Cheating on Myself (11 page)

I recognized a few people from work, and saw Cat and Travis making their way toward me in the kitchen. As I waited for them to finish chatting with a couple wearing matching bathrobes, I felt someone pluck my hat off my head.

“Hey!” I said, turning to find one of those vinyl gorilla masks staring back at me. “A band leader needs her kick-ass hat. Can I get it back please?”

Whoever was wearing the mask ignored me, and placed the hat on their furry head instead.

“Who’s in there?” I asked, annoyed at the gorilla’s juvenile behavior.

Silence. I could tell it was a man—his slim hips and muscular thighs were perfectly wrapped inside a pair of Levis. The legs didn’t look familiar—I’d remember those legs—and the strange plaid shirt didn’t look like anything one of my coworkers would wear. Was it one of Lily’s ex-boyfriends? Unlikely, since she only dated hipsters, investment bankers, and guys who were far too obsessed with their own image to wear that specific style of plaid.

“I’d appreciate my hat back,” I said again, a little more insistently this time. I knew how stupid my hair looked without the hat, and it kinda just looked like I’d picked an ugly outfit instead of attempting a real costume if I wasn’t wearing the hat.

“Greg?” I asked, wondering if maybe it was Greg Kling, from HR. He had a tendency to act like a sixth grader on occasion, and he’d been laid off yesterday. Maybe he was expressing his anger by annoying me.

The gorilla grabbed a beer off the counter. He stuck a straw in the top of the bottle and pushed the straw inside the vinyl gorilla mouth to take a swig.

Just as I was starting to get weirded out, in addition to annoyed, Cat extracted herself from the conversation she’d been having with the Bathrobe couple, leaving Travis behind. She gave me a big hug and said, “You
have
to come trick-or-treating with the girls tomorrow. They’ll die when they see you dressed up as a Dog Hound. That’s what you are, right? It’s fabu.”

That’s when gorilla-man finally spoke. “I think you may owe me royalties or something. At the very least a little fee for intellectual property theft.” The gorilla mask came off, and Joe—star of the Dog Hounds—stood in front of me. His face was flushed from being tucked up under the mask, and I immediately noticed he was so much better looking than he had been at the concert the weekend before. Without the ridiculous overalls, silly hat, and puffed up hair, he looked like a relaxed, super-cute guy with a full head of sandy-brown waves. “Nice costume.”

“Why on earth are you at this party?” I asked, taken aback. “That is an impossible coincidence. Isn’t it?”

“I have to agree with you. You are dressed as me, after all.” Joe smirked. He nodded at Cat, who was staring at him like a superstar had suddenly appeared at the party. I watched his ego inflate, right there in front of us. “I can’t imagine when you put on that outfit, you thought you’d run into
the
Joe.” He patted his muscled chest proudly.

“How do you know Lily?” I ignored his ego, and tried to change the subject. It couldn’t hurt to chat with him, even if he was a prick.

“I went to college with Chad. Frat brothers.”

Great, a frat boy
and
a musician. He was getting less appealing by the second.

Joe handed me my cowboy hat, and I dropped it back on my head. His eyes scanned me from head to toe, lingering near the curvy bits that were mercifully hidden under my overalls. His mouth curled into a lazy smile as he met my gaze to say, “You look cute dressed as a Dog Hound. It helps that you’re dressed as the best-looking Dog Hound. You even got my show hair down.”

“Your hair looks normal tonight,” I quipped, rolling my eyes at Cat. I couldn’t keep myself from wondering if this man-child thought his self-promotion was charming. Cat gave me a look, then excused herself. I was left alone with Joe’s hot thighs and smug attitude. She had told me he was a player—why would she leave me with him? He and I were not going to happen. But I figured it couldn’t hurt to flirt, as long as I stopped short of jumping him. Which, three or four drinks in, was a real possibility. “I’m Stella, by the way.”

“Joe.” He obviously hadn’t paid attention or really noticed me when I’d introduced myself the first time. Not that I would have expected him to, but it just verified all the rumors about him and women and showed he hadn’t actually been that interested in me.

“I know you’re Joe.” I gestured to my outfit. “Obviously.”

