Just Friends With Benefits (20 page)

“Why can’t you believe that I actually like the guy?”

“I don’t know—from what you say, he seems like a withdrawn prick who knows how to fuck. You deserve better.” Suzanne stood up again, walked to the cabinets above her sink and pulled out a green box. When she returned to the table, she handed me a box of Girl Scout cookies.

Ignoring the box, I said, “There’s more to him than meets the eye. I saw some of it but each time we started to make progress, something got in the way. I just wanted more time.”

“Well, you can always take more time. I’m sure he’d be fine maintaining your friends with benefits status while you continue to try to figure him out.” Pulling out the tray of Thin Mints, she said, “Take one.”

I popped a cookie in my mouth, but the cool minty flavor just brought back memories of Hille’s fresh breath when he kissed me. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought we were fated to be together after all these years, but I guess not. I can’t do it anymore. It’s not worth it.”

“You said it. Not me. Perhaps you’re right—maybe there
is
more to him than meets the eye. But you don’t know that for sure, so you’re really not losing anything except great sex which, by the way, you’ll find with someone else eventually. And if it’s fate, it’s not in your control anyway. Time will tell,” she said.

“Fair enough. Okay, I must pee!”

As I ran to the bathroom, I heard Suzanne shout, “While you’re in there, take a look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a smokin’ hottie, girl!”

While in the bathroom, I smiled at my mirror image, noting my blue teeth thanks to the red wine. I shook out my head of thick, long, dark hair and peered into the reflection of my big hazel eyes. Smokin hottie? I never really thought of myself that way. Cute? Okay. Pretty? I guess. Hot? I didn’t think so, but God bless Suzanne for saying so. I was unlikely to be discovered by a model/talent agent, but despite my limited relationship experience, I had attracted the attention of quite a few men in my thirty-two years and Hille wasn’t exactly being charitable by screwing me either. Some might say he got pretty lucky, too. So no more negativity, I decided. Suzanne was right; self-loathing was not the way to go.

I just hoped my new found perspective on the situation would not fade with my buzz, leaving me back at square one tomorrow, along with a red wine migraine.

Think positive. So my past experience with the online dating scene was less than successful. As Suzanne said, ‘It only takes one!’ He seemed kind of cool on the phone and his pictures were decent. And if there was no spark, at least I’d get a free drink out of it. Unless he was cheap. I let out a sigh, ran my hands quickly through my hair and walked into Rhino Bar & Pumphouse in Georgetown. I hoped he’d be there before me. I hated the awkwardness of waiting and, unlike Hille, had no Blackberry to look at in the meantime. I chanted to myself,

‘I will not think about Hille. Will
not
think about Hille.’

While I pretended to be self-assured and not at all anxious, I scanned the bar packed with frat boys in Red Sox baseball caps and girls wearing navel-bearing sleeveless shirts and designer jeans. In what was clearly a sports bar, I felt over-dressed in my straight-from-work black pencil skirt, white blouse and black pumps.

We planned to meet in the upstairs bar and when I saw him sitting on one of the couches, I recognized him immediately except that he didn’t do justice to his pictures. He was heavier, looked like a poster child for the before pictures in a ProActiv commercial and was just plain dorky looking. I knew instantly he would not be my rebound guy from Hille. We made eye contact and I smiled, hoping it looked sincere as I approached him.

He smiled back and stood up. “Stephanie?”

“That’s me. Kenny, I assume?”

He offered me his hand and said, “Good to meet you.”

Shaking hands with a perspective soul mate was the opposite of sexy. As I shook his hand, I noticed the wiry, pubic-like black hairs that ran up and down his arm. I sat down next to him, leaving ample personal space between us and said, “Same here.”

Pointing to his left eye, he asked, “Does my eye look red?”

I peered at his eye which did look very red and said, “Kind of.”

Rolling his contact lens in the palm of his hand, he said, “I’m legally blind in my right eye which makes it more vital that my left function at full capacity.”

“Oh,” I said. Scanning the room, I thought to myself, this is going to be a long night. But then I remembered that even though a romantic relationship was out of the question, the date might still be fun. Must think positive.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“What are you drinking?” I asked.

Kenny coughed while I awaited his answer. Then he coughed again. “You okay?” I asked. “Need some water?”

Kenny took a sip of his drink, looked at me as if to say something and resumed coughing. With one hand covering his mouth, he got up and gestured with the other hand that he’d be back in a minute and walked over to the bar. While he was gone, I scanned the room again, hoping no one thought he was my boyfriend. And then I felt guilty for caring what anyone else thought and decided to be nice again. When he returned, he had stopped coughing and handed me a bottle of Sam Adams Light. I smiled and said, “Glad you’re okay. I hate coughing fits.” I took the beer from his hand and took a long sip. Raising the beer in my hand, I said, “Thanks for the beer.”

“Yeah, I swallowed my gum with the beer,” he said. Angling his body toward mine, he said, “So, if I avoid eye contact, it’s just because I have difficulty focusing with sight in just the one eye.”

Leaning backwards, I said, “No problem.”

