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17

PATRICK

A couple of days after my date with Michael, I head to work like I normally do, bracing myself for the worst. Tina meets me at the front door with an iced latte. After the first sip, I'm so thankful I could have her babies right here and now.

"How did you have this made? It’s crazy good," I ask, sucking down another few mouthfuls. I'd spent the last two days wondering what it would be like to have sex with Michael, but damn, this coffee could potentially rival all my expectations.

"The usual way, but damn it does taste extra delicious, doesn’t it?"

We walk in silence together down the main hallway of the country club, enjoying our morning drinks. My apprehension about coming to work and facing all the terrible clients has washed away, and I feel a Zen normally reserved for after-glow.

Tina punches in at the time clock, then steps aside so I can do the same thing. There's no way either of us likes being inside this place without getting paid for it. After we officially start our day, we scurry away to find a nice chill place to sit and finish our drinks. The riff raff will be here within the hour, and unless we're both fully caffeinated, the clients are nearly impossible to bear.

We sit on one of the benches outside the employee break room. Tina gets straight to the point. "I want… no, let me rephrase that. I need to hear every last detail of your date with the detective. Do not leave out a single thing. I will be the one who deems it important or not."

"Aggressive this morning, are we?"

"Don’t start with me. I expected you to call me either the night of or the next and spill your guts to me, but you didn’t. Not a peep."

I sigh. "Sorry about that. It went really well, and I was worried that if I said anything positive out loud, I would somehow jinx it."

"Honey, I totally get it, and normally I would agree with you, but the detective is so cute, and I really need to live vicariously through you. So, if you truly love me as your bestie… your partner in crime… your wingman… your reason for living, then you’ll tell me every fucking detail."

Wow, that escalated quickly. It’s either spill my guts and risk the wrath of the dating gods for speaking too soon or watch my bestie spiral into the proverbial toilet.

"Okay, fine," I say. "Where should I start?"

"Um, at any point is there nudity?"

I shake my head.

"Well, just start anywhere then, I suppose." She leans back against the wall as if the story isn’t going to end the way she’d hoped.

I spend the next half an hour going through every little detail of the concert and the dinner afterwards. I tell her how he smelled amazing and even though we didn’t kiss, it felt as if we both wanted to. Debating about how detailed I should be, I eventually even tell her how he bought me concert bling and didn’t even expect a hand job in the car ride home.

"It truly was a magical night."

Tina wipes away tears and buries her face in her hands. She's more emotional now than I've ever seen her, except the one time her casting agent accidentally put out a cigarette on her palm. Come to think of it, I hadn’t asked how the scar treatments were going recently.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She slowly raises her head and blinks away the remaining waterworks. "I’m sorry… so happy for you."

"Why are you crying?"

"You haven’t mentioned Ricky from high school… not once." She reaches over and puts her hand on my knee. "Patrick, this guy’s the one."

A sudden commitment panic rocks me like an earthquake. My heart begins to race, and my palms grow sweaty. I’ve got to chill out. Good god, we went on one date; he didn’t propose.

"Are you okay?" she asks. "You look like you’re going to throw up."

"I’m fine… suddenly got nervous. What if you’re right? What if he’s the one or the guy right before the one. You know how there’s that one person that gets you all prepared to find the love of your life?"

"You’re totally in love."

"Don’t go there, please."

She side-eyes me and lets it drop. I had agreed to go out with him again, but now I’m freaking out. What if he expects too much from me? What if I can’t be the person he wants, but I fall head over heels for him and end up getting hurt along the way?

"What are you two slags crying about?" Devon asks as he walks up to us. "Don’t you have a wrinkly crotch to wax or something?"

"Devon," Tina says. "Why don’t you run along and be the gold digger you were always meant to be."

He glares at us for an uncomfortably long period of time. I'm about to ask him if he’s forgotten his medication to prevent catatonia, but then the spell is seemingly broken.

