Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARINA
“EASY TIGER”
“So what date is this?” Naomi asks with a sigh. “And yes, I’m doing air quotes when I say the word date.”
“Date number two,” I tell her. I wasn’t going to tell Naomi about what Laz and I were doing because she’d think the both of us were out of our minds and surprise, she thinks Laz and I are out of our minds.
“I just don’t understand any of it,” she says. “Why are you pretending to date each other? Why not just actually date each other?”
“Because we’re friends and only friends,” I remind her. “Laz doesn’t like me that way. I don’t like him that way.”
“Mmm hmmm,” she muses slowly. “You sound like you’re in grade school.”
“Because you seem to have a hard time understanding platonic relationships. It’s not getting physical. And we’re not, like falling in love with each other or anything.”
“Yet.”
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “There is no yet. Laz and I are friends just as much as you and I are friends.”
“Right,” she says dryly.
“Naomi, you of all people, I expected to be supportive.”
“You really thought I would be supportive? Oh. Let me guess, you haven’t told Jane yet?”
“Hell no. She’d disapprove.”
“As do I.”
“Look, you know I have a problem so why not use Laz to solve that problem? I mean it makes perfect sense.”
Doesn’t it?
“Marina, your problem, and your only problem, is that you haven’t met the right guy yet. That’s it. There’s no magic fix to this. It’s the law of averages and the law of luck and the law of putting yourself out there that eventually you’re going to find the right guy.”
“I don’t think I like all these laws.”
“I know you think Laz is helping you, but honestly, as much as I like the guy, I wouldn’t take his advice seriously.”
“Why not?”
“Because…I know this is going to sound crude, but he fucks anything that walks.”
“He does not!” I cry out. “He has standards. He has girlfriends. He doesn’t sleep around.”
“Uh-uh. I don’t trust this whole serial monogamy thing. I think it’s bullshit. I think it’s a way for him to be a manwhore and a playboy and whatever else you want to call him without being slammed for it.”
“First of all, men don’t get slammed for being players. Girls do. And Laz isn’t the type of guy who would care what people think either way.”
“He’s an odd duck, I’ll give him that. But don’t kid yourself about him. He’s good as a friend but that’s about it. The guy can’t hold down a relationship to save his life. There’s a reason for that and one you don’t need to find out.”
“Naomi,” I whine, “we’re just friends and that’s it. This isn’t actually dating. We aren’t sleeping together. God, he hasn’t even kissed me yet.”
“Yet. See? Yet. Before you know it, you’ll be friends with benefits.”
“That only works if you just meet each other and decide to be fuckbuddies. We aren’t fuckbuddies. It’s too late for that. We’re just buddies. And I do want his advice because I think he knows what’s best for me.”
“Yeah, his dick.”
I groan. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“You’re right, you probably shouldn’t have. But since you’re doing this anyway, let me know what his piercing looks like. Is it the Prince Albert or the Jacob’s Ladder or something else entirely...”
Back when Naomi and I first met Laz, we were intrigued by his supposed dick piercing, which led to many nights at our apartment drinking wine and googling all the possibilities.
Of course now, I’ve pretty much forgotten all about it.
Well, kind of. I know I shouldn’t think about his dick at all but the truth is I often do.
I think about how big it is.
What piercing he has.
What his balls look like.
If he hangs to the left or the right.
Actually, I know that last one. He hangs to the right. Hey, if he’s going to wear those tight, rock star jeans at his shows, then I’m going to notice his dick.
And, honestly, it hasn’t really been a problem for me. But now…I don’t know. Every single sexual thought I’ve ever had about Laz suddenly seems completely inappropriate now that we’re fake dating each other.
“Marina?” Naomi asks.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“God, you’re thinking about his penis, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to go now.” I pause. “And please don’t use the word penis.”
She chuckles. “Okay. Well good luck on your date. Just remember, you’re lovely just the way you are.”
There’s no use telling Naomi that Laz pretty much said that exact same thing during our first date (except with Laz’s accent, when he says it, it comes out as “louvlay”).
I can’t blame her for being cynical though.
Even with her and Robert’s couples counseling session tomorrow, she still has an uphill battle when it comes to their relationship.
I glance out the window. The gloom we’ve had for the last while has lifted and it’s a brilliantly hot and sunny day.
