Man Candy (20 page)

pierogies. He’d snapped it from the side,

catching me in profile, grinning happily

as I tried to work with the misshapen

lump of dough in my hands.
Miss this

girl
, he’d captioned it.

There was just one hashtag:

#sweetpea.

I rolled my eyes, but inside my chest,

my heart was pounding.

LATE WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON,

the day he was scheduled to return, he

called me. I let it ring a few times, even

though I was totally anxious to hear his

voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you.”

“Hi.” A stupid grin took over my

mouth before I could help it, and I

huddled down inside my cubicle.

“How’s everything?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Great. Ready to get out of here. My

flight gets in around five tonight. Can I

take you out for dinner later?”

I almost said yes right away, but then

I remembered standing Wednesday

GNO. For a second I thought about

faking an illness, but it would not be

cool to bail on my girls for a guy. We

just didn’t do that. “I can’t tonight. It’s

Wednesday.”

“Oh, that’s right. Girls’ Night Out.”

He sounded more amused than

disappointed. “How about tomorrow?”

“That works.” But did that mean I

wouldn’t get to see him tonight?

“OK, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.

Have fun tonight.”

“Thanks. Safe travels.”

After the phone call, I found myself

in a foul mood for no good reason. I was

mad at myself for resenting GNO when

I’d been the one in the past to insist we

honor the date no matter what, and I was

angry that Quinn hadn’t sounded sad

about not seeing me tonight. I’d missed

that asshole. I actually couldn’t wait to

see him again, and I never felt like that

about a guy. Did he not feel the same?

You see? This is why getting close

to someone sucks. It’s a constant

guessing game in which it’s impossible

to keep the upper hand. Someone is

always disappointed, and right now it’s

you. Get a fucking grip.

But I stayed grouchy through the rest

of the work day and didn’t even bother

to go home and change before meeting

Claire and Margot, because I didn’t

want to take the chance of running into

him. First, I wanted him to think I didn’t

care that much about seeing him tonight,

and second, I didn’t trust myself not to

ditch the girls and rip his clothes off the

moment I saw his face.

It was Margot’s turn to pick the spot,

and she chose Marais, an upscale French

restaurant in Grosse Pointe with an

elegant bar and lounge that wasn’t

exactly formal, but still likely to be full

of crusty people like Tripp in coats and

ties. I did like the cheese selection,

though, which they wheeled out on a cart

and gushed over before slicing portions

onto a plate for you. I didn’t give a shit

about artisanal goats, but I had to admit

it was all pretty tasty, served with bread

and crackers and honey. They had a great

wine list too.

I forgot all about my bad mood when

I entered the bar and saw my friends

sitting next to each other in a huge velvet

booth, Margot visibly upset and Claire’s

hand on her arm.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sliding

onto the bench across from them.

“It’s nothing,” Margot said, fighting

for composure. “A fight with Tripp.”

“About what?”

“You’ll think it’s dumb.”

“Margot, no, I won’t.” I sat forward

with my elbows on my knees, leaning

toward her. “Talk to me.”

She sniffed and pulled a

handkerchief out of her purse. Claire and

I exchanged a surreptitious smile—

Margot was the only woman we knew

who actually carried little white hankies

in her purse, monogrammed with her

initials. We sometimes teased her about

stuff like that, but this wasn’t the time.

“It’s just—I thought we were really

getting closer to an engagement. He’s

dropped hints here and there, and he

knows it’s what I want. He even asked

me before Christmas about what sort of

ring I’d like, so I thought maybe it would

be a Christmas gift. But it wasn’t.”

“What did he get you again?” Claire

asked.

“A Chanel bag and some earrings

from Tiffany.” Only Margot could make

those gifts sound like a disappointment.

“How dare he,” I teased, trying to

make her smile.

She did, but barely. “I’m sorry, you

guys. I sound like a spoiled brat, pouting

because I didn’t get exactly what I

wanted when I wanted it.”

“You’re allowed to be disappointed.

It’s OK,” Claire said, rubbing her

shoulder. “You guys have been together

for a while, and it’s only natural for you

to be excited about taking the next step.”

God, Claire was such a nicer person

than I was. All I could think was,
See?

This is what happens when you give

someone the power to make you happy

—they can use it to let you down, too.

“I just don’t understand why he’s

dragging his feet,” Margot went on,

dabbing at her eyes. “He says he loves

me. He’s good to me. My family adores

him; his family adores me. We come

from the same world, have the same

values, want the same things for our

future.”

Babies with little whale pajamas?
I

thought before I could help it.

“Well, what happened today?”

Claire asked.

“It was last night, actually. I was

being passive-aggressive and made a

comment about being so old on my

wedding day my dad would have to

wheel me up the aisle, and he got

defensive.” Margot shook her head. “It

was my fault. I shouldn’t have poked at

him.”

“I don’t think you were wrong to

want to know where things stand, though,

Margot,” I told her. “He should be up

front with you. But rather than hint

around, can’t you ask him flat out what

he’s thinking? Or tell him what you’re

thinking? That’s not issuing an

ultimatum. It’s just being honest.”

“But I’m scared,” she said. “What if

his answer isn’t what I want to hear?”

I shook my head—this made no

sense to me. Did she want to be

deceived? “Why wouldn’t you want to

hear the truth?”