"I have gossip for you, but maybe you don’t deserve to hear about it," he says.

What could he possibly have to tell us? "We don’t want to hear about how many dicks you had inside you at any given time last night," I say.

"Very funny." He crosses his arms and actually looks hurt by my comment.

Ugh. "I’m sorry, Devon. That was a low blow."

"Not as low as last night, though, Devon? Am I right?" Tina never cared about his feelings and with good reason. He’s always been mean to her. However, something doesn’t feel right to me.

"What’s going on, Devon?" I ask.

He doesn’t immediately respond. His eyes roll back into his head. He’s either being possessed by some long-dead desperate housewife or he’s deciding if he should tell us what he knows.

"I shouldn’t tell you since neither of you deserves to know, but I’m sure you heard about the murders over at Who’s Your Caddy?"

We both nod.

"Well, management here felt it would be a good idea for us to learn self-defense. Officially, the money for this is coming out of any potential raises we were supposed to get, but the class is also voluntary." He crosses his arms and looks away. "If you want to go, there’s a sign-up sheet in the employee locker room."

I turn to Tina. "Should we check it out?"

"This cheap-ass place is going to withhold raises this year because of some stupid self-defense class? This whole thing pisses me off big time. Maybe I should bring my bow and arrow and teach people how to aim for the human heart?"

"Chill, Tina," Devon says. "No one wants to experience your obsession with The Hunger Games. As if it’s not bad enough we had to endure years of you crying about not getting the main role, obsessively talking about how J-Law messed up one of the crucial lines in the movie that only you could have done well. There’s got to be medication to help you with this."

“Go away, Devon,” I say. “We’ll see you later at the class.”

Tina starts to argue, but I put my hand up to stifle the budding debate.

“We need to take the class,” I say. “Let’s go sign up before they take down the sign.”

“Fine,” she says, standing up. “I guess if we aren’t going to get a raise this year, we can stick it to them. Make them pay for our classes.”

“Thanks, Devon,” I say to his back as he walks away. “We owe you one.”

He waves his middle finger at us without looking back. I really wish he and Tina could work out their hatred for each other so we could all start to get along at work. It’s always so stressful dealing with their jabs at each other.

We hurry into the locker room and put our names on the signup sheet.

“Look,” Tina points at the time listed for the class to start. “The club is shutting down early. The class is going to be in two hours.”

“There goes our tips for the day.” How can I afford my rent with one less day of tips? Fuck.

“We better go try and squeeze some cash out of our morning appointments if we can,” Tina suggests. “If we flirt enough, we might still be able to make enough for dinner tonight.”

“Good idea,” I say. “Meet me in the day spa once the club closes for the day. The signup sheet said that’s where the class is being held.”

“Do you think the instructor will be some hot, sexy, muscle-bound beefcake, begging for us to succumb to his manliness?” She starts fanning herself with her hand. “Damn, it’s hot in here.”

“Judging by how sweaty your face just got thinking about it, I hope not.”

We share a quick laugh and then go our separate ways. It’s just my luck we aren’t getting a full day to earn tips. I never miss a day unless I’m on my deathbed. Even then, I’ve come to work with a fever and body aches so I can still make rent.

I turn the corner on my way to the indoor racquetball courts when I notice someone lurking at the end of the hallway. Stopping short of the door, I stare back, trying to get a better view. It isn’t but a few seconds later, a crash from behind me breaks our standoff. I turn to see my boss pushing a full cart of linens. He’s run into the laundry room door. By the way the cart is now bent in the front, it appears he was going at a pretty good clip, and the usually unlocked door wasn’t open.

“Goddammit,” he says.

I turn back, but whoever had been watching me is no longer there. Probably Devon. The guy is harmless but creepy at times. I shrug and step through the doors and into the courts. The squeak of balls and the pounding of feet fill the air as the old patrons relive their youth and try to prove to their opponents how virile they still are. I’d better position myself to take orders for drinks and provide clean towels if I want to garner any tips this morning.

