Chapter 6
T-minus eight hours to find a date, how hard can that be? Aren’t guys always bitching how a woman can wake up and declare, “I’m gonna get laid today” and make it happen, but a man has to wait till she decides? So a simple date, preferably a hot one? Piece of cake.
I arrive at work unshowered, my skin crawling with grime because of the slight change of course at the gym. I compensate by spritzing myself with one of my handy new purchases to freshen up and move on. I’ve pushed all nagging thoughts of Dr. Reynolds, Brady, and stimulating play from my head and am focused on my immediate goals: work, find a date.
Mimi greets me as I turn on the lights, fire up the computers, and flip on the open sign. Rushing through morning feedings, I feel bad shortening some of the ear rubs, but I’ve got to make extra time for my date search.
Finishing up and still the only one here, I consult the contact list in my phone. Eleven males. Eleven, which isn’t exactly a self-esteem boosting number. And of those one is Brady, five more are actual relatives, two are now married, and one is…yep, he died last year.
Of the remaining three, I’d tried to date two...delete both.
Last one—Dr. Reynolds’ office.
Alrighty then, plan B it is. I quickly fire up Facebook, searching madly though my friends list. I don’t know half these people, some of whom no one knows, because they’re not real people. Scznyi Axyzges wants to be your friend? Can’t date a guy whose name I can’t pronounce or lives a continent away, can I?
Nevermind.
My forehead drops pitifully onto the desk, rethinking the fake stomach virus ploy. Who wants me tagging along anyway? Maybe we’ve outgrown our tradition.
I’m pulled out my self-deprecating lull when my phone beside me dings with a text. One guess who it is.
Brady: Not the same w/out you, Moe. Say the word and it’s pizza at yours. Or if you’re actually sick, say that, and it’s Dr. Me I could devour the whole bowl, something I’ve proven on more than one occasion.
Conversation picks up around me as I stuff my face, ignoring Ricky’s arm draped across the back of my chair, his thumb occasionally brushing my skin. When I go to pour myself a margarita out of the pitcher in the middle of the table, it’s already done, sitting in front of me. I look up, Brady watching me, flashing a “you’re welcome” wink.
As Ricky and Dylan go head to head over some new video game sweeping the market, Brady leans in and whispers, “Isn’t he your clinic’s creepy janitor?”
“Shush, he’s cute and…” Yeah, I have no other adjective to describe the man whose hand is now trailing fr eely over the slope of my shoulders. The urge to sit back in my chair and deny him access is tempting, but I refrain, instead firing back at Brady.
“Aren’t your dates dating ?” I quip with a sarcastic smirk. The two girls are lost in the table discussion but constantly looking at each other. And Pat …haven’t made a decision on her yet.
“I think so.” He chuckles. “But your brother picked them, not me. What’s your excuse?” His lighthearted tone deceiving his severe scrutiny cast upon Ricky’s hand.
“Right, Addison?” My name catches my attention so I turn to Ricky.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, overly kind.
“Shawna and Pat here don’t think I can take them in Mortal Fear . Tell
them how good I am.”
“Take them where? And why are they scared?” I’ve only had a few sips, so why is this conversation completely disturbing?
He laughs animatedly and slaps his hand down over my thigh, a little too high for a first date, and leaves it clamped there, giving a suggestive squeeze. “The game, Mortal Fear . The one I always play in the break room? Aren’t I good?”
Ah, because it is disturbing. But what’s even more so is the way his hand is creeping around to my inner thigh. Before I can make a move to re move his hand, I hear the low, undeniable growl emanating from Brady. When I glance his way, his penetrating stare is still locked on Ricky’s hand, looking more menacing by the second.
“She has no clue what you’re talking about. Moe hates video games. Don’t ya, sis?” Dylan challenges me from across the table.
With a hollow laugh, I casually place my hand over Ricky’s and weave my fingers through his. The move is too tender for what he deserves, but I’m not giving Brady the satisfaction of seeing me freak out. I asked Ricky to be here and he’s just being friendly. Ricky-style friendly.
I turn to the two women and do my best to make cheerful conversation. “So, you play video games?”
They talk excitedly over each other, “oh my God this” and “freaking
awesome that,” while I plaster on a mask of interest that pains my cheeks as I try to listen, appearing interested.
Then it’s all four of them, leaning across the table, phones out, quoting scores and friending each other on whatever gaming sites while Brady and I lean back and sip our drinks, willing time to race.
