Trophy Husband (15 page)

I hit send. Then I click back to the main
screen and look at Hayden and Julia. “Are you all done with your
messaging now? You think you can focus on us?” Hayden asks.

“Um, yeah,” I say, feeling a little
sheepish. I don’t like when people spend more time on their phones
than with the actual company they’re keeping. I’ve always believed
in focusing on real people and not the electronic tethers to what I
might be missing, like Chris, who is somewhere in this city,
somewhere near me…

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts,
restoring a tabula rasa to my brain. I may have a wicked crush on
him, but I can’t let myself get swept up. The viewers might not
choose him. They might not vote for him as one of the five
finalists. Besides, we’re business partners trying to grow our
shows. That’s all. We’re playing a game, nothing more.

Erin comes rushing in, a torrent of energy,
decked out in tight black jeans, a pink and gray argyle
short-sleeve sweater and gigantic pink plastic earrings in the
shape of squares. She sits down in a huff, pushes a hand through
her spiky hair, and says, “I need a drink. You will never believe
what happened to me tonight.”

She motions to the waiter and orders a vodka
straight up. “My VIP client wanted a happy ending.”

“What?” I say, shocked.

“A happy ending. He asked for a happy
ending. Does he think we’re running a fucking bordello?”

“Jesus, Erin. Why would he do that?”

“Evidently, one of the
other girls,
Karen
, has been giving him happy endings, that’s why. So when he
booked for tonight, the receptionist didn’t hear him right when he
made his special request for Karen.” The waiter, exceedingly
prompt, returns with Erin’s drink. She reaches for it instantly and
downs about half the glass. “So she assumed it was me because our
names sound similar. Anyway, so as I finish the massage, he taps
his hip. I pretend I don’t see it. He taps his hip again and says,
‘Karen always finishes me off. Can you?’”

She takes another drink, then practically
slams her glass down.

“Ugh. That is so gross,” Julia says.

We commiserate with her for a few more
minutes, and then Julia regales us with her craziest work stories,
and soon Erin has downed another glass.

I excuse myself for the
restroom. Once inside, I reach for my phone again. I don’t want
them to know I’m texting with Chris. Not when they’re having such a
good time playing the game too. Besides, Chris is just playing the
game as well, I tell myself. I can’t let myself get too fixated on
one guy, even though I want to. Especially since there’s a new
message from him, and his name alone on my screen thrills
me.
Testing out the new Ajax Extra car
racing game. It sucks…Where are the girls tonight?

He asked me another question. He likes
chatting with me. And I like chatting with him so much it’s
starting to scare me. But in a good way. In the way that makes my
mouth curve into a smile and my skin tingle.

We’re making the rounds on Fillmore Street.
What part of the city do you live in?

I hit send, tuck the phone in my purse and
return to Erin. During my short bathroom trip, she’s managed to
acquire another vodka and she’s quickly necking this one back.

Then we leave and we blanket nearby bars,
laughing like college girls playing pranks, as we hand out Trophy
Husband flyers at The Pink Pantry, Cosmo Pete’s, Akimbo and Car
282. People are getting a kick out of the contest, saying they love
how it turns the tables. That’s the point, and I love it when
people get the point I’m making.

But I am also feeling pretty good because
Chris and I have been texting all night. And even though I’ve only
consumed two beers in two hours, his notes are giving me a little
buzz of their own.

Erin, however, has been drinking enough for
the four of us. I lost count of how many she’s polished off. She’s
pretty sloshed, laughing her ass off at nearly everything and
bobbing and weaving as she heads to the restroom, now that we’re
back at our home base of the Tiki Bar, mission accomplished many
times over.

“What are we going to do about her?” Hayden
asks, pointing to the ladies room. “She drove here from work.”

“We need to take her home, obviously.”

“I need to head back anyway since Lena will
be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. So we’ll all just catch a cab
and drop her off?”

“Yeah, and I guess she’ll
just get her car tomorrow,” I say, then reach into my purse once
more when I feel my phone vibrate. The girls are chatting amongst
themselves now, so I figure I can get away with a quick reply to
Chris. Provided it’s Chris. I hope it’s Chris.
How’s the night going? Will it be an all nighter?