We looked at each other in awkward silence for a few seconds, and then I quickly swallowed down the remnants of my drink. I popped both of my remaining olives in my mouth, chewing slowly to savor the yummy blue cheese. I sort of hated olives, but they were okay when they were bathed in liquor and stuffed with blue cheese. Eating the olives also gave me an excuse to not talk for a few more seconds. Why the hell was I so attracted to someone everyone knew was a player?

“Are your kids fans of the band or something?” Joe asked, taking another swig of his beer. He twirled the gorilla mask around and around his left hand. “I remember now… you were at one of our shows.”

“I brought my nieces—I mean, not my nieces, but my sorta-nieces.” I didn’t really want to get into the story of how I was linked to Pippa and Heidi. Joe didn’t ask any questions. I hadn’t expected him to, since he was probably just trying to find the fastest path into my overalls. “It was a good show.”

“Are you a regular at kids’ band shows?”

“No, not exactly. It was my first time.”

“Did you enjoy it?” He puckered his lips into a smug half-smile. I think he was trying to be cute. It worked.

“You guys are really good,” I said, trying to remember how to flirt. I was buzzed and faced with a cute guy who I would surely never see again. This was my chance to test my single-girl skills out in the wild. I decided I could let myself act stupid with a guy for one night. “Do you practice a lot?” Okay, so I sucked at flirting. Wasn’t I supposed to say something coy or suggestive that meant something other than what it actually sounded like I was asking? Instead, I sounded like a journalist.

Joe leaned against the kitchen island casually, obviously accustomed to crappy flirts. He was used to hitting on married moms—some of them had to be out of practice, too. Was it obvious I thought he was hot? “Yes, we practice a lot.”

“So do you, um, have a real job?”

“Yeah, I’m a musician.”

“What kind of musician?”

“I play the banjo in a band called the Dog Hounds.”

“That’s your real job?”

“Yep. Sometimes I tend bar for friends at events—weddings and whatever—but it’s not a moneymaker or anything. I just do it to help out friends if they need it.”

“Oh.” I felt like a real ass for pressing on the band thing, but it seemed impossible that was his real job. Was being in a children’s band an actual profession?

“People ask me about the band a lot—most people assume you can’t actually make a living in a local band. I’m not rich, in case that’s something that matters to you, but I do make a decent enough living to do what I want to do with my life.”

“Cool,” I said, feeling like even more of an ass. “That’s fine.”

“I’m delighted you approve.” He smirked again. I hated smirkers. He finished his beer and leaned in close to me to say, “Even though I make a decent living playing kids’ birthday parties and stuff, I do rely on miscellaneous income to pay my cell phone bill. Royalties, for example.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around my overall strap. My breath caught in my throat. “Can I get some cash for your use of the costume?”

I blushed because his hand was so close to my boob. I suddenly felt like I was seventeen. He wasn’t actually touching my chest, but I was responding to his hand like he was. In fact, I was acting like my friend, Tina, had when the lead singer of our high school talent show band told her she could give him a blowjob backstage. It was like she’d been honored with a real reward.

“Are you serious? You want me to pay you for use of your likeness?”

“No, I’m not serious.” He laughed and narrowed his eyes at me. He let go of my overalls, letting his hand drop back by his side. “You, however, are a very serious person, aren’t you, Stella?”

“I’m not a serious person,” I said, even though it was probably a bit of a lie. “Hey, if you’re a bartender, how about making me a fresh drink?” This was better. Talking to a banjo player-slash-bartender about alcohol was probably a better way to flirt.

He threw his gorilla head onto the floor and rubbed his hands together. “You got it. What do you like?”

“Surprise me,” I said, and impressed myself with the flirty undercurrents in my voice. I wasn’t terrible at this. Even though Erik had always laughed at me when I’d tried to seduce him, I had obviously learned something through years of watching cheesy romance movies.

Joe stepped around to the other side of the kitchen island, and pulled a few bottles away from where Chad stood, mixing drinks for guests. The rest of the party was in full swing now, and I looked around while Joe energetically mixed a little of this and a little of that into the cocktail shaker. I spotted a few people from work lounging around the couch. I knew at least one of them, Fiona, had lost her job when I lost my Fridays, since she was in the same row of cubes as me. Fiona had always been fondly referred to as “Happy Bear” at work, but now she looked anything but—she sat sullenly on the couch holding an empty beer bottle and wearing a pair of vampire teeth. I grinned at her and she nodded back.

