Better Than Safe (13 page)

“I better get back there. Anyone want anything else?” he asked, still massaging his boyfriend’s neck.

“More gin? This one is a little weak, babe. Who do I complain to?” Curt held up his glass playfully.

“Me, smartass. No more gin. I’ll be ready to go in an hour.” Jack brushed his hand through his lover’s hair and kissed him before stepping back to wave at Matt and me. “See you guys.”

We were quiet for a moment until Matt’s cell buzzed on the table. He glanced at the message and smiled. “I have to go too. By the way, Aar was telling me about the shoot from hell last week when one of the key male models was out and they—hey, he said it was that guy he tried to set you up with. Whatever happened with that?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “We’ve decided to try being friends, but he’s a bit… flaky so I doubt I’ll see him again honestly.”

“I’m supposed to tell you there’s a new lawyer in our firm. He’s good-looking, a little taller than Aaron….”

“That’s code for ‘he’s short,’” Curt piped in using his customary air quotes.

“And you’re an asshole.” Matt stood and smacked Curt’s back hard, but kept his gaze on me. “Anyway, he’s a nice guy with a good career who happens to be a single gay man in his midthirties. I’m not big on matchmaking, I swear, but he’s new in town and….”

Curt rolled his eyes. “Right. ’Cause that’s how it works. Two single men who happen to both be gay, relatively successful, around the same age, and living in the same city should make the perfect match. I think Matt just found your next blind date slash husband-to-be,” he joked.

Matt cocked his head and adopted a syrupy tone. “Careful Curtster, your sunny disposition and optimistic streak is showing. Everyone’s going to get the false impression you have a heart.”

“Hmph. Heart isn’t the issue. I’m not sorry Aaron set Paul and me up on a blind date because we became good friends after the fact, but there’s a lot of pressure dating someone you’ve never met and aren’t sure you have anything other than basics in common.”

“Curt’s right. I’m not interested. My last coffee date was a disaster. Sure, he was handsome but then he opened his mouth and… then it got bloody weird.”

“Not too smart, huh?”

“On the contrary, he was brilliant but odd. Very odd. I’m too old for games. As much as it would be nice to meet someone… suitable, I’m tired of the dating scene. It’s exhausting. I need a break.” I took another sip and sighed.

“I’ll tell Aar to back off on the matchmaking. He’s an incurable romantic. He can’t help himself,” Matt said with a grin. “He felt terrible when he realized the model was dating some famous painter from London he’s using in a fashion spread this fall. The best things come when you least expect them.”

I stared at Matt intently. He had to be joking. The model and the painter. Seth and Simon? No way. It was ridiculous. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t even begin to guess what question I’d ask.
Are you fucking serious?
was the best I could think but I knew Matt wouldn’t have any answers. Holy bloody hell.

Matt checked his buzzing cell as he backed away from the table. “I’m outta here. See ya, boys.” He gave us a short wave as he turned. I heard his “Hi babe. Yeah, I’m on my way home,” before he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Curt and me staring after him for a moment.

I was shell-shocked. It couldn’t be. Seth had dropped the name Simon a couple of times. He’d even said his ex was British. And a painter. Fuck. Me. I needed a minute to process this twist, but now wasn’t the time, I thought, tracing the faint scar on my wrist. I took a sip of my martini, suddenly aware Curt had turned his full attention toward me. “What is it?”

“You seem bummed. Were you hoping the model wasn’t going to be a waste of time?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Maybe… yes. Against my better judgment, I actually liked him. Now, I know he’s unreliable and immature, which I’m happy to know sooner than later, but there’s…. something about him. He’s hard to shake.”

“Like a bad case of the flu?”

I chuckled. “Exactly.” I filled Curt in with a basic backstory of my run-in with Seth, leaving out the possibility we actually may have an ex in common. I needed to air out my frustration, and Curt was a good confidante.

“He sounds….”

“Awful?”