“Hey kid,” one guy in super-tight, yellow shorts calls out to me. “I need a drink. If you get me a rum and coke before taking other orders, there’ll be something in it for you.” He flashes me a one-dollar-bill.

Fuck my life. “Sure thing, sir.” I hurry to retrieve his order for the pittance he offers.

The morning goes smoothly, and I make some decent money—enough to pay for dinner tonight and maybe even dinner tomorrow. I hope Tina has had the same luck as I enter the spa area.

Normally, this area is filled with treatment beds and equipment, but it has been moved to the side and replaced with thick, smelly, gym mats. This is going to be far more legit training than I had expected. Honestly, I was thinking there would be an instructor who yelled a lot and spent the majority of the time either talking about himself or telling us scary stories to keep us engaged. But the way everything is positioned, there is going to be actual hand-to-hand combat.

“Isn’t this awesome,” Tina says as she runs up to me. “This reminds me of the time Katniss was training for the big day. They were all standing around sizing each other up, and you could tell she was going to kick all their asses.”

I nod.

“Look at Stephanie over there,” she motions in the woman’s direction with her head. “She’s terrified… I can smell it.”

“Really? All I can smell are those gym mats. They reek of old sweat and a yeast infection.”

“Eww, Patrick.” Tina slaps my arm. “Get your head in the game.”

I was about to remind her that this is not, in fact, The Hunger Games , but then the doors open behind us. We turn, and I witness something straight out of my dreams. Bright lights burst into the room from outside, and a shadowy figure steps inside. Even his silhouette seems to ripple with muscles.

“Who is this guy?” I ask. “A Greek God? Adonis?”

The doors slam shut behind him, and I blink away the darkness until my eyes adjust to the change in lighting.

“Is that?” Tina asks.

It is. I nod. Michael, in all his six-foot-five glory, walks straight up to me. I look up into his eyes and melt. I want to wrap my arms around him, feel his warmth. I can almost feel his powerful chest pressed against my cheek as if I’d thrown myself against him.

“Patrick,” he says. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

My nipples are hard, and my brain stops working.

“Patrick,” Tina says, elbowing me in the ribs.

Snapping out of the trance Michael’s gray sweatpants have put me in, I recover my wits quickly. “Michael, I had no idea you taught self-defense classes. Are there no bounds to what you can do?”

He smiles, the dimples deepening in both cheeks. The way his blue eyes reflect the overhead lighting makes my belly tingle.

“Seas the Day asked me to come and teach you and your colleagues what to do in case they were ever attacked. My guess, they heard about the situation at Who’s Your Caddy.”

Situation. You mean double homicide? Truth be told, I’m glad he’s here to teach us, but I don’t want to share him with everyone. “We are in good hands.” I look down and grab his right hand. Could I kiss it? Put a finger in my mouth like a lollipop? Shove the whole thing straight down my pants? Goosebumps spread across my arms and legs. I drop his hand and look at Tina. “We are going to have the best teacher.”

“My body is your clay,” she says. “Mold me into a great warrior princess.”

Michael smiles and glances over at me. I shrug. What can I say? She’s dramatic. The consummate actress, always ready for her big part.

“You’re a quick learner,” he says. “I can tell.”

She giggles and jumps in place.

“I’d better get the class started,” Michael says. “If you would please excuse me.”

“Of course,” I say.

Michael walks to the center of the room. “Can I have your attention please? My name’s Michael Borne, and I’m here to show you how to protect yourself in the event you are attacked.” He indicates a large circle around the room. “Please everyone, have a seat.”

Tina and I hurry over to the side where he is facing and sit down. Looming in front of me is the gray sweatpants, dick print. My mouth waters and my heart pounds. I know he’s giving us instructions, but I can’t hear a single thing he’s saying.

I’ve become dickmatized.