9. Whats More Valuable Than Altruism?
Chapter nine
What's More Valuable Than Altruism?
“I know it’s super last minute,” I said. “I will definitely owe you one. Like, massively.”
“Nell, I’d—appy to help—could.” Brandon’s booming voice was cut by the crackling static of bad phone reception. “But—up near Petawawa. Even if I lef—”
I waited, then pulled my phone away from my ear and looked at the screen. The call was still connected, so I lifted it to my ear again.
“Hello? Are you still there?” I said.
“—no chance of getting—oh,” he said. “Hello? Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you,” I said. “You just cut out for a sec. But I got the gist of it.”
“Sorry,” Brandon said. “We’re near the d—”
He cut out again. I waited for a moment, staring blankly at the window looking out over my dad’s driveway.
“—luck finding someone. Maybe Cal—”
That time, the line beeped its notification that the call had dropped. Sighing, I took the phone away from my ear again.
“Fuck,” I said.
Sydney looked up from where she was sitting on the floor in Anne-Marie’s bedroom. “Brandon’s a no-go?”
I nodded, then took a breath. “I’m running out of time. But it sounded like maybe Calvin could help.”
But she held up her phone and shook her head. “He’s in Toronto for his mom’s birthday.”
“Matthieu is already attending with Jeanette,” Anne-Marie said, sighing as she put her phone down. “Remy tried asking his cousin if she would like to stay home and you could go with her husband since she complained the other day that she does not enjoy going to these events now that she’s nine months pregnant.”
Sydney grimaced. “That went as well as we all think it did, I take it?”
“He has been apologizing for half an hour now. He did not realize it was one of those situations where she did not say what she actually meant.”
As they talked, I scrolled through my contacts for what felt like the hundredth time. It was more useless than the first time I’d done it; most of my friends were in Ottawa, so even if I found someone who could come, they’d have to leave Ottawa in the next thirty-six minutes to make it to Montreal with enough time to get ready for the event.
Still, we kept trying. We went through all of my close guy friends, from Brandon and Calvin to Jake, a guy I’d had a threesome with at the start of the year.
Then all of my guy acquaintances, who ranged from guys I’d made out with a couple of times to guys I’d had more than one class with in the past three years.
Then all the guys who I had a semi-cordial relationship with even if I thought they were massive idiots, like Kevin Huang, a guy in my year who was Cs-get-degrees-ing his way through the forensic science program and who had bewilderedly asked me how I’d gotten his number.
“We did a group project together last year,” I said. “In Forensic Photography. I know this is out of nowhere, but if you’d be willing to come to Montreal for this and maybe one other thing in a couple of weeks, I’ll help tutor you in some of our classes next semester.”
“I’m still confused about how you got my number.”
I took a slow, deep breath in through my nose. “You gave it to me. When we worked on our Forensic Photography project. With Mindy. Remember?”
“Right, but it’s just weird that you called me out of the blue.”
“I know , Kevin,” I said. “But I’m really in need of some help right now.”
“For what?”
“For this event I have to go to tonight in Montreal. I need someone to accompany me”—God forbid I say I needed a date in case he thought I was asking him to be my boyfriend or something—“and I was hoping you could help me out tonight and in exchange, I’ll help you out with some tutoring next semester.”
“Oh,” he said. “I mean, maybe. When’s it happening?”
“We’d have to be there around seven.”
“Yeah, but like… what day?”
I hung up without answering, mostly because the things I wanted to scream could probably be used against me in court if Kevin ever met some kind of untimely end, or at the very least, gotten me charged for uttering threats.
“That did not sound good,” Anne-Marie said.
“I have no one to blame but myself,” I replied.
“Except you can fully blame someone else,” Sydney said as she tapped on her screen. “Like remember that whole thing where Bruno—”
“Do not even say his name right now.” Anne-Marie’s voice was absolutely vicious. “We do not talk about him. I am so disgusted with that chien sale. Il est un esti de mange de marde . I will never, never forgive him for this. How could he even—I mean, honestly. How can he even live with himself knowing—”
“I told him it was fine,” I said, staring at my phone screen because I didn’t want to look anyone in the eye.
“What?” Anne-Marie asked, bewildered. “Why would you say that?”
I half-shrugged.
“Seriously, Nellie,” she pressed. “Why—”
“Because I didn’t want to upset either of them,” I snapped. “And how would it actually go if I did insist he still go as my date? He’d be miserable, which would piss off my dad, and I’d still be in the same position as I am now. At least this way I know what I’m dealing with. And I get a bad feeling about that guy, so I didn’t want to, like, isolate Bruno.”
