The Boy Next Door (15 page)

Okay, yes, sometimes I used to strip and dance to music in what I thought was the privacy of my bedroom. Come on, you’ve done it too. Don’t lie. “Jason, that’s really sick.”

“Believe me,” he says, “I felt like a total loser when I was watching you. Here I was, this computer dork in a wheelchair whose closest thing to getting any action was watching the neighbor through her bedroom window.”

“Couldn’t you have just read
Playboy
?” I say.

“You were hotter than any girl in
Playboy
,” he says softly.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed off at Jason. I can’t even believe he spied on me through the window when we were kids. But then again, he
 
was
 
just a kid. Kids do dumb things. God knows, I did. And in a way, I guess it’s sort of flattering.

“You forgive me?” he asks.

I huff again. “I suppose.”

“I’d offer to let you see me naked,” he says, “but I’m getting the feeling that you’re not too enthusiastic about that idea.”

“No,” I say, feeling a little awkward. Even if I had known that I could see into Jason’s window, I never would have looked in a million years. I had no desire to see him naked.

And now, well . . . I’m pretty sure I don’t now, either. I mean, I definitely don’t. I’m engaged, for Christ’s sake.

***

Larry and I have an unofficial engagement party at the bar near his work, which is the same place where we first met. This is less about romance and more about the bar being convenient for Larry and his friends. (Actually, I should say “colleagues,” because I’m increasingly convinced that Larry doesn’t have any friends.)

It’s the same mix of teachers and bankers that were present at my birthday. Jason is there, of course (mostly hanging out with his banker friends), but Melissa is conspicuously absent. Larry told me they don’t seem like they’re on speaking terms. “I don’t get it,” he said. “They seemed like a good couple.” Of course, I’m not going to tell him the truth about why they broke up.

Larry doesn’t leave my side through the entire evening. I suppose some girls would say that’s sweet, but I was beginning to get annoyed. We had a few drinks and I was hoping he’d loosen up, but he was like a piece of gum I couldn’t get off my shoe. I finally had to escape to the ladies room in order to get a moment to myself. For a second, I was worried Larry was going to follow me inside.

While in the bathroom, I run into my friend Jeannie from work. Jeannie teaches art at my school, so her job is just about as useless as mine. She’s single, a couple of years younger than me, and more cute than pretty. She’s also one of the nicest women I know. “Larry seems so wonderful,” Jeannie tells me as she washes her hands. She glances at her reflection in the mirror, but doesn’t make any adjustments because the girl doesn’t wear a stitch of makeup. “He’s so attentive to you!”

“Yeah,” I mumble, forcing a smile.

“I’m so jealous,” Jeannie says, without a hint of jealousy in her voice. “He’s really cute, too.”

“Mmm,” is all I can manage. “Are there, um, any guys you like here?”

Jeannie laughs. “I don’t know. Aside from Larry, they mostly seem like the usual group of egotistical i-banker assholes.”

“Yeah,” I agree, thinking Jeannie is pretty perceptive.

“But there is one guy,” she says thoughtfully. “Do you know the guy in the blue striped shirt? The one who’s been playing pool most of the night?”

I’m stumped for a second, then she smiles and adds, “You know, the one in the wheelchair.”

I stare at her, totally shocked. “Jason? You like him?”

“Well,” she says, “sort of. I played a game of pool and he was on my team and he seemed really nice. Good at pool too.”

“Yeah, he is,” I say. And add, “Good at pool, that is.”

Jeannie raises her eyebrows. “He’s not nice?”

I can’t tell her she’s wrong. Jason is really nice. One of the nicest guys I know. Especially to me.

“No, he’s nice,” I say. “But, um, you’re okay with the whole . . . wheelchair thing?”

Jeannie nods. “Absolutely. My brother has spina bifida, so that kind of thing is no big deal to me.” She tucks her clean, brown hair behind her ear. “I feel like a lot of single guys in their thirties have serious issues, and that’s why they’re not married. But a guy in a wheelchair can be a wonderful guy and still have trouble because women are so superficial that they can’t see through such a minor issue.” She smiles brightly. “So in that sense, it’s a plus.”

Yeah, except that Jason has one major issue: me.

I look at Jeannie’s face. She’s a great girl, lightyears better than anyone he’s ever dated. If I introduce her to Jason, they could totally hit it off and maybe she’d make him forget all about me. That would be great for Jason.

Except somehow, when I look at Jeannie’s sweet, earnest face, I’m having a lot of trouble just handing Jason over to her.

“The thing about Jason,” I say, “is that he just got out of a long-term relationship and he’s pretty bitter. Plus he’s a total workaholic. I just don’t think now is a good time.”

“Oh.” Jeannie’s brown eyes widened. “That’s a shame. Surprising, though. I got the vibe that he was sort of, you know, flirting with me a bit.”

Jason was flirting? But he’s supposed to like me! Why is he flirting with other women?

Okay, I am being ridiculous. I’m engaged to another guy. Why the hell do I care who Jason flirts with? I should be happy he’s flirting with Jeannie. That’s healthy. He shouldn’t be obsessed with me. I should tell Jeannie to just . . . go for it.

Except I can’t.

“Well, that’s the way he is,” I say. “He’s kind of a flirt. But he’s totally still obsessed with this other girl. I just don’t think it’s a great idea.”

Jeannie sighs. “That’s too bad. I really kind of dug him.”

I’m awful. I should be shot.

I clear my throat. “Well, if you really like him, you should still try to go for it. Don’t let what I said stop you.”

“No, I trust you, Tasha,” Jeannie says.

Oh God, I really suck. Shooting is too good for me. I’m such a horrible person. How could Jason even like me?