“No. Quirky and maybe a little broken. But hey, aren’t we all? Be friends if that works or just let it go. In the meantime you should start hanging out at the supermarket.”

“Huh?”

“Yep, there was a study about how people who meet in everyday spots, like the grocery store, end up having long-lasting relationships. I see you’re skeptical,” he said with a chuckle. “But it makes sense. Sort of. Your defenses are down when you’re out doing regular things, like going to the gym, stopping by the dry cleaners, or walking your dog.”

I gave him a long, hard stare before shaking my head. “There are a few holes in your theory for me. I never go to the market or the dry cleaner. That’s what takeout and delivery services are for. And I don’t own a dog, which leaves the gym, which is on par with coming to Jack’s. I’m the gym version of the man wearing khakis in a dark corner sipping a martini whilst he ogles the eye candy. I wear basic workout gear, take the elliptical in the back corner, put my headphones on, and clandestinely check out the hot men. But I never… repeat never, make idle conversation with anyone there.”

“I want to say you’re hopeless but I get it. Your problem is you’re too busy and you’re set in your ways. The way I see it, you either suck it up and join an online dating service….”

“That is almost funny,” I deadpanned.

“Or you wait till Aaron and Matt get married. Weddings are the perfect place to meet guys.”

His expression was a touch too earnest. I couldn’t tell if he was joking, though I hoped so.

“If those are my only options, I guess I’d better look into online dating. Every gay man at that wedding will be taken or he’ll be someone I met through one of Aaron’s matchmaking attempts and didn’t click with. I can’t chance another bad coffee date.”

Curt laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. “Yeah, especially if all you get out of it is a group of oddball friends or a good-looking headache. Gaydate.com it is! This could be pure genius. Think about it. You get to list your likes and dislikes from the comfort of your own home while you scratch your nuts and drink milk from the carton.”

I snickered at the thought though I had to admit it didn’t sound half bad. “Maybe you’re onto something. I can weed out potential disaster from the start and make sure he’s age appropriate.”

“Why? How old was the model?”

“Twenty-four. Much too young for me.” And certainly too young for Simon. It couldn’t be the same man, I thought distractedly.

“You sound like a fuckin’ geezer. It’s only eleven years. Geez! Jack is fourteen years older than me. Age is a mindset. There are days anyone could be convinced he’s the younger one and other days… not. Don’t let age be your deciding factor. Let it be something important like… the size of his dick.”

I almost choked on the olive I’d fished out of the bottom of my martini glass. I gave Curt the evil eye while he cackled beside me like a loon. “Very funny.”

“Or is it? The object is to find someone you want to be with all around. Anyone can find someone to go to the movies with but the trick is figuring out if you want to wake up next to the guy every day.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“What qualities are on your short list? Height, weight, hair color, job… go.”

“Uh… well, I’m not sure height, weight, or hair are important but—”

“You’re full of shit. Conjure your dream man in your head right now and tell me what he looks like. How tall?” I rolled my eyes but did as Curt asked.

“Six two.”

“Weight?”

“Not as important but I suppose on the lean side.”

“Hair color?”

“Black.” Fuck me. All I could see was Seth. And then Simon. Not good. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath.

Curt gave me a thoughtful once-over and smiled kindly. “If you’re desperate to get that guy out of your head, go on at least three dates with other men. You just got back from a long trip, you’re working too much, and there’s a part of you that wishes at least one thing… like getting laid, could be easy. Reset your expectations and start over.”

“Online.”

Curt shrugged. “It’s just an idea.”

“It’s not a completely horrible one. At least I can make sure he really likes jazz,” I said, nudging his elbow hard.

“That’s the spirit! Make sure he passes your personal requirements, including a love or at least appreciation for Louis Armstrong, then bring him to the jazz concert next month.” He shook his head mournfully at my blank expression. “Hmm. No memory. It’s the first thing to go when sperm buildup becomes a serious problem. And no, jacking off doesn’t count. You need to get laid, dude. Whether it’s a hot model with a sexy ass or an older gentleman with a slight paunch but a great jazz record collection, it’s time to move on.”