No breeze either, which is good for the bees.
It tends to make them agitated and the last thing we need on this date is for them to get all hot and bothered.
I know Laz hasn’t quite come out and said that he’s afraid of bees but it’s going to take a lot of convincing to get him in his bee suit.
I make myself a cup of tea with some raw honey, courtesy of the girls, then slip on my jeans and a T-shirt and head outside, the grass wonderfully soft on my feet.
Barbara has been more than generous letting me turn the entire backyard beyond the pool area into my own oasis.
It can get expensive with all the water bills but luckily she doesn’t care.
There’s a nice strip of lawn running up to the hives and the rest of the yard is sand and gravel, evenly split between drought-tolerant plants to keep things eco-friendly and flowers that attract bees. Since lavender hits both those targets, I’ve planted lavender absolutely everywhere.
I take in a deep breath, letting the sun warm me from above and the ground warm me from below. There’s something to be said for walking barefoot, especially on grass. It’s actually scientifically proven to help ground you.
I make a mental note of it to tell Laz later.
Then I stop myself. Today it’s not Laz coming over but his alter-ego, Carl McNaughty, back for date number two, and if I’ve learned something from our night at the comedy club, it’s that Marina can talk about bees and scientific facts about walking barefoot all she wants with Laz but she can’t with Carl or whatever Joe Blow I’ll be dating in the future.
Marina should also refrain from talking about herself in the third person.
I sigh. This whole thing is both fun and frustrating.
The entire date, I kept looking at Laz and wondering why the hell I was doing this with him?
Meaning, why did he have to pretend to be someone else?
Why did I have to pretend to be someone else?
I mean, I may not have had a fake name (I do today, because why should he have all the fun), but I still couldn’t act like myself. Why couldn’t we just…
I don’t want to think about it. I keep wanting to think about it.
It keeps pressing at the back of my head, like it’s looking for a way inside, and I keep putting up the internal walls and barricades to stop it.
I don’t want to indulge that part of me because it’s getting trickier and more dangerous by the minute.
All the years I’ve known Laz, I’ve put my feelings for him to the side until I convinced myself there were no feelings at all.
I’ve told myself over and over again that whatever things I’ve felt, whether it be jealousy, attraction and lust, hell, even enough desire that I’ve brought out my vibrator more than once, that it wasn’t based in anything.
I’ve actively worked hard to see Laz as a friend and just a friend, all the while it would have been so incredibly easy to just give in and just admit to myself that I want him.
Not just as a friend, though. Not even close.
That’s probably why I’m so all over the place.
Part of me wants him to teach me how to seduce men, only just for the chance that I can actually seduce him or vice versa.
The other part of me is terrified of the idea—like him kissing me, touching me—because I think, I know, the moment he does that, every single thing is going to change.
Everything.
Naomi was right. It doesn’t make sense for Laz to do this. We don’t have to pretend to date each other. He could just give me a few pointers. I mean, I learned enough about how I am on a date the first time that there’s really zero need for a second one.
I think he knows that too. He must. Why else would he be doing this?
Because he feels sorry for you, I remind myself.
Sure sometimes I think I catch this darkness in Laz’s eyes, like he’s looking at me with some sort of raw lust. But at this point, I’m pretty sure that’s just Laz and how he is.
He’s brooding. He’s in his head a lot. I never know what that guy is thinking but I’m pretty sure he’s not thinking of me sexually whatsoever.
Yeah, sometimes he says really sweet things, even romantic at times. But he’s a poet, it’s pretty much his job. I’ve seen him charm the pants off the old ladies at the grocery store too.
Which is the way it’s supposed to be. Which means I need to get my head on straight and keep doing what I’m doing, filing all those unwarranted feelings away and getting back on the friendship train.
A couple of hours later, I have both bee suits out on the lawn and am sitting cross-legged on the grass, inspecting them for any tears or holes when Laz pokes his head over the side gate.
I smile at the sight of him, as I always do. Instant reflex.
But these butterflies in my stomach…that’s fucking new.
And frightening.
Get the hell outta here, butterflies.
“Hey,” he calls out. “It’s Carl. Carl McNaughty from the other night.”
The playful tone of his voice causes my stomach to flip like a gymnast. This is not off to a good start.