“You get a bad feeling about Niko?” Sydney asked.
I nodded, but Anne-Marie scoffed.
“Bruno is as stubborn and sassy as you are, chérie . He will not do anything he does not want to do, and seeing as he has been obsessed with Niko for ages—”
“That doesn’t mean Niko didn’t pressure him into doing this,” I said. “Look, it’s easier for me to believe that Niko’s an insecure asshole who told Bruno they couldn’t get together if Bruno was publicly ‘dating’ someone else. I’d rather ask you to keep an eye on Bruno over the next little while to make sure he’s okay than sit here and accept that yet another man has let me down.”
Anne-Marie’s face had softened. “ Chérie —”
I put my phone down on the bed and stood up. “I need a break. I’m going to get a drink.”
Before either of them could tell me I didn’t have time for a break, that I needed to get back on my phone and start looking up escort services in Montreal so I could Pretty Woman a guy into spending the night pretending to be the long-lost prince of some faraway country that sounded real enough for people to think they’d just never heard of it, I left Anne-Marie’s room and padded down to the Marchands’ kitchen.
When I got there, the TV was on in the nearby living room. I froze for a moment, worried it might be JP, but the dark brown hair beneath the curve of a black headset meant it was Marc-Andre. A first-person shooter was on the screen, frantic clicks coming from the controller in his hands.
Marc-Andre was quiet and reserved to begin with, so not wanting to interrupt his game, I didn’t say anything before opening the fridge and staring in. It was meticulously organized the same way my dad’s was, probably because the Marchands used the same housekeeping company my dad did. The dedicated beverage drawer had cans of beer and seltzers along with Coke Zero, mango Bubly, and diet ginger ale. I reached for one of the Bublys, but stopped when I saw the two-liter of chocolate milk in the door.
My dad never had chocolate milk. And I never bought chocolate milk because I never thought of it.
Grabbing the milk, I closed the door. Twisting my mouth to the side, I glanced around the kitchen, trying to remember which cupboard had the glasses.
“The far one on the left,” came a voice from behind me.
My eyes darted to the side, hoping against hope the voice only sounded familiar because I hadn’t heard Marc-Andre speak for so long that I didn’t know he sounded exactly like his brother. But the youngest Marchand was still facing away from me on the couch, eyes focused on the TV. A moment later, the edges of the screen flashed red and he sighed heavily.
Damnit.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Anytime, babe.”
I whirled around. Behind me, JP was putting a mug into the dishwasher. I glared at him, refusing to be distracted by the sight of him in a pair of fitted khaki-coloured pants with a leather belt, a collarless denim-blue button-up shirt tucked into them, the top few buttons undone and showing off a peek of warm tan skin. And I definitely wasn’t distracted by the slightly messy blonde hair on his head or the way the kitchen light caught the natural highlights in it or the height of his cheekbones or the way the sleeves of his shirt were rolled halfway up his forearms and the biceps were fitted because of course the bastard worked out and—
“What?” he asked.
Right. I was in the middle of glaring at him.
“Don’t call me that,” I hissed. “Especially when—” I gestured towards the living room.
“He’s wearing headphones.”
“Headphones. Not magical-can’t-hear-anything-else-ever-phones.”
“Trust me, he can’t hear shit.” He closed the dishwasher, then crossed the kitchen to the farthest cabinet on the left. “I gave them to him. Those headphones are the reason I kept my sanity when Remy and Anne-Marie were first figuring out how the whole insert-rod-A-into-slot-B thing worked and he could go four or five times a night.”
“What are you even doing here? I thought you had a dinner meeting in Sherbrooke.”
“I do.” He opened the cabinet door. “I’m about to leave.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Give me that.”
He held up a tall glass. “This?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I need it, JP,” I said, clenching my teeth.
“Hmm.” He examined the glass. “What do I get out of this?”
“What?”
He glanced towards the living room, then stepped towards me. “I said, what do I get if I hand this over to you?”
My heart felt like a trampoline with a bunch of rubber balls bouncing on it. “The satisfaction of helping someone out in their time of need?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I was hoping for something valuable.”
“What’s more valuable than altruism?”
He took another step closer, eyes flicking down. “I’d say a kiss from the hottest girl in the room.”