“You know a lot of people at this party?” Joe asked, pulling my attention back toward him.

“Yeah, a few coworkers and some mutual friends. I came with my roommate.” I pointed to Anders, who was animatedly chatting up Corinne Andrews from work. If Corinne was interested in someone like Greg Kling, who was built like a football player and had soft, ebony skin, she certainly wasn’t going to go for Anders. He was pretty, but he also looked like the kind of guy who got regular manicures. I suspected Anders wasn’t really planning to go home with anyone that night anyway. He flirted like a professional, but always came home alone.

Joe waved at Anders, and Anders tentatively waved back. “Your boyfriend?” Joe asked.

“Not even close,” I answered. “A good friend.”

“How does your boyfriend feel about you living with a guy who looks like that?”

“You think Anders is cute? Your type?” I was flirting!

“Sure, he’s a good-looking guy. I would guess the kind of guy you would date wouldn’t be too psyched about you living with someone who looks like, um, Anders. Am I right?”

“What do you mean, ‘the kind of guy I would date?’ What kind of guy is that?”

“A serious guy.” Joe shrugged. “Corporate type.”

“You are quite wrong. I am currently single.” I said this proudly. “And I am offended you think I only date stiffs.”

“I didn’t say stiffs. I said ‘corporate.’ Though I guess they’re the same thing.” He smiled and passed me a drink. It was bright pink and had curls of lemon rind floating on top. “Do you date stiffs?”

I took a sip of the drink and let the delicious, pink-flavored goodness wash down my throat. “Yummy!” I said, forgetting he was annoying me. “And no, I don’t date stiffs. Stop using that word.”

“You brought it up!” He laughed. “Who
do
you date, then?”

“People,” I said haughtily. “I date people.”

Joe rubbed his hand through his thick, wavy hair and moved back around the kitchen island to stand close to me. I could feel heat radiating off him, and I wished his hand was on me again.

“Interesting. You date people. Do you have a type, Stella?”

“No—I’m open,” I said, and wondered if he would take that the wrong way.

“Well then, I guess you’d be open to going out with me.” He said this plainly, casually, like it was such a natural segue. He obviously had some practice in asking women out. It sounded pretty good. “Can I take you out?”

“Oh…” I stammered, caught off guard. I’d certainly realized we’d been flirting, but I hadn’t actually expected him to ask me out. He wasn’t my type. At all. Why on earth would he think I was his? “Um…”

“Here’s how I see it: You owe me a date for making fun of my Dog Hounds outfit. If I can take you out to dinner—and maybe a show or something—then we’re even. You don’t have to give me royalties for use of the Halloween costume.”

“I thought you were joking about the royalties.”

“Let’s pretend I wasn’t. In which case, you owe me a date.”

“Fine.”

He laughed. “It will be fun! I promise. I like to have fun.” He stepped away from me and lifted his eyebrows. “You can take that look off your face.”

“What look?” I’d been trying to look sultry—apparently, it wasn’t translating.

“I’m a good date. I promise. We’ll have fun. Unless you don’t like fun?”

“I like fun. And I think it will be fun. I’m sorry my face looks… whatever.”

“Your face looks beautiful.” He smirked. Again.

“Can you stop smirking? And please don’t say stupid stuff like that. You sound cheesy as hell.”

“Cheesy is better than stiff, right?” He kept smirking. “And you are beautiful. That’s why I’m asking you out.”

“You’re asking me out because I’m beautiful?” Okay, it was flattering. But that line also made me wonder what kind of player I’d just agreed to go out with. “Or you’re asking me out because you think we’ll have a good time?” I wanted to ask if he just thought I was going to be next in his long line of sexual conquests, but that seemed a little rude and presumptuous. It also sounded pretty tempting.

He laughed aloud, which wiped the smirk right off his face. I loved the way his dimples moved up his cheeks and settled in under the outer corners of his eyes when he laughed. He was so cute. Dangerously charming, but still cute.

“I think we’ll have a good time, but I guess that’ll be partially up to you, too.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, forcing me to lean in close to him. He smelled like beer and cinnamon, and I was drunkenly tempted to reach out and touch his hair. “And I do think you’re beautiful.” This time, he didn’t smirk. But then he said, “But that must be because I’m a narcissist. You are, after all, dressed up as me. You’re me, except with breasts. What guy wouldn’t think that’s cool?”