Kenny ordered mozzarella sticks and fried calamari to share and I told him about the Pub Crawl I did on St. Patrick’s Day with some friends from work. “I love green beer!” I said.

“The food coloring has no taste,” Kenny said dryly.

“I know. But the fact that it’s green makes it more festive. Don’t you think?”

Kenny gave me a blank stare. “The food coloring is poison.”

I couldn’t think of a response, so I just shrugged.

Interrupting our awkward silence, a waitress stopped in front of us and asked if we needed anything.”

Pointing at the plates already on our table, Kenny yelled, “We already ordered!”

I scanned the room again and hoped I wouldn’t wind up with whiplash. There were plenty of cute guys in the bar, smiling and having a grand old time with their friends watching college basketball on the enormous television screens. I wished I was out with one of them. Or with Suzanne. Or at home watching “The Apprentice.’ Where was the pleasant guy from the phone? Why did I waste forty-five minutes getting to know him when the in-person version was a completely different model?

About an hour later, Kenny and I stood outside of the bar. “Thanks for treating,” I said.

“My pleasure,” he said. “Can I kiss you?”

I took two steps away from him. “I had a nice time, Kenny. But I don’t feel a romantic vibe. I hope we can be friends, though.” As I flashed back to hearing almost the same words from Hille, I discovered that giving this speech was almost as bad as receiving it. I wanted to go home.

Kenny gave me a wry look and a half smile. “No problem.”

I started to hail down a taxi when Kenny said, “Can we do this again sometime?”

At that moment, I hated dating more than doing my laundry. I turned away from the street, looked at Kenny and said, “Okay,” hoping a cab would read my mind and stop at my feet at that precise moment.

“But you didn’t want me to kiss you.”

I raised my hand in the air and as the taxi approached, said, “If we go out again, it would have to be as friends.” Crawling into the cab, I said, “I hope that’s okay.”

Looking disappointed, Kenny said, “Sure,” and as the cab drove in one direction, I turned around and saw him walk in the opposite one.

Never again, I vowed, which is what I told Suzanne when I called her from the cab on my way home.

“That bad, huh?” she said.

“Yes, that bad,” I confirmed.

“At least you got free drinks and food—a girl’s gotta eat!”

“A bottle of Sam Light and a mozzarella stick, Suze. I was afraid to eat off of the same plate in case he started coughing again. I’m thinking of ordering Chinese when I get home. Seriously, the only thing we had in common was a disinterest in golf. And he took me to a Red Sox bar even though there are pictures of me on my profile wearing a Yankee baseball cap! And I mentioned I was a Yankee fan on the phone, too. Thankfully we still have a few weeks before baseball season starts because if there was a Yankee/Red Sox game on, I’d probably have gotten my ass kicked.”

Laughing, Suzanne said, “They say opposites attract, you know.”

“Sure, but there was no attraction of any kind.”

“That’s bad. How’d you end things?”

“He asked if I wanted to go out again and I responded with an unenthusiastic “Okay.” Hopefully, he’ll get the hint and not call. We had nothing to talk about. I have no clue why he’d want to go out again anyway.”

“Cuz you’re a smokin’ hottie. What did I tell you? Anyway, better luck next time, girlfriend.”

“Like I said, there won’t be a next time.”

“It only takes...”

As the cab stopped in front of my apartment and I paid the driver, I said to Suzanne, “One. I know. It only takes one.”

It was late but pre-closing meetings sometimes lasted all night. I tried to keep my eyes open while Gerard and the counsel for the other side reviewed the long list of documents which would be signed at the closing. I yawned and stretched my arms over my head. As I dropped them back to the sides of my body, I locked eyes with Gerard. He nodded, indicating I could take a break. I quietly left the conference room and went to my office. I debated whether to call my mom or take a nap, but I knew a nap would be of no benefit unless it was at least seven hours in duration. I startled my mom by phoning so late but after I assured her that I hadn’t been mugged, raped or hit by a car, she was happy to hear from me.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you much lately. Things have been crazy at work. I’m still here,” I said.

“It’s almost eleven! Are you going home soon?”

Her voice sounded groggy and I worried that I’d awoken her or, worse, interrupted her having sex with Al. “Not likely. The overtime is great, though.”

“What else is new?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Anything interesting to share?”

“No.”

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Although my token answer to that question was “I’m fine,” when I attempted to say the words, I started sobbing. No words came out, just gasps of air.

“Stephanie, what’s wrong?”

I no longer heard the television in the background and I knew my mother was sitting upright on the bed. She was scared and I hated that I frightened her, especially since I had no idea what had come over me. I wiped my eyes with my hands, ignoring the mascara on my fingers which was probably running down my face as well. “Nothing’s wrong,” I gasped.

“You’re crying! Is this about work?”

I shook my head as if my mom could see me. “No.”

“Is this about Hille?”

“I feel like a slut! I went against every relationship how-to book in publication. What’s wrong with me?”

“Honey, you’re not a slut.”

“I’m pathetic,” I insisted. “He said we were friends with benefits and I didn’t listen.”

“So you had a little fun,” my mom said. “You’re entitled! And maybe he’ll come to his senses.”