Let's Be Frank (24 page)

I shoot her a wide-eyed look. Appeasement is no justification for giving away
our
current venture. Her eyes flick away from mine, though, and she grins across the table at Kyle.

“Oh, yeah!” He sets down his spoon and gives her a look reminiscent of a grateful dog being thrown a slice of bacon. “How’s that going, anyway?” He claps a hand on my shoulder. I’m too stunned to shrug it off. “Way to take one for the team, Nate. You’re a better man than I am. I wouldn’t put my face on a bunch of girlie books.”

“They’re excellent books! And what would you know about it?” I demand.

He stops touching me. “I’m sure they’re very well-written, if Frankie wrote them.”

“She did.”

He laughs. “I know. I didn’t mean for it to sound like she may not have.”

Frankie reaches across the table but stops short of touching my hand. “I asked Kyle for some advice—you know, on a business and marketing level—and his tips have been helpful.”

Betty nearly spits out a mouthful of wine. “Wait a minute. What’s wrong with what
I’ve
been doing so far?”

With a shrug, Frankie says, “Nothing! I wanted some new ideas, that’s all.”

“Then you should have told me, and I would have brainstormed some for you.”

“Ladies, ladies…” Kyle interrupts, then pauses as our waiter pays us a visit, exchanging our soup bowls for salad plates and refreshing our beverages. As soon as he’s gone, Kyle says, “Nothing I said was earth-shattering. Basic business sense, that’s all.”

“Oh, so my skills are remedial?” Betty stabs a weed and shoves it into her mouth.

“No!” He chuckles and soothes, “That’s not what I meant, either. I was just sharing a few things I’ve had to learn the hard way, so Frankie wouldn’t have to suffer through the same growing pains.”

Pointing to him with her fork, Betty orders, “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not!”

Frankie sighs. “Sorry I said anything. I thought it would be something we all had in common and could talk about. Forget it.”

“How could you tell him?” I hiss at her. “My parents don’t even know!”

“I was excited about it. He’s my friend.”

“I have friends, too, but I haven’t told anyone.”

“They’re
my
books, though.”

“It’s
my
face!”

“Big deal… You posed for a picture and play dress-up on the weekends.”

“Oh, snap…” Betty mutters while I grind my teeth and glare at the person who’s supposed to be my
girlfriend.

Kyle inserts, “You don’t have to worry, man; I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Slowly, I swivel my head to look at him. “You know what,
man
? I think you’d be wise to keep your mouth shut, for once.”

“Hey!” he and Frankie say in unison.

“Oh, please!” I snap.

Frankie tosses her napkin on the table. “I don’t feel well. I’d like to leave.”

When I eagerly rise to comply with her wishes, she turns away from me and says to Betty, “Can you drive me home?”

Betty pauses chewing, then resumes and swallows. “But… I’m not finished eating.”

“I’ll take you home,” I say to Frankie’s steely profile. She continues to ignore me while silently beseeching her best friend.

Kyle slides from the booth and stands next to me. I straighten my spine to make myself as tall as possible without going on tiptoe, so I’ll look less like a member of the Lollipop Guild next to him.

“I’ll drive you, Frankie,” he says quietly but firmly.

“No, you won’t!” I immediately protest, drawing looks from the dignified diners around us.

Betty continues to eat, saying behind her hand to hide her full mouth, “Let them go.”

Our waiter sidles up to us. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

“Not at all,” Kyle answers for all of us. “My friend isn’t feeling well—nothing to do with the food, I assure you,” he quickly adds when his explanation raises panic in the server’s eyes. “I’m going to take her home. Can you make sure my two other friends enjoy the rest of the meal?” He digs in his wallet and peels off six one-hundred-dollar bills. “That should cover everything, with some left over for you.”

“Of course, Mr. MacDonald. Thank you. Have a good evening.”

Kyle cups Frankie’s elbow in his hand. “We will, thanks.” With a nod to Betty and me, he steers Frankie away.

“Wait a second!” I hiss at their retreating backs, mindful of the stares of the other diners.

I take a step to go after them, but Betty says, “Don’t even think about leaving me here like I’m some kind of a loser, Nathaniel. Sit down.”

I’m aware that by not following them,
I
look like the loser here, and there will be hell to pay later, but I couldn’t possibly deliver an apology right now, and it’s clear Frankie’s not going to be apologizing anytime soon… or ever. I’m also not the type who would ever challenge another man—especially not a mountain of a man like Kyle—to a Neanderthalish duel over a woman. So what’s the point in following?

Does it suck that some other guy is taking my girlfriend home right now? It should probably suck more than I think it does. But at this point, I’m relieved not to have to spend any more time with her tonight.

Plus, I don’t want to be the jerk who deserts a woman in a fancy restaurant to finish her meal alone, so I retake my seat and drop my head in my hand.

Betty sets down her fork. After draining the remainder of her wine, she states calmly, “Well. We seem to have fucked that up hardcore.”

What else is new?

Chapter Sixteen

Loud knocking on my front door wakes me from the soundest sleep I’ve had all week. It takes me a few seconds to realize the rhythmic pounding isn’t part of the dream I was having about… well, never mind. I collapsed here what feels like seconds ago after working a thirteen-hour day that started before sunrise, and I’m not in the mood for visitors.

When the banging fills the living room after I’m fully aware I’m awake, I groan and sit up on the couch. And nearly poke out my own eye.

I call out groggily, “Who is it?” hoping I don’t have to answer the door with a giant erection.

“It’s Betty. I need to talk to you.”

Dismayed for a number of reasons, I look down at the highly visible one in my lap. “Alright. Uh… hang on a boner— I mean, a moment!” I push down on it, but that only seems to be encouraging… things. Cursing under my breath, I hobble to the door, my hand cupped over my crotch, and pull open the door the smallest crack I can without looking like Jack Nicholson in
The Shining.

