Chapter 10
JUST LIKE SOUP
Dev
Words to live by—when you realize you and your buddy are both into the same woman, you need to talk to him. Especially when you’ve just volunteered as tribute in that woman’s substitute honeymoon.
We’ve got to get some things clear first though. We drop off Aubrey at her apartment in the Mission District. It feels weird, leaving her alone, but she insists she’s fine and I’m not going to press her. She’s a grown woman who doesn’t need a babysitter.
When the door to her building shuts, I check my texts from Garrett for the rental car info. We clearly have other things to discuss with our agent aside from car details, but that’s an in-person convo, so we make plans with him for tomorrow morning.
With that done, I get to the critical stuff. “Want to grab a drink after we return the car?”
“Yeah. I do.” Code for he knows we need to chat too. Just like we did when we met Zahra at a gym in Santa Monica that summer. The second she went into the spin class, I pulled him aside and said, “Let’s talk.”
When the errand is done, we head over to Sticks and Stones, a bar my buddy runs in the city.
Well, Gage is everyone’s buddy. Ledger included. Gage is a former Major League pitcher, who had to retire early when he blew out his elbow. Now, he owns and runs this bar and raises his daughter solo.
As we stride to the bustling counter, Gage gives us a curious once-over. “Okaaay?”
Oh, right. Our clothes.
“Well, it’s kind of a funny story,” I say, plucking at my pancake T-shirt, then glancing down at Ledger’s shoes.
“Yeah, that can’t be anything but a story,” Gage says, then sets down coasters on the beer-soaked wood. “And stories need beer.”
They do. Just like trips need rules.
I’d be nowhere without rules. As an athlete, I’m big on following them. As a human, I’m fond of bending them. But as someone who’s had his heart smashed, I sure as shit know the value of setting them in advance.
After Gage serves up an Imperial IPA for Ledger and a blackberry lime seltzer water for me, I’m grateful our bartender friend needs to tend to another customer.
I turn to Ledger. “About this trip…” But I don’t know what to say, and the rest of the sentence dies on my tongue.
Fortunately, Ledger is sometimes a mind reader. “I know, I know. We need to talk. Your favorite thing.”
Yes. That. Talking. Which I need to do. “Yeah, and I know you’re into her.”
Ledger stares pointedly at me. “Yes, Dev. I’m the only one into her.”
Why am I hiding my brewing attraction? I’m the guy who faces feelings. Who talks through issues. What the fuck is up with me? “Fine, fine,” I grumble, shoulders tight, body jumpy. “I know we both are.”
Ledger pats my shoulder. “There, there. Was that so hard? Want to hug it out now too? We can journal about it later if you’d like.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, then drown my annoyance—at myself—in a thirsty gulp of the bubbly water.
I really should be able to talk about this stuff.
Hell, I thought it’d be easy a few minutes ago.
I don’t keep shit bottled up inside. But ever since Eva blindsided me with a breakup I never saw coming…
after openly discussing rings, and homes, and plans, talking is a little harder.
That’s got to be the reason I’m tripping on words.
But he’s right. I need to actually deal with these feelings head-on. Because this situation isn’t about my ex. It’s about the fact that we’re both attracted to the woman we’re about to spend a week with. “This can’t be another Zahra,” I say.
Four years ago, Zahra was an off-season fling when the sophisticated, devotedly single, thirty-something British-Lebanese attorney spent a summer in Los Angeles working for a sustainable energy client before returning to Beirut.
We were both drawn to her. She was drawn to us.
Even better—she liked it when two men shared her, so she made a deal to teach us “how to make a woman feel like a queen in bed.”
I should seriously send Zahra a thank you gift for all her fantastic lessons.
But even though Ledger and I are both clearly into Aubrey in the same way, the situations couldn’t be more different.
“She’s Garrett’s little sister, but that’s not even the main issue. The main issue is Aubrey almost got married today,” I say, emphatic, my voice rising as I stab my finger against the wood grain of the bar.
Ledger tilts his head. “Do you think I missed that?”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Just want to be sure we’re both going into this trip with a similar mindset. We’re her friends,” I say. The more I say it, the more I’ll drill it in. It’ll become muscle memory.
“Like we said in the parking lot when we talked. Like we said to her,” Ledger seconds. He lifts his glass but doesn’t drink, just stares at the chalkboard menu behind the bar listing the craft beers. “What do I know about women anyway?”
