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Authors: Kate Perry

BOOK: Project Date
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“So what was your realization?” he asked after he traumatized my nervous system with a pain punch and broke my neck.
“That maybe I dumped Barry too soon.” I yielded and sidestepped when he lunged at me. As he flew by me, I kicked him in the back, which sent him flying into the wall. I finished with a couple of strikes to his kidneys and his spine.
When I stopped beating him, Matt turned around and asked, “What happened to Ian?”
“Ian sucked.” I scowled and punched him.
He blocked and countered with a punch to the lower sternum to break my ribs. “He’s a man of few words.”
“And few manners. His only redeeming quality was his reverence for MacGyver.” I folded into his strike. He followed it up with an elbow to the same spot, which would drive the broken ribs into my lung or, worst-case scenario, into my heart.
Usually I would have admired such economy of movement—moves that debilitate with a minimum of fuss excite me—but I wasn’t feeling charitable tonight. “Did you know he brought along a couple of friends?”
“Not George and Chili.” He palmed my nose and then flipped me over his back and slammed me into the floor.
“Yes. You know them?”
“Just from soccer.” He kicked me twice for good measure before stepping back. “They come and cheer us on sometimes.”
“Did you know Ian has no armpit hair?” I asked as I hopped up from the mat.
“Excuse me?”
I nodded as I straightened my gi and retied my belt. “I know. How weird is that? I can’t date a guy who has no pit hair. What’s up with that? Does he have leg hair?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever checked out his legs.”
“All night he kept trying to get away from me. And he barely talked to me. I’m not that repulsive, am I?”
Matt grinned. “Why do you leave yourself wide open like that?”
“It was like I was back in second grade and he thought I had cooties.” I frowned at him accusingly. “You didn’t warn me.”
“I didn’t know you had cooties.”
My glare promised retribution. Painful retribution.
His grin widened. “I didn’t know about his pits. And I figured you’d noticed he was a little shy.”
“A little shy—ha!” I threw him a right hook, which he ducked. Then he elbowed my liver, punched my kidney, and broke my back over his leg before letting me fall to the floor.
I lay there for a full minute, staring up at the ceiling, before got to my feet. “So what am I supposed to do now?”
“Abandon this plan and live your life for yourself instead of your parents.”
“Ha!” I didn’t wait for him to throw me a punch. I attacked with a kick to the groin.
Thwak!
I connected soundly with his cup (that’s gotta be one of the greatest sounds in the world). I wanted to take a moment to revel in the beauty of it, but I quickly followed it up with a crescent kick to his face and then brought the same heel down at the base of his skull.
“Jeez, Doc.” Matt picked himself off the floor, adjusting his cup. “You didn’t have to kick the jewels so hard. I have future generations of Turners to think about.”
“What exactly am I supposed to do now?” I demanded. “I don’t have that much time left. Daphne’s party is coming up. Fast.”
“Be a liberated woman and go by yourself.”
Only fourteen years of friendship kept me from hammering his teeth in. For real.
“Dwight’s giving us evil looks.” Matt jerked his chin toward the corner of the studio.
I didn’t have to look to know Dwight was staring at us. Dwight’s gaze is freaky. His eyes can convey any number of things, and you would have to be an idiot not to know he was telling us to stop fooling around and start fighting.
Grr. I narrowed my eyes at Matt. “Throw me a damn punch or something.”
He kicked me—Matt never does the expected. I slipped it and took a couple of steps in as I brought the heel of my hand up to jam his nose into his head. Then I stuck my fingers in his eye sockets, put my foot behind his left ankle, and drove his head into the floor. I kicked his side to break his ribs and stomped on his chest to drive it into his lungs.
As I waited for him to pick himself off the floor (I guess I took him down harder than I meant—oops), I realized what I’d have to do. “I have to call Jeremy.”
Jeremy was a friend of mine from college. Actually, for two months ten years ago he’d been more than a friend, but we’d quickly realized the only thing we had in common was our love for beer.
Matt frowned as he got to his feet. “I think you must’ve driven my head harder into the mat than I thought, because I swear I just heard you say you were going to call Jeremy.”
“I did.”
He stopped stretching his neck and stared at me. Then he slowly exclaimed, “Are you out of your
mind?
”
On the inside, I agreed with him. Jeremy wasn’t an ideal choice. But he was the only one at this point. I shrugged. “Jeremy isn’t obvious, but—”
“Jeremy’s a freak.”
“He’s not. He’s just—” I struggled for the right word “—different.”
Matt snorted.
“Jeremy’s quite entertaining.”
“Yeah. Freaks tend to be.”
I put my hands on my hips. “I’m out of options here, so unless you have a bright idea I have to call up Jeremy.” It was a sad day when you realized all the available men you knew were unendearingly geeky.
Matt shrugged. “Do what you want, Doc. I’m just saying Jeremy is not the one for you.”
“Why not?”
“He has a great mind and he may be funny, but you need someone whose idea of fun isn’t sitting in front of the TV and speculating on whether Bill O’Reilly wears a hairpiece. And do you really want to be involved with someone who was fated to be Unabomber II at birth?”
I pouted. Matt had a point. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Forget this scheme.”
I pictured the disappointment on my mom’s face when she found out I’d broken up with Barry. She’d say “Oh, Philomena,” her voice heavy with resignation like I’d let her down big time. Again.
Then I pictured my angelic sister languishing in the shadows while everyone exclaimed how accomplished I was now with my great job and great house and great boyfriend.
Like there was any debate which vision was better.
So I emailed Jeremy first thing when Matt dropped me off at home after class.
 