Curt raised his glass and clinked it against my empty one in a toast to a new beginning. He was right. I wasn’t so sure about online dating per se, but I had to do something to get Seth out of my head.

H
OW
DOES
one fill out an online dating questionnaire? I couldn’t believe I was seriously considering it, but the more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. I’d know what a prospective date looked like and what his interests were before I agreed to meet anywhere. There was always the chance he’d post a photo from ten years ago or lie about his profession, but I figured I’d catch on if I were being duped. However, I couldn’t begin thinking about dating anyone new until I found out if Matt’s reference to the British painter was the one I knew all too well.

It was too strange a coincidence that we had an ex in common. I’d done some research after I left Curt at the bar. It felt creepy to even type Simon’s name in a search engine after years of consciously avoiding any mention of him. I made a concerted effort to look only at the past six months and was rewarded immediately with a plethora of photos of the esteemed painter and his young protégée in happier times. A sudden flash of heat was accompanied by a strong wave of nausea. I hated knowing Simon had touched him, though I had no right. It didn’t make any sense. Seth wasn’t mine and never had been. As I stared at an online picture of Simon dressed in a tuxedo with his arm draped possessively over Seth’s shoulders, I recognized my angst for what it was. Jealousy. There was a time I dealt with it on a daily basis, when my lover instigated scenarios to incite my reaction. It was classic. He’d flirt shamelessly with a young, pretty boy. I’d get angry. We’d fight and then we’d fuck. Passionately. Then he’d disappear into his studio for days on end and I’d be torn between missing him and being grateful for the reprieve.

I hadn’t felt the excruciating stab of envy in years. Sure, I had my moments of covetous longing for something close to what my friends had, but I figured my time would come. I didn’t want their lives. I wanted something for myself. Eventually. But when I looked at Simon and Seth together, I felt an almost violent surge of jealousy. It frustrated me because I couldn’t tell who the feeling was directed toward. Was I jealous of Simon for knowing Seth, or did I simply hate seeing proof of their past liaison? I pushed back my sleeve and traced the jagged scar on my wrist. My physical reminder of my time with the mad artist. This kind of jealousy was dangerous to my sanity. It was the horrible kind I knew would be difficult to shake unless I actively did something to get it out of my system.

Like create a profile for an online dating service.

So Sunday evening after I’d organized my calendar and sorted out my countless meetings for the week, I decided to give it a go and complete the questionnaire. There was no harm in it and if I changed my mind or, God forbid, met someone on my own, I could always delete it. It was daunting. Advice on how to set up a “standout” dating profile ranged from keeping it short and staying positive to listing fun hobbies and making sure you watched your spelling and grammar. In other words, not so helpful. I spent more time on it than I should have, but I was careful not to overembellish or come across as a braggart, which in turn made me wonder if I sounded boring. As paranoia began to set in, I thought about refreshing my wardrobe with brighter colored shirts and—fuck it. If this experiment failed and I was doomed to single life forever, it would be best not to own a closetful of fuchsia floral shirts I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anyway.

I gave the questionnaire one last read-through, attached a recent photo, and pushed Send before I could change my mind. Maybe nothing would come of it, but I liked the idea that my next potential coffee date would be one I made without the help of my well-meaning friends. With any luck, I might even avoid the usual dramatic artistic type I seemed to attract, and find someone normal for a change.

T
HERE
WAS
no time to worry about potential online dates come Monday morning. From the moment I stepped into my office, I was hit with a barrage of issues ranging from panicked editors wanting to confirm contract styling clauses to internal drama when headquarters in London called questioning the taste level of a layout I’d recently approved. I managed to keep calm as I dealt with one firestorm after another with my Bluetooth headset practically glued to my ears. By Tuesday afternoon the more pressing issues were settled, but I was still in the “take no bullshit” mode I realized came with my new position with the agency. Everyone had questions and complaints, and no one liked the answers.