I tap back:
Wrapping up soon. What are you doing?

The girls chatter more. Chris replies almost
instantly.

Closing shop for the night. No more games.
I’m ready for more rules. You?

Rules?
Is he asking to see me? I glance quickly at my friends, then
at Erin, zigzagging her way back to the table, her eyes a little
loopy from the liquor.

She plops down, resting her head on my
shoulder. I pet her short, spiky hair. “Hey, babe. We’re all going
to share a cab and get you home safely.”

She springs up. “What about my car?” She’s
got a look of sheer terror in her eyes.

“Erin, we’ll come get it tomorrow.”

She shakes her head emphatically. “No, no,
no. Pete will freak out if I leave the car on Fillmore overnight.
He’s always worried that cars will be towed or vandalized.”

“Erin, are you nuts? Pete will be fine with
the car.”

“No, no, no,” she says again, adamant. Then
she looks at me with big puppy dog eyes. “Please, McKenna. Please
take my car home tonight. You have a two-car garage. Please. You’re
not drunk. Please drive my car home. Please.”

“Erin,” I say patiently. “Sweetie, I had two
drinks. I can’t drive for another hour.”

“Take it home in an hour then, please?”

Then it hits me.
Rules. Hour. You.
I hold
up a finger, telling Erin to wait. I reach for my phone again,
tapping back a reply.
Can you meet me at
Tiki Bar in 15 minutes?
I’m still not even
sure he was asking me for a drink. But I’m seizing the moment. I’m
making the most of my night out before a heavy week of dating
starts. His yes arrives seconds later. So I help hail a cab for
Hayden and Erin, then wait for another one for Julia since she
lives in the opposite direction.

“It’s just you and me, sis,” Julia says,
looping her arm through mine.

Uh oh. I thought Julia was leaving too. “Um,
Julia,” I begin, feeling my face turning red as I try to think of
ways to politely ask her to get the hell out of here.

She looks at me, wide-eyed, her jaw open,
seeing right through me. She pokes my chest. “You’re meeting a
boy!”

“No,” I say quickly. Then I change my tune.
“Actually, yes.”

She holds up a hand for a high-five. “You
work fast!”

“Actually. He’s that video game guy. You
know the one who talked up my show last week and sent all those
guys to me?”

Julia gives me a quizzical look. “He’s
twenty-three?”

“Yeah, can you believe it?”

“Weird, he seemed more like our age. But
cool. He wants in on the action?”

“Um, yeah, as it turns out. He’s a fun guy,
liked the contest, so he wanted to join in too.”

“But I thought you were saying he kind of
ran a big video game empire or something?”

What is this – Twenty Questions?

“Yeah. So?”

“I just figured a Trophy Husband doesn’t
work. You know, because trophy wives don’t work. But heck, what do
I know? You’re making the rules up as you go along, you’re a
pioneer! You’re blazing a trail to a world teeming with Trophy
Husbands!”

“That’s me. The pioneer,” I say dryly.

She wags a finger at me. “Just remember.
Twenty-three and under. Only younger guys.”

“Totally. Of course. I took the oath. I’d
never break it.”

“You better not.” She raises her hand and
waves frantically at a nearby cab.

“I won’t,” I say with a fake smile. I have
just lied to my sister, to my awesome amazing sister who I love. I
have just lied to her face about Chris’ age. About the oath I took.
The girlfriend oath that I’m breaking. Then, I remind myself that
Chris is not going to be the winner. This little thing we have
going on is a business deal, a promotional partnership. It’s a
game. That’s all it is. A game. Still, I feel a little creepy, a
little conniving for telling a lie.

A taxi pulls up.

“Have fun with video game guy. And hey,
you’re driving. So order a Diet Coke, okay?”

“Obviously. Diet Coke and me, we’re like
this,” I say as I twist my index and middle fingers together.

She gives me a quick kiss and a hug, and
then I return to where the evening started. When I walk back in
Chris is sitting at the table in the corner, smiling at me. All my
icky feelings fade.