Truth. I lift my glass in anti-relationship solidarity. “What do either of us know about women?”
Ledger clinks, then sets down his glass. He seems to give the question some real thought before he smirks. “Well, I do know a thing or two about how to make a woman very, very happy in bed.”
“Who’s the cocky fucker now?”
“It’s not cocky if it’s true.”
“Really? Really? Is that the definition of cocky? It’s a lie, not the truth?”
Ledger stares at me like c’mon. “Semantics are not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
He scrubs a hand across his chin and lets out a lingering sigh, his tone flat. “It’d be a bad idea.”
“Yeah, it would. Aubrey’s not the kind of woman we could keep it casual with.”
I think it over, trying, really trying, not to think about how good casual with Aubrey would be.
When Gage finishes with another customer, he heads our way again, giving each of us appraising looks with wise green eyes. “Let me guess. You two are debating the meaning of the universe, the existential nature of hockey itself, or whether you eat or drink soup?”
Like I’m answering on a game show, I bark out “eat” right as Ledger scoffs out “drink.”
“I knew you two wouldn’t agree.” With a tip of his chin, Gage asks, “So, what’s the story tonight?”
Right. The clothes. My pancake shirt and Ledger’s shoes. I’m not sure I want to go into too many details about the story behind the attire. But Gage is good people, and it’s clear something went down. I give him the briefest synopsis about a wedding that didn’t happen.
“Damn,” he says with a whistle. “That can’t be easy.”
“Definitely not. And now we’re just sorting through some things…with women,” I admit, opening up a smidge.
Gage wiggles his fingers. “Serve it up. I’ve been waiting.”
“We’re making sure we both see eye to eye about a woman,” Ledger adds.
“Good. I don’t want to see you getting your hearts broken.” Gage points from Ledger to me. “You hear me?”
Ledger lifts his glass high. “Loud and clear.”
Gage stares my way, waiting for my agreement. Even if relationships aren’t at the top of my mind, he’s not wrong. I lift my glass too. “Same.”
“Good. A ticker can only take so much.” On that stark truth, Gage pats the bar, then wheels around to handle another customer.
After a long pull, Ledger sets his glass down then deals me a dubious stare. “You drink soup, buddy. It’s liquid.”
I snort. “Things in a bowl are eaten. Case closed. Just like the case of the honeymoon trip.”
“Yeah, Aubrey’s just like…soup.”
I just hope I have it in me to keep thinking of her like food or a friend—instead of a woman I want.
* * *
Garrett swings his hips, lifts his five-iron, and strikes. He’s a cobra on the golf course, hitting his target with a venomous precision.
The little white ball has no chance against him as it arcs against the blue sky of the early Sunday morning, soaring till it makes landfall maybe twenty feet from the hole.
“And that’s how you do it,” I say, resting my club against my hip so I can clap. I am impressed, but I also want him to stay in a good mood.
“Why are you not mastering the Masters?” Ledger asks—a legit question, the way our agent plays.
Garrett gives an appreciative nod. “Because as good as I am at golf, I’m even better at negotiating.”
“Truth.” He’s a legend with contracts. Sponsorship deals too. My bank account will give him a recommendation letter anytime.
Garrett lets out a deep breath and takes off his shades, hooking them on the neck of his pastel yellow polo.
“So, you’re leaving this afternoon,” he says, returning to the topic of our abbreviated morning round of golf—on the first few holes we debriefed him on the plans for the trip. “And you’re sure she’s up for it?”
Even though the jet is booked, I feel a little like a kid asking his dad’s permission to go away with friends for a few days. “She is,” I say with confidence that I hope masks how awkward I feel talking to him about honeymooning with his sister.
I shouldn’t feel weird telling him. Yet I do. I still feel tense, too, even after Ledger and I talked last night. I hate feeling unsure of anything. I like knowing what I’m doing on the ice, in the net, in my life. I like things to…work out.
Ledger rests his golf club on his shoulder. “She wants to go. She put a lot of effort into planning her honey—trip,” Ledger says, quickly changing his word choice. “Said she’d saved up for it for a while before the fuckcake took off.”
Garrett lifts a brow, a small smile tipping his lips. “You’re using Aubrey’s favorite insult?”
Ledger gives a small smile. “Seems I am. Because he is. We paid him a visit last night.”