“I’m the only girl in the room,” I said, then belatedly realized what he’d said. “And oh my God. Are you fucking insane?”
“Did you change your name to Insane recently?”
“ JP !” I hissed, glancing past him.
He chuckled. “C’mon, babe. It helps both of us. I get something to think about while I’m driving to Sherbrooke. You get a glass of milk and something to cheer your grumpy ass up.”
“I’m not grumpy,” I whispered grumpily. “Why would you even think that?”
“Your general vibe,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh my God,” I huffed. “I don’t have time for this. Can I just have the glass, please?”
He twisted the glass in his hand. “You know how to get it, babe. One kiss for one glass. Seems like a fair trade.”
It was not at all a fair trade. But instead of pointing that out, I looked at the back of Marc-Andre’s head.
Then I stepped forward, grabbed the front of JP’s shirt, and tugged him forward until his mouth met mine.
I meant it to be quick. So fast that I wouldn’t even be able to feel JP’s smirk or the victorious puff of laughter exhaled through his nose.
But then his lips were on mine and I just…
I…
Fuck.
I hated how addictive his kisses were. I hated how familiar he tasted. And I refused to even consider that his kisses were addictive because of that familiar taste. Instead, I let myself be distracted by the shiver of desire spreading over my body, the result of the chemistry between us, ignoring the fact that we were doing something stupid in the stupidest fucking place.
Or maybe not.
Maybe I was aware of how stupid this was, and that’s why I was melting against his body.
“Damn, babe,” JP breathed when I finally pulled back. “I would’ve settled for a peck on the lips, but that —”
“Shut up,” I whispered, glancing back at the living room, where Marc-Andre hadn’t moved. “Give me the glass.”
He handed it over with one of those shit-eating grins I wanted to wipe right off his face. “Feel better now?”
I glared at him, grabbing the glass and storming out of the kitchen without another word.
Because yeah, I did feel better. My steps felt lighter and my body felt warm and there was a pleasant fuzzy memory of JP’s lips on mine.
And I absolutely did not want him to know that.
When I got back to Anne-Marie’s room, I took a steadying breath before letting myself in. Almost in unison, Anne-Marie and Sydney looked up at me, Sydney with her phone pressed to her ear and a grimace on face.
“I told you,” she said to whoever was on the other end. “I’m his roommate. Sydney. I—” Her round eyes widened as she listened. “Are you serious? It’s a two bedroom .” She paused. “Why would I pretend to be his roommate?” She listened again, then let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Okay. Well, since you’re refusing to get him, you can be the one to tell him—oh, hey Reid.”
She waited, annoyance rolling off her. “Sure. Next time I don’t know you’re staying at a one-night-stand’s place, I won’t call so the crazy person you slept with doesn’t answer your phone while you’re in the shower.” Another pause, then a scoff. “‘Kay. Whatever. Bye, asshole.”
There was a heavy pause as she hung up.
“So I’m gonna say Reid’s a no,” she said.
“Want me to tell him he’s a dick?” I asked.
“Nah. I’ll do it when I get home. It’ll be taken more seriously when he’s not in the middle of dealing with what must be the most insecure rebound girl in the history of rebound girls.” She took a deep breath and let it whoosh out. “Okay. What about Ben?”
My stomach dropped, as did my lips. I turned to Sydney, not even trying to hide the disbelief on my face that she’d bring up the former psychology professor I was hooking up with in front of—
“Ohhh,” Anne-Marie said, her voice wavering up and down with intrigue. “Who is this ‘Ben,’ chérie ?”
“A friend,” I said, sharpening the pointed look I was giving Sydney, who shrugged unapologetically.
“Desperate times,” she said.
“A friend?” Anne-Marie repeated. “A friend you are sensitive about?”
“I’m not sensitive about him,” I said. “It’s just complicated. And I can guarantee my dad would lose his shit if I brought him.”
“Hmm,” Anne-Marie said. “Is he scruffy?”
“Huh?”
“You know.” Her lips twisted into a knowing smirk. “A bit rough around the edges? A bad boy? Is that why your father would not approve?”
“Yeah, that’s definitely it,” I said. “He’s a bad, bad boy. So he’s not appropriate to bring.” I threw a glare at Sydney. “At all .”
“Okay, but seriously,” she said, her voice solemn. “Who else can we call?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
A beat of silence passed, and then another, and then Anne-Marie’s room was full of silence and tension and a distinct hopelessness that was making my stomach curl.