hey jeremy—want to go out sometime?
 
phil
I knew I’d drive myself insane if I sat there and waited for him to reply, so I went into my bedroom, stripped out of my sweaty gi, and hopped in the shower.
As the hot water scalded my skin, I wondered what Jeremy looked like these days. I hadn’t actually seen him since college, and back then he was kind of scruffy-looking. I frowned as I realized Matt was right—Jeremy did look like he’d spent a considerable amount of time in a one-room shack in the woods. And there were those diaries he always scribbled in... .
“That was almost ten years ago,” I told myself for reassurance. I’d definitely changed in that time period. It was a given that he had too.
I hoped.
As I raided my closet for a robe, I glanced at the clock. I was distracted by its apocalyptic look—I’d wound duct tape around it a couple of times to keep the plastic casing intact. The rattle was still there, but who cared as long as no one shook it? It told time and that’s all that mattered. Right now, it glowed S thirty-five, which I figured meant nine thirty-five.
I doubted he’d emailed me yet. Not everyone has the email etiquette Matt and I have: respond quickly and often. That’s what email is all about—immediate gratification.
I jiggled my trackball as I sat at my desk and put in my password. Yes, my screensaver at home is password-protected. You can never be too careful.
“Oh,” I gasped when my email terminal popped up. He’d responded.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: hey
 
Philomena Donovan??
Frowning, my fingers flew over the keyboard.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: hey
 
how many philomenas do you know?
His reply arrived ten seconds later.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: hey
 
Only one. Thank God. I can’t imagine the world with more than one of you in it.
Jeremy had always thought he was more clever than he really was.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: well?
 
so you want to go out or what?
I tapped my foot against the leg of the chair while I waited.
My nerves were jittery. What was up with that? This was just Jeremy. I couldn’t even blame it on excessive caffeine because I hadn’t had any since my second cup of coffee in the morning. I knew desperation when I felt it.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: well?
 
Why?
I pursed my lips and wondered how he’d take it if I told him because I was looking for my soulmate, or at least a good facsimile.
Exactly. So I sugarcoated it.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: well?
 
i was just thinking about you and thought it’d be nice to rekindle what we once had.
I reread my email before I sent it and grinned. Philomena Donovan: master of flattery.
Jeremy’s response arrived a split second later.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: well?
 
ROTFL
 
Frickin’ hilarious, Donovan, considering we didn’t have anything but joint ownership of a bottle of aspirin for hangovers.
I scowled and typed furiously.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: well?
 
i could give you a list of all the stuff we had in common.
Two seconds later:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Go ahead ...
 
Give me your list.
I rubbed the tip of my nose, thought about it, and began tapping at the keys.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: what p & j have in common: a brief list
beer
darts
salty peanuts
“Ha! Take that, Mr. Doubting Jeremy.” I sent it and waited.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Pathetic List
 
Great, Phil. When I decide to open up a bar, I’ll give you a call. Until then, I think I’m safe in saying we don’t have much of a future together.
 
But, hey—I’m flattered you thought of me. Maybe I’ll dedicate a blog posting to you.
Take care. And thanks for the laugh.
 
I glared at the screen. Bastard. I can’t believe I thought he’d be an adequate choice. I considered kicking his computer off the Internet (yeah, I can do that—I’ve got skills). There’s a certain joy in booting a person off his connection, watching him reconnect, and then booting him again. I admit, it’s a perverse joy, but a joy nevertheless.
I didn’t do it. Instead, I put the first season of MacGyver into my DVD player and wondered how to get in touch with Richard Dean Anderson. And if he still had all his teeth. (How old was he, anyway?)
Chapter Six
“I think I should get an unlisted phone number.”
—MacGyver, “Trumbo’s World” Episode #6
 