“So is this like an officially sanctioned
date?” Chris asks playfully after the waitress brings us two Diet
Cokes.

I press a finger to my lips. “Shh…”

“So this date is off the record then?”

“A secret date,” I whisper.
“A secret
business
date with the first Trophy Husband candidate.”

“We don’t even know if I’ll make the
cut.”

“You will so make the cut. How could you
not?”

“The odds are one in four, McKenna. And
that’s just for the first round, for the initial date.”

“You’ll get there. I’m not worried.”

“I guess I’m getting a leg up on the others
right now.”

“You are indeed.”

“Speaking of legs up, I was thinking we
should still probably shoot that promo.”

“Really? Why?”

“One, I have access to the studio and my
videographer is on retainer with the network show so it won’t cost
us anything. And two, it’s sort of like a fallback. What if I don’t
make the cut?”

“You will!”

“But, just in case. And, even if I am one of
the five, your viewers might not pick me for a second date. So,
we’d have to resort to the old-fashioned way to keep promoting each
other, with promos, know what I mean? Because I definitely think
there are great synergies between our shows –”

I cut him off. “Did you
actually just say
synergies
?”

He rolls his eyes, aware of his faux pas.
“Fuck, I did.”

“That is like the ultimate corporate
marketing term.”

“I know, I know. That is so embarrassing,”
he says, then pauses. “But, it’s not nearly as embarrassing as you
not having played Guitar Hero until two days ago. I mean, I had to
teach you a game they don’t even make any more.”

“What can I say? I’m a throwback. I like
vintage tees and old standards for music.”

“What’s your favorite old standard
ever?”

“Ever? As in all time?”

“Well, yeah. That would be ever.”

“It’s totally cheesy. You’ll laugh.”

“Try me.”

I take a deep breath. “Can’t Help Falling in
Love by Elvis.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds,
and I tense. Have I scared him? Does he think that means I’m some
crazy, clingy girl?

Then he leans into me, and presses his
forehead against mine. He is so damn cute, it’s killing me. “That
is an awesome song,” he says in a soft voice, and I can barely take
it anymore, being this close to him. I want him to kiss me again so
badly, it’s like an ache that longs to be soothed. I want him to
run his hands in my hair, to pull me closer, to savor my lips on
his. The desire to be near him is so overwhelming that it’s fogging
my brain, and all I’m seeing, thinking, feeling is this wish to
erase any distance between us. I have to pull away. If I stay any
closer, I will fall into his arms, and God only knows what kind of
hurt I’d be setting myself up for.

“So yeah, let’s shoot a promo this week,” I
say, and like that – now you see it, now you don’t – I am
back-to-business McKenna.

We spend the next fifteen minutes sketching
out ideas, then we move on to other topics, trading tales from
college, telling stories of favorite concerts we have been to. He
loves live music and tells me he has been to 227 concerts in his
life.

“You count?”

He nods proudly.

“You actually count?”

“I keep a piece of paper in my desk listing
every concert I have ever been to.”

“Why?”

“It’s the engineer in me, McKenna. What can
I say? I like to count, to keep track of things.”

“I so need to get a hold of that piece of
paper.”

“And for that I am keeping my desk under
lock and key when you come over.”

“Hey, where do you live? You never told
me.”

“Russian Hill. Corner of Polk and
Green.”

“I love that neighborhood. There is a great
little kitschy gift shop a few blocks north on Polk Street where I
got this ring,” I say, then hold out my right hand. A silver band
with pink and white flowers etched on it is on my index finger. A
half dozen thin black plastic bangles rattle a bit on my wrist.
Chris reaches for my hand, gently touching the ring. His fingertips
graze the top of my hand as he moves along from my finger to my
wrist, touching my bracelets now. I am hypnotized with his touch,
tugged into an orbit around him, because he is the focal point of
my body and mind right now. His hands are strong and soft and they
make my skin warm all over, as if I’ve been lying out in the sun,
soaking in the delicious rays. He strokes the inside of my wrist so
briefly, but enough for a tiny whimper to escape my lips as my mind
flashes forward to other things he might be able to do with his
hand. I press my thighs together, so I don’t grab his hands and
test my theories.