Chapter 1 #2
Rebecca “Bex” Gordon is a computer nerd and the de facto leader of our gang.
Apart from us, she’s not a fan of humanity as a whole—or sunlight—and she’d much rather be fiddling with gadgets or getting into other people’s business, which is why her new job is such a weird flex for her.
She’s got a green streak in her chin-length brown bob to match her twinkling green eyes, and a benevolent, but occasionally terrifying boss who knows everyone’s secrets.
Predictably, Val has tensed at her appearance and retreated into his water glass.
On paper, he’s a successful architect and probably the most together of all of us, and he’s definitely the most attractive.
Too bad he’s also a giant chickenshit. That’s the reason we haven’t had a fun family dinner and game night in years.
We still have them, of course, twice a month like clockwork.
They’re just filled with awkward silences and angsty undercurrents instead of the traditional laughter and acceptance I’ve come to expect.
It’s been getting worse lately, and as long as Bex keeps pretending to be oblivious and Val continues to keep his feelings to himself, it isn’t going to get any better.
When it’s fiction, I love shows like this—the will-they-won’t-they drama of it all.
But these are my friends and they’re both suffering.
Maybe I really should hold an intervention.
Wouldn’t that be a laugh? The one anti-commitment guy in the bunch handing out relationship advice?
Update on Ponytail Guy: He just bent over to pick something up and I almost had a mini orgasm. Have I mentioned what a great ass he has and how shallow I am? I feel like I should whistle or something to make him turn around. I’m dying to get a good look at the rest of him.
“Is Conman still pouting about your vacation?” Bex brings my attention back to our table while keeping her gaze carefully fixed on me. Since Val is the size of a muscular tank, it’s an admirable attempt.
“The beer made it worse. It seems someone told him our drinks were on the house because we’re your besties.
” I give her a what-can-you-do shrug. “And it’s not a vacation.
When I’m retired on a tropical island surrounded by naked men fanning me and feeding me cookies, then you can call it a vacation. ”
“The drinks were Kate’s idea. And if that’s what you want, Win, I can make it happen.”
I shake my head wryly. “You can ‘make it happen’? You’re sounding more like your boss every day. You know that in this particular Batman series, you’re actually Alfred the butler’s cute and sassy niece.” I frown. “Wait, didn’t she become Batgirl in the movie? I think that was a bad analogy.”
“Very funny. I didn’t tease you a few days ago when you asked if he could teach you how to be a spy for your sabbatical.”
When Val turns a curious look my way, I glare at her. “He knew I was joking. And you have been teasing me. Continuously. I seem to recall you sending me an insulting 007 meme this morning.”
Bex and her uncle have been assuring me for years that their boss, Ken Tanaka, is not, in fact, a spy.
Not really. He is filthy rich, and occasionally does some computer work for the government.
And he and his fiancé did go undercover to deal with a human-trafficking thing years ago.
The condos he owns—where Bex lives and works—do happen to hold an assortment of people who have interesting stories and highly suspicious skills.
There’s also the fact that he knows so much about me that I check my apartment for hidden cameras and bugs on a regular basis.
But I’m sure they’re right that the security analysis business he runs isn’t a front for covert activities and surveillance. At all. And I’m absolutely positive Mr. Ken “Batman” Tanaka isn’t monitoring our every move with his own personal satellites.
“Let’s stop talking about him before he gets angry,” I whisper.
She rolls her eyes. “Could you not?”
I stifle a laugh. “I’d rather discuss your moves on the dance floor anyway. I thought you hated crowds and believed line dancing was for sheeple. Where did our nightshift-loving loner go?”
“It’s a job requirement,” she says with a grimace. “I invited you because you love Finn’s and I wanted to talk to you about this break you’re taking.”
It’s official. We’re both worried about each other. She’s worried about my sabbatical and I’m worried about her new job.
Can you call macking on a hot redhead in the corner a job?
I sigh in resignation. C'est la vie, Ponytail Guy. “We might have to save the talking for another time. This party looked fun, but Connor’s already too tipsy to meet the moment, the big guy here is nearing his limit of peopling for the year, and you’ve got a body to guard. We should go and leave you to it.”
That’s right. My pocket-sized friend is only pretending to date Kate Finn for a job she won’t go into details about. It’s frustrating, but since I doubt Mr. Tanaka would put her in danger—and she has a black belt in Taekwondo if he did—I’m sure she’ll be fine.
Maybe he thought Bex needed to get out as much as I did.
For the last two weeks, she’s been at Kate’s side for six public events and one live-streamed shopping excursion.
Recalling all the times I’ve tried and failed to take her clothes shopping, I’m still a little upset that I wasn’t invited to that.
“Oh, you can’t leave yet!” She looks crestfallen. “We had this plan and… Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“Any hints about the plan she’s talking about, Valentine? Is it sinister? Machiavellian?”
“Memorable. She wanted to make tonight memorable for you,” he says to his water glass.
“But you didn’t agree, so you’re trying to depress me by being extra, broody and interrogatory instead?” I tease, nudging his arm with mine.
“I’m sorry, Win.” He runs a large hand over his face and sits up a little straighter. “I really did want to hang with you, but I think this whole situation is fucking me up. Yours and… Well, you know.”