The door to the server room clicked shut behind me. Frowning, I started to turn as an arm snaked around my waist. Without thinking, I grabbed a fistful of shirt and bent my knees to chuck my attacker over my shoulder.
“Whoa, gorgeous. It’s me.”
“Johnny?” I tried to turn around. He’d never know how close he’d come to being flipped onto the ground.
His arms held me in place so he could nuzzle my neck. “I’ve missed you this week. Did you get my messages?”
“Um—” I admit it, I’d been dodging his calls. “You called?”
“Yeah. A few times. Let’s go out tonight.” His hand crept up.
I peeled it off me before he reached my boobs. “Johnny! We’re at work.”
“I know.” He didn’t sound contrite. “Maybe one day we can have a quickie in here.”
Gross. Not even in his dreams. Of course, if he were Rio it’d be a different story.
I wedged myself out of his embrace and pushed him away. “You know how I feel about that.”
“I know.” He grinned. “This virginal stuff turns me on.”
Fantastic. “Johnny—”
“Where do you want to go tonight?”
“Home.”
Wrong answer. I swear I saw his ears perk up like a cocker spaniel. “That sounds great.”
“No, I’m going home alone. All by myself,” I added just in case he didn’t get my drift.
Watching the enthusiasm drain from him was painful. “Oh.”
I almost felt bad—
almost
being the key word there. “Sorry.”
“No problem. I understand.”
His tone said the opposite, and I felt compelled to make an excuse to make him feel better. “It’s just that it’s been a long week and I’m really tired.”
“I can rub your feet,” he offered eagerly.
I was tempted for a split second, maybe less than that. “Thanks, but I’ll take a raincheck.”
As soon as it came out of my mouth I wanted to smack my forehead. Idiot. What was I thinking, encouraging him?
But it did the trick. He smiled brilliantly. “Great. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
I hoped my smile didn’t look sickly. “Um. Right.”
“Rest well, Mena. I want you nice and fresh this weekend.” He wiggled his eyebrows and let himself out of the server room.
I banged my head against a machine. Stupid stupid stupid. What was I thinking? I’d never get rid of him this way.
“Hey, Mena. You okay?”
I looked up to see Lewis pop his head in, a concerned frown on his face. I sighed and tried to smile. “I’m fine. Just a headache.”
His frown deepened. “Hitting your head against the computers probably isn’t the best cure.” He threw his hands in the air. “But you’re the boss. You know best, of course.”
At least he had some intelligence.
“I could give you a shoulder massage,” he said eagerly. “And neck. Your muscles are probably tight.”
“No, thanks.” What was it with guys offering me massages today? Before he could deflate on me, I said, “But you could go buy me a bottle of Advil and a Coke.”
“Okay!” He raced off before I could give him any money.
I rolled my eyes. At least I’d gotten a reprieve from him.
Two seconds after I got back to my desk, the phone rang. I picked it up without thought. “Mena speaking.”
“Philomena, it’s your mother.”
Damn. What good is caller ID if you don’t check it? “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“I talked to your sister.”
Goody for you. “Oh, really?”
“We set the date for her birthday party.”
My lungs seized, and for a moment I thought I was going to hyperventilate. Please please please let it be postponed for a month. Or five.
But my mom dashed my hopes. “It’ll be on the twenty-first.”
Considering that was Daphne’s actual birthdate, I wasn’t especially shocked. But how was I going to find a viable temporary boyfriend, much less a soulmate, before then?
However, I was surprised on one count. “That’s in two weeks. Can Daphne get the time off right away?”
“When I spoke with her last night she said it’d be no trouble. Have you talked to her?”
“Yes.” I didn’t tell her it’d been a week. I wasn’t in the mood to hear the lecture on keeping in touch with my only sister.
Actually, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of this. It’d been a tough week, starting with Ian, peaking with Jeremy, and ending with Johnny.
Johnny. Shudder. I had to nip that in the bud.
All I wanted was a good workout and some time to myself. Searching for your soulmate—or even a temporary stand-in—was tiring work.
“... number so maybe you could extend the invitation for me. In fact, how about if you two come to dinner this weekend?”
I shook my head. “What was that, Mom?”
She sighed. “Focus, Philomena.”
“One of my employees needed my signature,” I lied. I hated it when she got that disappointed tone in her voice. The only thing that’d distract her was reminding her how important I was.
“I was saying that I don’t know how to get in touch with Barry.”
I stifled the instant panic in my chest and asked, “Why do you need to get in touch with Barry?”
“Weren’t you listening at all, Philomena?” She didn’t bother to wait for the answer. I guess she already knew. “I wanted to personally invite him to Daphne’s party. And also to dinner this weekend.”
Yikes! “He can’t make it this weekend, Mom.”
Pause. “Why not?”
“Um, he’s out of town. On business.” Thank God she wasn’t here in person—I’d never have gotten away with the lie.
“Oh.” She sounded immediately appeased (no one turned down an imperial summons, even by proxy). “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe sometime next week.”
I’ve taken Kung Fu for over nine years. I’m trained to recognize openings and opportunities.
