, this is Diego. Diego, Jennie.” And this time when he caught my eye, it was clear he was over the initial shock and now very, very amused by this sudden turn of events.
Which instantly put me at ease. I held out my beringed hand to her like I was the fucking Queen of Pittsburgh. “So nice to meet you.”
She took my hand like she wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I gave it a little squeeze and then left her hanging there. When she didn’t say anything, I took the liberty of explaining, “I’m the new girl.”
Taran laughed.
And suddenly, violently, I was reminded why I’d liked him in the first place all those years ago. In spite of all the reasons I should’ve mistrusted, disliked, and maybe even feared Taran Kovacs in high school—he always laughed at my jokes. No matter how fucking stupid they were.
“No,” Taran said, still chuckling. “He’s not a girl. Pronouns first or it’s confusing.”
“Right, he/him, but also the new girl,” I clarified. So we weren’t an official thing. What she didn’t know absolutely could hurt her, and I was here for it.
“Oh.” Her nose scrunched in what could’ve been confusion, irritation, or some combination of those with other things. And then she apparently realized and said, “Oh,” but this time with more feeling.
“You here on a little matinee date, too?” I asked sweetly, sipping at my drink. I eyed her up coldly, the full Tyra Banks treatment.