“Hey!” I say to her, trying to sound normal. “What’s up?”
Besides my pecker.

My silent addition to the innocuous greeting makes me blush.

She looks askance at me. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Do you want to come in?”

One of her eyes narrows while the other widens. “Do you have someone in there?”

“What? No!”

“Why are you acting so shifty? Why don’t you invite me in?”

I pull the door wider and, without thinking, remove my hand from in front of myself to make a sweeping, welcoming gesture with my arm. “By all means…”

Her glance is drawn immediately south, but she quickly looks away and shields her eyes from the sight. “Good grief, Nathaniel! What the hell are you doing?” She turns completely away from me.

“I’m sorry!” I say, mortified and contrite, covering myself once more and turning my back to her. “I just woke up.”

“You’re not the only one who’s wide awake and perky,” she observes.

“You act like you’ve never seen one before!” I snap, my embarrassment, stress, and exhaustion contributing to some wild mood swings.

“Not yours!”

“Well, you still haven’t. I’m fully clothed.”

“Those thin scrubs aren’t leaving much to the imagination.”

We stand back-to-back until finally, my little… er, perfectly average-sized… buddy gets the hint and returns to his relaxed (more like humiliated and hiding) state, so I adjust myself and turn to face her, crossing my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask, dreading the answer but figuring it would be best to just get the conversation over with, like ripping off the proverbial Band-Aid from one of my hairy legs.

She bats her thick eyelashes at me over her shoulder and advances into the house, dropping her thirty-pound purse onto the floor by my couch. My heart races, but she simply says, “It’s good to see you, too,” so it’s impossible to tell if she’s being coy or truly doesn’t remember what happened last weekend. I wish I could say I didn’t, that I haven’t been thinking about it constantly.

After Frankie and Kyle left the restaurant, I was too mad to eat or even get drunk on Kyle’s sixty-thousand dimes, so I sat at the table and pouted while Betty got drunk enough for both of us. Eventually, I started talking. Then it was like I couldn’t stop. I whined about everything from never having a day off (thanks to being Frank) to my lack of a sex life (yep) to being treated like an employee by my own girlfriend (oh, yeah). It got ugly.

“What happened to, ‘I can’t do this without you?’” I wondered aloud over and over.

Thank goodness Betty was too drunk to comprehend half the things I was saying. She kept slurring, “Fuck yeah!” to everything I said.

That was the extent of her engagement for the rest of the evening… until she French kissed me when I saw her to her door. But I told myself she was drunk and merely keeping with the French theme of the evening.

I took possession of her keys and unlocked her door, through which I firmly guided her and said a quick goodnight.

Remembering it brings a flush to my cheeks.

“Oh, good grief. Just forget it,” she says to me now with a flippant laugh.

I shake my head at her. “What? I mean, I’m trying, but—”

“You had nap wood. Whatever. Moving on…” Looking around my living room, she nods her head. “Nice place. Did your mom decorate it for you?” She shoots me a teasing smile and wink.

Trying to keep up with her chaotic conversation, I blurt, “No! I’m an adult.”

“Relax! I’m only kidding. This is the first time I’ve ever been inside your house. And it’s… nice. Probably not as nice as your brother’s place around the corner. My gosh, Frankie drove me past there one day when we were bored, and… What type of surgery did you say he does? Plastic?”

I open my mouth to correct her, but she waves away my answer.

“Anyway. Whatever. This place is much cozier. And very tastefully decorated. You know, I’ve been in some bachelor pads where the owner obviously thought Lego models made for some sweet tchotchkes, the picture frames still held the photos of the model families, and the household’s most sophisticated reading material featured women in their underwear… and was located in the bathroom. And don’t even get me started on the housekeeping. No, this is nice. You get major points for being a big boy.”

Murmuring a sarcastic thanks, I pray she doesn’t need to use the bathroom while she’s here as I picture that Victoria’s Secret catalogue on top of the toilet tank. “So, uh, what can I do for— I mean, what’s up?” I inquire, wishing I didn’t feel so tired and wrong-footed.

She looks like she’s about to answer my question, and it’s not going to be something I want to hear, but then she stops short and scrutinizes me. “Seriously. Are you okay? You look… awful.”

I rub my eight o’clock shadow. “Thanks. And yes, I’m fine. Exhausted, that’s all. That’s what happens when you work an Urgent Care shift the day after your brother’s bachelor party.”

She winces.

“Yeah. I didn’t have any more Saturdays to trade with people, since I’ve been gone so often lately on the weekends.” I look pointedly at her, but she raises her hands in front of her chest as if to say,
Don’t blame me.

I narrow my eyes and snort at her, because it’s absolutely her fault. Before I can remind her she’s the one who sets the public appearance schedule for Frank, she shakes her head as if trying to puzzle through something.

“Now, explain to me why you had the bachelor party the week before the wedding.”

I sigh. “Heidi didn’t want Nick to be hungover on
her
wedding day, so she forbade a wedding-eve bachelor party. I couldn’t throw my brother’s party in the middle of the week, could I?”

“No! Completely lame-o!” She plops on the couch and sits sideways, her head propped against her hand.

“It was still kind of lame, since I couldn’t drink, but everyone else seemed to have a good time.”

“So do you have pictures from last night, or is that against some Man Code?”

“It’s the ‘Bro Code,’ first of all; and yes, I’ll probably be breaking every rule in it
when
I show you the pictures, but… I’m going to, anyway, because they’re epic.”

And if it keeps us from talking about that kiss, I’ll gladly bust wide open the precious Bro Code.