This moment was one of them.
I knew if I was ever going to tell my mother that I’d broken up with Barry, this was the moment. The path was open and clear—I just had to seize it. “Listen, Mom. About Barry ...”
“I can’t tell you how proud I am that you’ve found someone like him.”
I grimaced. “Right. Um, Mom?”
“I wish Daphne were more like you in that regard. She never talks about her personal life. Does she tell you if she’s dating anyone?”
“Well, no.” Daphne and I had never been open with each other, despite the fact we were only thirteen months apart. Besides, Daphne wasn’t a dater. Her work defined who she was; nothing else was important. “But about Barry—”
“I’m so happy about the balance you have in your life, Philomena. I hope on this trip Daphne sees how well-adjusted you are and decides to take your example.”
Sigh or growl? It was a toss up; I could have gone either way. “Listen, Mom. I have to go. The production environment for one of the Web sites went down and I need to check the error logs.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll talk to you later.”
Always worked. Talk tech and my mom was so outta there. I said my goodbyes and hung up.
Then I growled.
The guys around me frowned at me from behind their monitors. I heard one of them mumble, “Someone get a leash.”
I opened my mouth to tell him what he could do with the leash when the phone rang again.
Never say I don’t learn from my mistakes. I checked the caller ID this time, but I didn’t recognize the number so I picked it up, figuring it had to be a vendor or something.
It wasn’t. “Hello, Mena. It’s me.”
Me, as in my archrival.
I was about to ream Daphne for calling me at work. (What did my family think? That I lounged around and ate bonbons all day?) But then I realized she never called me at work. Ever.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I wanted to ask you a favor.” I could see her twisting a lock of her perfect hair around her finger like she did when she was unsure. Which wasn’t often.
“What?” If she wanted to borrow a dress for the party, I could tell her right now her boobs were too big to fit into anything I owned. Not that I could blame her for trying—my wardrobe
was
more fashionable than hers.
“I was wondering if I could stay with you while I’m visiting.”
“Excuse me?” I wiggled a finger in my ear. I thought for sure she had asked me if she could stay with me.
“Can I stay over at your place?”
I narrowed my eyes at the receiver. Suspicious. “Why?”
“Mom’s going to drive me crazy with this party thing. She hasn’t let up on me since she’s been back.” Daphne’s voice took an accusatory tone. “She keeps saying how great this guy you’re dating is.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help grinning.
“You don’t need to sound so happy about it,” she grumbled. “I’ll lose my mind if I have to stay with her and Dad.”
I grinned harder.
“So can I stay with you or not?”
“Okay,” I agreed graciously. She was my sister, after all.
Oh, I was going to enjoy this.
“Thanks.”
I chose to ignore the fact that she didn’t sound especially thankful. “When do you arrive?”
“Tonight.”
“
What?
”
“Tonight,” she repeated calmly. “I’m on the evening flight from San Francisco. I should be at your house by ten or so.”
“Tonight?” I squeaked. “Isn’t that awfully sudden?”
“No.”
What could I say to that? “What if I have plans? It’s Friday night, after all.”
There was a shrug in her voice. “I’ll just use my key to get in.”
Oh, yeah. I forgot I gave her a key in a moment of weakness when I first moved in. Floundering, I grasped the last straw I could. “How did you get the time off?”
She hesitated. “I’m on sabbatical.”
Sabbatical.
There was more to this than she was letting on.
But before I could grill her, she said, “I have a few things to take care of. See you tonight,” and hung up.
I held the phone out and stared at it.
I didn’t come clean with Mom about Barry, and Daphne was coming to stay with me. I groaned and let my head fall onto my desk with a thunk.
“You okay, Mena?”
I lifted my head to see Lewis standing in front of me, his forehead wrinkled with worry and a brown paper bag clutched against his chest.
I held my hand out. “Drugs. Now.”
He plunked the bag down on my desk. “I couldn’t remember if you wanted Advil or Excedrin, which has caffeine so it might help you more, so I got you both.”
I watched as he pulled everything out of the bag and set it in front of me. One box of Advil, one bottle of Coke, one box of Excedrin, and a fourth item. I picked it up. “What’s this?”
“Oh.” He flushed crimson. “I got you some Midol. Just in case.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He shrugged with an apologetic grin. “Just covering my bases.”
I grunted and reached for the Coke.
“Anything else I can do for you? File some papers? Get you some food? Wash your car?”
I pointed away from me. “Go.”
“Right.” He turned and fled. Ten feet away, he turned around and called out, “Don’t forget to take the Midol.”
I felt my cheeks burn as the programmers who worked around me stared. Instead of trying to explain, I sighed and took a swig of Coke.
As optimistic as I was, I didn’t think I was going to find my soulmate, or even a workable temporary boyfriend, by next week. It was clear I needed to rethink my options.
But MacGyver had it right: Any problem can be solved with a little ingenuity. And that was one thing I had in spades.

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