Page 48 of Try Me
“Which is exactly why I don’t date. I can get a date, just not agoodone.”
I snorted, because Mark had mentioned Jesse saying something along those lines the other day. If Jesse wasn’t gay, he and Amanda probably would’ve been really well suited. Actually, I wasn’t sure Jesse wasn’t bi. “Would you be open to a bi guy who can cook and is cute and smart? And also doesn’t have any apparent vitamin deficiency?”
“Who? How fucking dare you hold out on me. Of course I’m open to bi.”
“Jesse.”
“Oh.” Amanda’s face fell. “Jesse’s not bi. And he’s pickier than me anyway. It’d never work out. But speaking of dates”—her lips curved slyly—“I saw your boy Mark out with some prepster the other night.” She seemed unable to help the sneer.
“He’s not my boy.” I shrugged, even though my stomach could’ve hard-boiled an egg the way it went hot with jealousy. “Where? What night?”
“Ridgeway Grill, Wednesday. Not as dudebro as Mark. More like preppy chic. Older. And fine, it wasn’t just the two of them. It was a whole crew. I kept hoping the guy was gonna punch Mark in the face, but nope, he had the googly eyes going.” She tried to demonstrate, giving me a creepy stare, which I was pretty sure wasn’t the way John had looked at Mark. Or was it? I winced. “That’s honestly what he looked like. What?” she asked a second later, and I realized I’d been staring vacantly at her. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Don’t even…oh fuck, don’t even tell me you’re getting jealous.”
“I’m not jealous. I was invited, actually, but I had a shift at Fuego. And that’s just a guy from the firm. Mark works under him.”
“I’ll bet he does.”
“Jesus. Stop.”
“Chet.” Amanda rolled upright. “Chet Aaron Pynchon.” She dropped the jest, her expression turning dark. “No fucking way. Please tell me there’s not something going on with Mark.”
“There’s nothing going on with Mark,” I replied dully and tried to focus on my keyboard again. Mark and I weren’t anything. Wouldn’t everbeanything aside from maybe a couple of loads blown on each other. Putting it that bluntly was particularly helpful when I found my thoughts straying toward him every other hour at work.
“From everything you’ve told me, his family tree features a strong expression of the asshole gene. Trust me when I say the apple never falls too far from the tree in those cases.”
“Yeah, got it,” I said, and I did. I really did. Amanda had always been a good friend, and she was just watching out for me.
“Wow.” She stared at me aghast. “I don’t think you’ve ever lied to my face before.”
“Then stop fucking cornering me,” I bit back and immediately felt like shit when she set her jaw, hurt flashing through her eyes.
“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt.”
She clapped her hands with mock excitement, a big fake smile twisting on her face. “Oh good, that’s totally convincing.” The expression fell away as she stood abruptly and stuffed her feet into her shoes. “Ever since I’ve known you, all you’ve had to say about him is what an asshole he is. If he even looked in my directionIfelt guilty.”
“Hold the fuck up. Were you actually interested in him at Nate’s?”
“No! But Jesus, I threw a fucking drink at him on your behalf and reamed him out in the middle of a party.”
“He deserved that. But it’s complicated and—”
“Ya think? Damn, Chet. I hope it’s just a fuck buddies situation because I’m not doing another Cam with you again. I can’t. And Mark? He has daddy’s boy written all over him. If you get in deep, he’ll ditch you without a second thought.”
I slammed the top of my laptop down. “Look, I know you’re just doing the protective-friend thing right now, but I don’t need it. I handled Cam, and I can handle Mark. I’m not trying to marry the asshole. I’m not even trying to—” I sputtered out because I had no idea what I was trying to do with Mark, or whether whatever it was I was doing or not doing was working.
Amanda threw up her hands and stalked out.
Fifteen minutes later, I sent her a text and we made up like we always had. But the more I backtracked over our argument, the more I realized everything she’d said was probably right.
And yet, it did little to counteract the way I’d felt with him in the club the other night. What kind of fucking sense did that make?
* * *
My dad was servingout his sentence an hour away in Nyeville. I pulled into the parking lot and turned the dial on the radio, letting an old Nirvana song finish playing while I stared at the drab gray concrete of the building. Coming here still messed with my stomach. I could never eat the mornings before I came, and I couldn’t eat for hours afterward. In spite of what he’d done, I hated thinking about my dad stuck in this place for the rest of his life. For that matter, I hated coming at all. But I did because I was his son, and regardless of the fact that he was guilty as fuck of the crimes he was accused of—I stopped the line of thought before it got too far. The truth was, I didn’t know why I still came. Maybe I needed the reminder of what I didn’t want to become. Greed made people this way. Greed and desperation.
I’d felt that desperation before, when I was dealing pot for Meecham to make extra cash on the side for my mom. “The money’s so fucking easy, dude,” he’d said. “This shit sells itself. I’ll even give you a larger cut since it’s your first time.” I’d taken it home with me that night, sat on my bed staring down at it, hands shaking with anger at myself. It wasn’t that I had an issue with pot. Shit, I thought the stuff should be legal, but it was the fact it wasn’t, that I could get kicked out of school over it, and that despite all that, it was still the best option at the time.