Juan approaches the table to take our orders and we’re the only two that notice, or know what we want—another pitcher, STAT. Maybe if they forget to order, I can do cheese dip and a buzz and get the hell out of here.
“No way, you have to leave the princess until at least level 10 or your key’s unguarded for Zylyn to steal,” Pat explains.
Ricky unthreads our fingers and slaps his own forehead, positively beaming with admiration. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Thank Christ! I subtly wipe my hand on the napkin in my lap, ignoring Brady’s silent amusement, bouncing shoulders giving him away. Yeah, yeah, so I’m wiping off possible cooties, ha ha.
“That’s brilliant!” Dylan speaks loudly, making a note in his phone.
Once I toss the napkin back on the table, I rest my head in my palm. I could be...doing anything else right now. Organizing my cupboards. Cleaning out my refrigerator. Alphabetizing my CDs. It’s when Ricky’s hand settles back on my upper thigh that I make my decision—date night over. They really may not even notice, four heads leaned together in conspiracy, engrossed in the world of all that is gaming. But still, subtle and graceful is the way to make my exit.
“Oh my God!” I jump up, knocking over my chair. “I, um, I started my period! I have to go!” I grab my purse, avoiding the quizzical stares cast my way only but a moment before they’re once again locked in a circle. Helluva plan Addison, ‘cause calmly saying you had to work in the morning wouldn’t have been graceful.
I choked.
Brady’s up in a flash too. “I’m a doctor! I’ll help.” He digs furiously in his jacket pocket, pulling out his wallet and tossing bills on the table. “That’s for ours, Dyl, you good?”
Engrossed in What’s Her Name’s phone, Dylan barely manages a thumbs up.
“Bye, Ricky, sorry, thank you for tonight!” I once again find myself yelling as I
walk away from him. A flash of guilt hits, so I pivot, relieving myself immediately of any sense of obligation as I watch Ricky’s hand grip and rub the back of Pat’s neck. They so have my blessing.
“You in your car?” Brady leans in and asks, pushing me to the door by my back as I nod.
I pull my keys out and he snares them immediately. “Good, my car’s still at work and I only had one drink. I’ll drive.”
****
We laugh the entire trip to my place, completely sure no one would believe us if we told them about our night—which we won’t.
“You should probably pick your own dates from now on.” I snicker at him.
“Yours too apparently. The janitor? You could do so much better, Moe.”
“Not everyone’s a doctor, Snobby Butt. Being a janitor’s the least of my concerns. His pervy comments, much bigger problem.”
“Fine, pick a reason. You could do better. And that fucking hand of his was a little too friendly for my taste. I was about to teach him some respect.”
I have no words, I can only stare at him, jaw dropped. Brady’s always been a bit hard on the guys I bring around, but he’s never suggested violence before. Both of us out of sorts, it doesn’t register, until parked at my house...that we’re in my car.
“We should talk, brilliant duo and all.” I laugh and he joins in. “No way I feel like driving all the way to your house then back.”
He curtly shakes his head. “Wouldn’t let ya anyway, I saw you throw back the drinks. I’ll drive home and pick you up in the morning to hit the gym, then you can drop me at work. Cool?”
“Fine,” I easily concede, seeing as he’s used my car a million times before. “Why’s your car still there anyway? They picked you up?”
“Yeah, Dylan and the dates .”
“And which one was your date again?” I bite back my snicker, unable to resist giving him hell.
Stifling a chuckle of his own, he tilts his head and ponders. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“I figured. Okay then, great night. See ya in the morning.” I smile and climb out, jerking back a bit in shock at how fast he’s standing in front of me. “What’re you doing?”
“It’s late. I’m walking you to your door. Plus, I need to use your bathroom.” He admits sheepishly, busted on the pseudo-chivalry.
The walk to my apartment is nothing new or special but there’s something different tonight. No, I refuse to over analyze it. The man has pissed in my bathroom more than anyone besides myself. Nothing strange going on. Nothing at all.
The second I have the front door open, Brady flies past me down the hall and I mosey to my bedroom to change. “Lock it when you leave,” I holler.
“Huh?”
I jump, holding my nightshirt in front of me when his head pops in. “I said, lock up when you leave.”
“Of course.” He turns to go, peering back with a devilish twist to his lips. “By the way, when’d you open a drugstore? Lotta girly shit in there for only one girl.” He winks and heads out. “Night, Moe, sweet dreams.”
I hide my face in my hands even though he’s gone and can’t see me.
My bathroom, shopping spree, productpalooza....
He saw.