“Because it might hurt.” She

shrugged helplessly. “What if he doesn’t

want me to be his wife, and I just wasted

the last three years of my life? What if he

tells me I’m not the one? What if he

doesn’t think I’m good enough?”

“Then he’d be a total fucking idiot,”

I snapped, angry at the thought. “He’ll

never do better than you.”

I wasn’t even blowing smoke up her

ass, it was totally true. Besides being

smart, fun, and generous, Margot had the

cool, aristocratic beauty of a Grace

Kelly or a Hitchcock blonde. Sure, she’d

grown up in a home with an elevator and

a private French tutor, and she could be

a bit clueless about the ninety-nine

percent (the first day we met in ninth

grade, she asked me in all earnestness

where I boarded my horse), but she

made fun of herself all the time.

Sometimes she texted Claire and me

things like,
When a sommelier tries to

substitute the 88 Bordeaux for the 89.

Please. #MargotProblems

“I agree,” Claire said firmly. “I think

he does want to marry you, and he’s just

being a guy and putting off settling down.

Try what Jaime said—talk to him openly

about it.”

Margot touched the hankie to her

nose once more just as a waiter

appeared at our table.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“We’ll have the
charcuterie
and

fromage
,” said Margot, suddenly all

poise and confidence, back straight.

Letting a stranger see her upset was not

her style. “And I’ll have a glass of

riesling.”

But after we’d ordered and the

waiter left, Margot’s spine curled and

she looked distraught again. “OK, I’ll do

it. I’ll talk to him. Maybe this weekend.”

“Good girl,” I said. Personally, I

thought Margot could do a hundred times

better than Tripp and didn’t understand

the rush to get married anyway, but if she

had her heart set on it, I’d support her. It

was sad to me, though, that my gorgeous,

classy, normally confident friend was

letting a man dictate her self-worth.

That’s what happens when women

fall in love, though. They lose

themselves. They lose perspective. They

lose control over their own happiness.

Thank God I was smart enough to

know it.

This arrangement with Quinn was

really the best—I had all the perks of

being in a couple and none of the

heartache…as long as I kept my cool, I’d

be OK.

For that reason, I did not check my

phone even once to see if he’d texted.

I left Marais around ten, and his car

was on the street when I arrived home.

Just go upstairs
, I told myself as I

hurried up the walk.
Do not stop, do not

knock, do not check your phone.

I was unlocking the front door when

he pulled it open. “Hey, you!” He threw

his arms around me, pulling me inside,

just like he had the day he moved in. “I

saw you pull up. Did you get my text?”

“No,” I said, disturbed by the way

my pulse was racing. “When did you

send it?”

“I don’t know, maybe an hour ago. I

kept telling myself not to bug you on

girls’ night, but then I couldn’t resist.”

He took my wrists, tugged on them

playfully. “I missed your face.”

“Just my face?” I made a joke while

I tried to get my bearings. If I let him

know how happy I was to see him, to

know that he’d texted, that was bad,

right?

“Maybe I missed a few other parts of

you.”

“My brain, no doubt. My dazzling

intellect. My sharp wit.”

His eyes flicked left. “Yeah, let’s go

with that.”

“Thanks.”

“So would your intellect be

available right now for, um, a

consultation? See, I have this really

hard…decision to make, and I think

some heated
discussion
might help me…

penetrate the issue. Gain some insight.”

“Really. You have a hard
decision
.”

He nodded. “So hard it’s painful.”

I smiled, feeling like I was on

familiar ground again. Sex and games I

could handle. “Well, I can’t leave a

friend with such a pressing problem.

Want to come upstairs for a pow-wow?

I’ll try my best to wrap my
intellect

around your pre
dic
ament.”

He slipped an arm around my waist,

the other around my neck, and kissed me

hard. “My predicament would be

delighted to come upstairs, downstairs,

or anywhere else you want it to.”

“SO, did you miss me? You haven’t

said.” Quinn turned onto his side and

propped his head on his elbow.

I was stretched out on my back next

to him. We’d just finished round two,

during which I’d executed the

Wheelbarrow
and
the Reverse Cowgirl,

so I was winded as hell. (We’d been so

impatient for round one, it had happened

on the stairs with zero finesse from

either one of us, although I’d probably

have a bruise on my tailbone tomorrow.)

“I may have thought about you once

or twice,” I teased.

“Once or twice, huh?”

I shrugged. “I don’t want you to get a

big head or anything.”

He sat up. “Liar. You love when I get

a big head. Be right back.”

Giggling, I sat up and hit him with

my pillow as he got out of bed. “Jerk.”

He went into the guest bathroom like

he always did, and I went into mine,

thankful for the way he respected my

need for space after sex. A lot of guys

would have just used mine because it

was closer. Quinn was considerate like

that.

After using the bathroom, I took my

pill and brushed my teeth. Believe it or

not, I was actually contemplating asking

him to stay the night, but when I came out

of the bathroom, he wasn’t back in my

room. The hall light was on, so I threw

on a T-shirt and went out to the living

room, where a shirtless Quinn was

tugging on his jeans.

“Had to find my pants,” he said, his

hair messy and flopping in his face. He

pushed it back. “The rest of my clothes

are still down there, but I brought yours

up. They’re on the couch.”

“Thanks.” I stood there for a second,

arms crossed, not wanting him to leave

but not certain asking him to stay was