I know I should tell Jeannie I made a mistake and shove her in Jason’s direction, but I can’t make myself do it. Maybe Melissa was right. Maybe I’m just selfish. I don’t want Jason for myself, but I don’t want anyone else to have him.

I wander over to Jason at the pool table after leaving Jeannie in the ladies room. I’ve somehow managed to shake Larry for the moment, and I want to take advantage of the few moments I have to myself. I pick up a pool cue and join Jason, who is currently alone, trying to clear the table on his own.

“Interested in a game?” I ask him.

Jason looks up at me and grins. “Naw, you suck. It wouldn’t be a challenge.”

“Humor me,” I say.

I set up the balls and Jason breaks. He has a powerful break, sinking three balls in the process, followed by two solids in a row. Jason is a bit of a pool shark, or at least, he used to be. The wheelchair might fool you, but he has wicked aim. Maybe it’s his math and physics background, because he knows exactly where to bank the shots off the wall to sink them in the corner pocket. When we first reconnected in New York, Jason and I used to play pool all the time at a pool hall downtown and he used to kick my ass regularly, except for the times we played against another couple and kicked their ass. I’ve barely played since, and I feel a little nostalgic as I lean over the table to try to sink a shot and miss.

“You still suck, Tash,” he comments.

“Shut up,” I say.

He smiles. “So what did your friend say about me in the ladies room?”

I stare at him in surprise. “Um, what?”

“That girl Jeannie,” he says. “She was here earlier and I definitely got the vibe that she was flirting. Did she say anything?”

“Uh, no,” I lie.

“Oh,” he says and frowns. “Huh.”

“Were you . . . interested in her?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Well, yeah, kind of,” he says. “I mean, you’ve made it pretty obvious that nothing is going to happen between the two of us. So . . . why not?”

I know I should just ‘fess up what I did. But then again, that would be way too embarrassing. I can’t confess that I did anything to keep him from meeting a woman who would likely be perfect for him. If I did that, it would be like admitting everything he said to me the other day was right. And it would totally give him the wrong idea. “Well, there are lots of other girls out there,” I say. “But I guess Jeannie wasn’t interested.”

Jason reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper. “So are you saying I shouldn’t call her?”

I stare at the piece of paper. “She . . . she gave you her number?”

He winks at me. “Yep. And I told her to go ahead and use you as a reference that I’m a great guy. But I’m thinking you didn’t give me such a good reference.”

Shit.

I stare down at the pool table. “I’m sorry. Do you hate me?”

“Hate you?” Jason raises his eyebrows. “No, I don’t hate you. I just find it a little perplexing that you shot me down, yet you don’t want me to go out with any other girls.”

I feel my cheeks turning red. “I know it’s selfish, but I just . . . didn’t want you to like Jeannie more than you like me.”

When I lift my eyes, Jason is looking at me with this really tender expression on his face. “That’s impossible,” he says softly.

I turn even redder. I must look like a beet. “Listen, I’ll go over to Jeannie and tell her I made a mistake.”

“No,” he says. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not? You like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but . . .” He gives me that half smile. “If I have any shot whatsoever with you, no matter how small, I’d rather just stay single. So, I’ll pass on Jeannie.”

I try to get my lips to form the words, “You don’t have a shot with me.” But I can’t do it. Somehow I can’t say that to him, and I’m not entirely sure why.

One ritual Jason and I have together is watching
The Daily Show
together every night before going to bed. Well, we don’t watch it together in that we’re not actually together, but we often call each other if we’re not with our significant other. Which is actually pretty frequently.

We’ve been watching
The Daily Show
together for years. I can’t even remember how long we’ve been doing this. At least five years. Sometimes we argue, though, because Jason thinks that
The Colbert Report
is a better show, but I think
The Colbert Report
is too much Colbert and you just kind of get overwhelmed. Not that Colbert isn’t funny or anything, but it’s just sort of too much.

Lately though, Larry and I have been spending the night together more and more, and I feel like it’s not appropriate to spend thirty minutes on the phone with another guy while I’m with my boyfriend. So our
Daily Show
ritual hasn’t been happening much lately.

Tonight, while Larry is in his bathroom, brushing his teeth, I turn on the television in his bedroom to Comedy Central. Jon Stewart is just starting up his monologue. I love Jon Stewart. He’s funny, but there’s also something sexy about him. Not enough to make my top five, but he’s definitely hot.

Larry comes out of the bathroom and sees what I’m watching. He looks sort of dismayed. “What is that?” he asks.

“It’s
The Daily Show
,” I say.

Larry frowns. “I always watch
The Tonight Show
.”

“
The Tonight Show
?” I stare at him. “What are you—middle-aged?”

“It’s a really good show,” he says, a little sheepishly. “Leno is really funny. I like it when he does headlines.”

“Seriously?” I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this. My parents like Leno. People my age don’t like that show. Why are Larry’s tastes so weird? Why can’t we have one goddamn thing in common?

And I’m also kind of irked by the way he takes the remote and just changes the channel. I mean, he could at least try to like what I like. Or at least let me enjoy watching my show, considering I was here first.

My cell phone beeps and I see the text message from Jason pop up,
Daily Show?

I reply,
Larry watching Leno

Jason writes back,
Leno is for old people

See? Jason gets it.

I’m about to text him further insults about Leno and people who watch Leno, but Larry crawls into bed with me, and I can’t very well do this in front of him. So I reluctantly put the phone down on my night table.

Larry fluffs his pillow, then lays his head next to mine. He’s a pillow fluffer. He wants his pillow to be maximally puffy before he lays his head down on it. I expect him to start watching Leno’s monologue, but instead he has this weird frown on his face, almost like he’s constipated or something. Finally, I say, “What is it?”

“Tasha,” he says. “How come you always wear your socks to bed?”