“Well,” Anne-Marie said slowly. “I think it is time to consider something you do not want to consider, chérie .”
“I’m not asking JP,” I said.
“Nellie—”
“He’s not even available,” I said. “He’s got a dinner meeting in Sherbrooke.”
She frowned. “How do you know that?”
Fuck. I stammered for a second before remembering I was an idiot.
“I saw him in the kitchen,” I said, holding up the glass. “When I was getting chocolate milk. He mentioned it when I said hi.”
I thought that would explain everything, but amusement crossed Anne-Marie’s face. “Milk, you say?”
“Uh… yeah. What’s weird about that?”
“Nothing.” She half-shrugged. “Just, that glass is empty. And looks sparkling clean.”
“Well, that’s because I”—‘forgot to put the milk in the glass because I was busy kissing your brother’ was what screamed through my head, but I held it in—“changed my mind and had water instead.”
“And finished already?” Anne-Marie said. “But brought the glass with you anyway?”
“Look, we have bigger things to discuss than Nellie’s idiosyncrasies right now,” Sydney said.
If she hadn’t nearly pushed me under the bus by bringing up Ben, I might’ve kissed her for diverting the subject. “Thank you.”
“Like if JP would consider cancelling his dinner meeting so he could be Nellie’s date tonight,” she continued.
Well, now I definitely wasn’t going to kiss her. “Are you for real, Syd?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe he would. Like, if you explained what happened.”
“How many times do I have to say this?” I set the empty glass down on the vanity and lifted my hand to count off on my fingers. “First of all, no. Because no. Second, no because fuck no. Third, not in this lifetime. Fourth, your brother hates these events as much as I do.” I picked up my empty glass, then realized my fourth point might have sounded like I knew more about JP than I should have. “Uh, doesn’t he? He used to, I’m pretty sure.”
“Smooth,” Sydney muttered, her voice low enough that only I could hear her.
“I bet he would go with you if you asked him,” Anne-Marie said, folding one leg over the other. “He went to La Nuit Rose with Chantel because she asked him and I do not believe he likes her all that much.”
“He went with her as a favour,” I said.
Anne-Marie’s eyes shot to mine like lasers. “How do you know that?”
Fuck. I knew JP had gone with Chantel because she’d given him—in his words—an insane blowjob. But I only knew that because he’d said it to me at the beginning of the summer when he was explaining why he wanted to fuck me again.
“Bruno told me,” I said. “He knows someone who knows someone.”
She pursed her lips. “Who does he know that I do not? Because I had not heard that.”
Fuck .
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe it was because, uh, of why. Why he owed her the favour.”
“Which was…?”
I swallowed hard. “I think he said JP owed her the favour because she gave him a blowjob. And whoever heard that probably thought since you’re his sister…”
Anne-Marie scoffed. “That has never stopped anyone from telling me anything about Jean-Paul. If half of the stories I’ve heard from his conquests are to be believed, he is both the biggest they’ve ever seen and also the smallest.”
Well, those people were lying or not getting laid enough. JP wasn’t huge , not like the guys they had in porn. But I could confidently say he was on the higher side of average. Like, he wasn’t the biggest I’d ever seen, but the biggest I’d actually enjoyed since getting punched in the cervix was not my idea of a good time.
Not to mention that JP knew how to use what he had.
“How many people do you know who’ve seen his dick?” Sydney asked.
Anne-Marie shrugged. “Probably more than will admit it. Regardless of size, my brother does not seem to know how to keep it in his pants. And why I am surprised anyone would bother hiding a rumour about Jean-Paul putting his dick in someone’s mouth.”
“Jesus, Annie,” I muttered. “Can we stop talking about your brother’s dick now?”
“You brought it up, chérie .”
“Whatever,” I said as Sydney cackled far harder than was necessary. “The point is that no, I’m not asking JP and even if I did, he wouldn’t go.”
“Then what else are you going to do?” Anne-Marie asked, her voice dripping with exasperation as she started scrolling through her phone again. “No one is available. You cannot go with Clinton. Unless you are planning on dressing Sydney up in a tuxedo and calling her Sid Cunnilinginton the Third or something ridiculous like that, I do not see what other option you have .”
I stared at her for a moment, then looked at Sydney. Sydney blinked, then pressed her lips together and looked at Anne-Marie, who was still staring at her phone screen. But when she realized Sydney and I had gone silent, she looked up.
“What?” she asked.
“Annie,” I said. “You’re a fucking genius.”