Tristan #2
“Where are the wineglasses, and who the hell is Paul from Pilates? He looks like a real tool.”
Patrick smiles goofily up at me as he climbs onto a stool at the counter.
“Hey,” Fletcher says as he types.
“That’s it?” I pour a glass of wine, having found what I was looking for. “That’s what you’re going to write? You can’t write hey .” I screw up my face. This kid must be stupid.
“Why not?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you are clueless with women too.”
“Well, what would you write?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t text a girl back unless I had a plan.”
“A plan.” Fletcher frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”
I swear, I need to drink out of the bottle in this house. Do they have any tequila? “If a girl texts you, she’s looking for more than a fucking hey .”
Patrick’s mouth drops open.
Oh shit. I point at him. “I swear sometimes. Don’t tell your mother.”
“Okay.” He shrugs. “Harry swears too.”
Hmm, I bet he does.
“So?” Fletcher frowns in fascination. “Like ... what kind of plan?”
“Like, do you want to get something to eat, do you want to go to the movies ... something like that. Strike while the iron’s hot.
If she texted you first, she’s into you.
Move fast, before she changes her mind.” I sip my wine.
“Girls are changeable, man. One day they like you; the next day they don’t. ”
“Oh.” His face falls. “So I’ll call her tomorrow, then?”
“No, aren’t you listening?” I roll my eyes. “Call her now.”
“But I can’t do anything tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m minding Patrick.”
“On the off chance she says yes, I’ll stay with him.” I pour the wine so fast into my glass that it sloshes over the sides.
Fletcher looks between Patrick and me.
“I’m waiting here for your mother anyway.
I don’t mind.” I give Patrick a playful soft punch in the arm.
He smiles and punches me back as hard as he can in the thigh.
It nearly knocks me over, and I double over in pain.
Ahh, fuck’s sake ... dead leg. “Ow, ease up.” These kids are so violent. “You got a good hook on you, kid.”
“I know; I made Harry cry the other day,” he announces proudly. “I pulled his hair and punched him in the neck.”
I smirk. This one is definitely my favorite. “Hmm, not sure if that’s okay, but ... well done.”
Fletcher begins to pace. “So ... I say hi.” He waves his hands around in the air as he thinks. “And then ...” He turns back to me. “What do I say then?”
I sip my wine. “Hello, my name is Fletcher, and I don’t know where I keep my balls, so call someone else,” I mutter dryly.
Fletcher throws his phone onto the bench. “I can’t do it. I’m not calling her.”
“Call her.”
“No. I don’t know what to say.”
“Call her,” I demand as I point to his phone with my wineglass.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” I grab Patrick’s shoulder and lead him into the living room. “We’re going out here. Do it now.”
“What if she says no?” he stammers in a panic.
“Who cares?” I shrug. “The world is full of hot girls, Fletcher.”
“Not as hot as her.”
“So why are you wasting time talking crap to us, then?”
Fletcher’s eyes hold mine. “Okay, I’m going to do it.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to call her right now.”
“Less talking, more action,” I call.
“Okay.” He begins to pace again, and I roll my eyes. Heaven help him if he actually gets the chance to do the deed ... he’s as green as a fucking tree. Hell, I was fucking twenty-five-year-olds at his age. What in the world has this kid been doing all this time?
I sit on the couch next to Patrick. “Do you want to watch a movie while we wait for pizza?” he asks.
“There’s pizza coming?”
“Uh-huh.” He smiles and picks up the remote and begins to flick through the movies.
I glance at my watch. “What time did your mother say she was coming home?”
“She’s just having dinner. Not late.”
“Has she been out with Paul from Pilates before?” I ask.
“Yes, but she has to hide from Harry. She can only go out when he’s not home, because he’s very rude and embarrassing.”
I sip my wine as I act uninterested. That evil fucker is good for something after all.
Who knew?
This isn’t their first date? What the fuck? How long has she been seeing him?
I begin to see red.
Fletcher comes rushing back into the room. “She said yes.”
“She did?”
“We’re going to get food.”
“You are?” I’m as shocked as he is. “Great.”
His eyes widen in fear. “What will I wear?”
“Oh Jesus.” I roll my eyes, and Patrick slaps his forehead. “Just wear something nice. And have a shower. Girls like dudes who smell nice.”
Fletcher stares at me, as if I am an alien. “Since when?”
I screw up my face in disgust. “What does your mother actually teach you about girls?”
“Nothing.” He widens his eyes. “She thinks I’m too young to date.”
I tip my head back to the sky in disgust. “And anyway, how come you didn’t attack Paul from Pilates? Why is she allowed to go out with him?”
“Oh.” Fletcher shrugs. “He’s gay.”
I narrow my eyes in delight. “Oh, he is ... is he?”