I am aware. “You should have told her sooner. And when I say sooner, I’m talking decades ago, when puberty hit and you imprinted on her like an overgrown baby duck.”
He doesn’t laugh. “She wasn’t ready then. And now she’s so obsessed with paying imagined debts and proving herself that she doesn’t think before she volunteers for things like this.”
“You mean things like making out in public with the infamous and beautiful Queen Calamity?”
“She’s not royalty,” Val grumbles. “She’s an online influencer and party girl.”
And his new nemesis, if his attitude is anything to go by.
“Queen Calamity is her username on social media and her following is now the size of a small country,” I inform him. “In this brave new world we live in, that sort of makes her royalty.”
“Whatever. Bex isn’t making out with her because she wants to. Some online stalker started taking her crazy to the real world and Bex is trying to flush her out.”
That news is a slap in the face I didn’t need tonight. “What the hell? That’s what’s going on? Why didn’t I know this?”
“I only found out today. For some reason all my friends are keeping really important shit to themselves lately.”
“This isn’t the same thing.” I can’t believe her boss actually agreed to this. It doesn’t make sense. “If it’s an online stalker, why didn’t Tanaka handle it himself? I thought there was no one he couldn’t find with an internet connection.”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
Neither do I. Bex and I are going to have a little talk about her dangerous decision-making as soon as possible. Information gathering is one thing, but making herself bait for some nut job? Val’s right. She takes unnecessary risks. Yet another topic for our upcoming intervention.
That and her new entanglement with the Finns.
She knows better. Coming to the pub is one thing, but getting involved with them is a whole different ballgame.
One of our favorite bartenders here at Finn’s Pub was blissfully single until a member of that family set his sights on her.
Now she’s— Okay, she’s still happy, but she’s also constantly pregnant and we hardly ever see her.
“Do you think it’s just an act?” Val asks, his eyes on Bex and Kate, who are standing in a loose embrace near the stage.
I’m not sure how to answer him. Over the last six years, Kate “Calamity” Finn has gone from working at her brother’s gym to social media stardom because of her wild reputation.
She’s so beautiful that companies pay her to wear their clothes and sell their products.
So charismatic that people follow her to bars and parties like she’s The Pied Piper of bad decisions.
She’s made a career out of being the life of the party, and she’s known for being reckless, thoughtless and, well, calamitous if you’re looking for anything more serious than a temporary fling.
She’s exactly the kind of person Bex always steers clear of, so I know what Val wants me to say.
Of course it’s an act. But after watching her play Kate’s constant, affectionate companion tonight, I’m not sure I believe it.
And neither does Val, which is why he’s in a mood.
I hope, for both their sakes, that she hasn’t caught any actual feelings for the Irish whirlwind who’s walking onto the stage. That way leads to heartbreak.
“Oi, you drunks,” Kate shouts into the microphone, though the way people react she might as well be purring. “Are you ready for one last prezzie from me before we pop off for the night?”
The pub vibrates with the answering affirmative roar.
“Somewhere in this pub is a man that can melt your knickers off with his voice. At least, that’s what I hear.
” She winks. “It’s a big night for him, the start of a new adventure, but it’s going to be bigger if we can convince him to get up on stage and sing us a carol right now.
If he’s any good, the band might ask him to be their temporary front man while theirs has a baby.
Since he could use the money, let’s hope he’s also got the pipes. ”
Another roar, this one fanning out as the crowd looks around for the promised crooner. I have this inescapable feeling that she’s talking about me. Did Bex get her fake girlfriend to turn my temporary unemployment party into an audition I didn’t ask for?
“No,” I say as I meet Val’s knowing gaze.
He’s finally smiling. Almost.
“Absolutely not,” I repeat more vehemently.
“Didn’t ‘rockstar’ used to be your dream job?”
I refuse to dignify that with an answer.
I’ve always wanted to be a teacher and he knows it.
School was my salvation and teachers were my mentors and substitute family.
But I also love music and yes, back when I was young and stupid, I’d occasionally dream of doing it professionally, either on Broadway or in a band.
I got my yayas out on open mic nights at the drag club and did a few paying gigs here and there.
But then I found out there wasn’t a regular paycheck or health insurance in it—and that I wasn’t going to be the next Bruno Mars, Idina Menzel or Lin-Manuel Miranda—so gave it up. I rarely sing in public anymore.
(My classroom and karaoke nights don’t count.)
“Come on up here you gorgeous, black-haired devil!” Kate encourages loudly.
Connor appears at my side, his blue eyes sparkling and his cheeks worryingly rosy. “I was wondering if Bex was ever going to do it. Sing, you black-haired devil!” he urges gleefully, his earlier upset forgotten.
All the people around me start chanting “Sing, sing, sing!” until I roll my eyes and send Bex a look that says her scheming is not appreciated. The one she sends back is a clearly defined dare that’s brimming with excitement.
She’s trying to help. She’s worried about you.
Hell. I guess I’m doing this.
I slowly get to my feet, feeling the old adrenaline starting to pump as the audience cheers. I do love an audience, but even if the band offered, I doubt I’d take the job. I’m not in my twenties anymore, and I’d drive them crazy with my anal need for perfection.
Still, I wouldn’t want this mob turning ugly. “Sure. Why not?”