“Well, I don’t actually know that for sure.” He shrugs casually. “But he isn’t Mom’s type, so ...”
“Why isn’t he your mother’s type?”
“Because she does Pilates with him. Nobody does Pilates with a guy they like ... do they? And besides, he wears a pink sweatband around his head. He’s odd. Weird, even.”
“Hmm.” I think on this as I tap my chin. “That’s a very good point, Fletcher. Nobody does date a guy who wears a pink sweatband around their head at Pilates,” I say, thinking out loud.
“Precisely.” Fletcher turns to go take a shower.
“Oh ... and, Fletch?” I call after him.
“Yeah.”
“Spank the pony in the shower.”
He sticks his head back around the corner. “What?”
I nod. “Do that ... you know, the thing.”
Fletcher frowns. “What for?”
“Do you want the whole restaurant to know how happy you are?” I widen my eyes and look at his crotch. “You want to appear as least ... excitable ... as possible.”
He frowns in horror. “This is a thing?”
Patrick frowns. “Wait, what? There’s a pony in the shower?”
“It’s a song,” I mutter, distracted. “This is the thing, Fletch. Nobody goes on a date without listening to ‘Spanking the Pony’ before they go. Everybody knows that. It’s the dating rule number one.
” Except me, of course, the first time with Claire .
.. damn it. I got sloppy and didn’t even remember the basic rules.
“Are you serious right now?” He frowns.
I roll my eyes. “Trust me on this one.”
He shakes his head and mutters to himself as he walks up the stairs. I turn to Patrick. “What do you want to watch?”
“ Godzilla ?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s a good one.” I nestle back into the couch. “I hope the pizza hurries up. I’m starving.”
Patrick smiles up at me like this is the best night of his life. “Me too.”
Where the fuck is she?
I get a vision of her laughing at dinner with him, and my blood boils.
Finally I hear the car pull up, and I glance at my watch: 10:45 p.m.
What time do you call this?
I slide out from underneath Patrick’s legs as he sleeps, and I walk over to the window and peer through the side of the drapes.
They’re talking in the car.
If you kiss him, you’re in deep shit, woman.
He’s leaning his arm on the steering wheel and looking over at her while they chat.
He’s not gay. No way in hell would he be looking at her like that if he were gay.
Damn Fletcher’s gaydar is off, way off.
Get the fuck out of his car, Claire.
Right.
Now.
Don’t fucking push me.
She climbs out of the car and closes the door ... no kiss.
I dive back onto the couch and put a sleeping Patrick’s legs back over mine.
Moments later, the door opens, and Claire walks in and around the corner. Then her face falls when she sees me. “Tristan.”
My anger is bubbling dangerously close to the surface, and I glare at her, unable to hide it.
She looks down at Patrick sprawled all over me, asleep. “What are you doing here?”
She seems pissed. Well, she’s got nothing on me. I’m fucking fuming. “I babysat for you tonight. I believe you owe me a thank-you,” I say through gritted teeth.
“What?” she snaps.
“Fletcher had to go out.”
“To where?”
“That VanDerCamp girl that he likes texted him, and I said I would stay with Patrick. Fletcher is home now, though, asleep in bed. He wasn’t gone for long at all. I’m assuming the date didn’t go well.”
“Are you kidding me? He left you here alone with Patrick?” she whispers angrily. “Oh, Fletcher is in so much trouble you wouldn’t believe.”
“I told him to go,” I reply. “I don’t mind. Do you mind telling me who the fuck Pilates Paul is?”
“None of your business.” She gestures to the door. “Now ... good night.”
“Well, that’s not a very nice way to treat your babysitter, is it?”
Her mouth falls open. “You are not my babysitter,” she whispers. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“Me?” I scoff as I point to my chest. “What did I do?”
“You annoy me,” she snaps as she storms into the kitchen.
I carefully move Patrick and then jump up and follow her. “And why do I annoy you?”
“Go back to your carefree dates, Tristan. Stay the hell away from my kids.”
Oh ... this is about me dating other women.
She opens the refrigerator with force and then pulls out the nearly empty wine bottle and holds it up. Her eyes flicker with rage.
“It was nice ... actually. Went with the pizza and all that.”
She looks at me deadpan. “You drank my wine?”
“Don’t change the subject. Why does me dating other women annoy you?”
“It doesn’t,” she snaps angrily. “I don’t have time for your shit tonight. Go home.”
I put my hands onto my hips. “I can’t drive. I’ve been drinking.”
“My wine,” she growls.
I cross my arms and look her up and down with a smile. “You’re in a very bad mood. Am I right in assuming Paul from Pilates is responsible?”
“No, you’re not, actually. Tristan Miles is responsible.” She storms out of the room.
My mouth falls open. Of all the nerve. I rush in behind her. She goes to Patrick on the couch. She bends to pick him up in her arms.
“I’ll do it.”