When Joss Met Matt (10 page)

In that moment, the thought occurred to me that no one else I knew would be able to play this ridiculous game. It wasn't just that Matt had originated it—he was the only person I knew who would be so dedicated to an arbitrary list that was one step shy of being written on a cocktail napkin. We'd always had a deep appreciation of the absurd in common.

“Maybe …” he murmured before searching my desk for a pen. He bent over the rules for a moment. “There.”

I took the paper from his hand and read:

“So I'm not banned for life?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“How do you figure rule eleven?” I asked.

“Well, why do you need Sorbet Sex?”

I folded my hands at my waist like a good pupil. “To get rid of the bad feelings left from the last guy.”

“So, there can't be any bad feelings between us or it won't work, right?”

The whole thing smacked of rationalizing, but I wanted to agree. “So, we have to Sorbet our way back into Sorbetability.”

He laughed. “Wow, that's a hell of a word.”

“I made it up just for you.” I smiled.

“Thanks.”

“So …?”

“Yeah, I'm in.”

I smiled and put my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

“It's okay. I think we both need this one.”

I kissed him, happy to get an equal response. “I picked out some really nice underwear for you.”

“You were pretty confident you'd get your way, weren't you?”

“I was willing to take my clothes off again, if I had to,” I said in all seriousness.

He laughed. “That's your go-to move, huh?”

“It worked last time.”

“True.”

“So … do you want to see?” I asked.

“Absolutely.”

Snow fell overnight, and the temperature in my bedroom dropped dramatically. December had been unseasonably warm, although a few nights had already alerted me to the crappy insulation in my bedroom. It had northern and eastern exposure, which combined to create a chilling effect during the winter months.

I knew it was cold when I woke up with a drippy nose. I snuck an experimental arm out from beneath the blankets and immediately regretted it. I shivered and buried myself deeper in the comforter, scooting closer to Matt to borrow some body heat.

“Hey,” he greeted me, reaching back to pull me tight against his body.

“You're awake?” I asked.

“Yeah, I have been for a while. I'm afraid to get out of bed.”

“Why?”

“It's freezing in here!”

“I know!” I agreed.

“Look at this.” He turned his head so I could see and blew a plume of frosted breath into the air. “I can see my breath. Inside.”

“I know, it's awful.”

“Is it always like this?”

“Only when the temperature drops.”

“Jeez.” He twisted to face me and hugged me close. “Does your landlord know about this?”

“Ha!” I scoffed. Our landlord was not prone to answering his residents' complaints. Nor did he have to be, I supposed. We'd all be moving on at the end of one year, and he could wait for the next tenants to notice that the front two bedrooms didn't heat. All over Madison, the property owners who rented to students were an immoral, unsavory bunch. By the time anyone realized it, it was always too late—contracts signed, deposits made.

“I guess you're right,” he said.

“I'm glad you came over last night,” I said. “It's way warmer with you in here.”

He laughed. “You're just using me for my metabolic rate.”

“No, no, no. I'm using you for lots of things.”

He laughed again, and I kissed him.

“I'm glad you came over. For real,” I said.

“Me, too.”

“I guess I'm ahead now, huh?”

“Two to one.”

“Not that you're keeping track, right?”

“Of course not.” He grinned.

“Well, I guess you better get yourself out there,” I said.

“I'm out there, trust me.”

“Okay, so you need to get out there and find someone you actually want to see more than once.” I slipped a foot between his shins and wiggled my toes.

“I'm doing just fine, thank you.”

“I'm serious, Matt, you're a great guy, you should find yourself a new girl.”

He hooked one of my rogue curls away from my lips. “You realize this is a completely fucked up conversation, right?”

“How can you say that?” I slung my thigh over his waist and gave him a wicked grin.

He covered my face with one hand and sighed. “Okay, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why don't
you
want me?”

Fear darted through my stomach. “Matty, I—I—”

“Relax.” He rolled his eyes. “I'm asking out of pure curiosity. You're sort of in a unique position, you know.”

“You're just …” I shrugged. “You're not my type, I guess.”

“That type thing is bullshit.”

“Oh, really? So why don't you want me?” I challenged him.

“No way, I'm not telling you that.”

I lifted my head and narrowed my eyes at him. “Why not?”

“I'd have to be an idiot to tell a girl I'm in bed with why she's not girlfriend material.”

I considered pursuing the line of questioning, but he was probably right. I didn't want to lose my Sorbet Guy, or more important my friend. Honesty is not necessarily the best policy. Alex would probably agree with that one. “It's because I won't eat anything blue, isn't it?”

He laughed.

“Never mind, don't tell me.”

He freed one hand and held it out to me. “I'll never tell if you don't.”

“Deal.” We shook on it, and I unhooked my leg from his waist.

“I guess I should get up.” Matt sighed.

I groaned. “If you move, it's gonna get all cold under the covers.”

“I thought you wanted me to get out and meet a new girl.”

“I do! But I also don't want you to take away your warmth.”

“You are a complicated woman.”

“What can I say? You're very warm.”

“Using me again.” He shook his head and gave me sad eyes.

“Guilty.” I pulled the blankets up higher around our shoulders. “Who knows? This could be the last time we do this, you know. You could meet the love of your life on the way home this morning.”

“I'd never recognize her in this weather,” he said. “Too many layers.”

“True.”

“And that would require me getting out of your bed.”

“Also true.”

“It's frickin' cold out there.”

“So, maybe not today.” I shrugged. “Maybe you'll meet her tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I'll wait.”

Chapter Thirteen

Now

Matt's apartment wasn't far away as the crow flies, but it took a while to get there. He lived on the east side of the city, in one of the strangest digs I'd ever seen. His apartment was the former servants' quarters of one of the large mansions on Lake Drive. It had been converted into a rental space by the owners of the house, who also had a condo in Florida, a ski chalet in Aspen, and a yacht, inexplicably in Virginia. They liked to have a tenant who would take in their mail and presumably scare off potential thieves with his four meager windows lit in the northwestern corner of the property. The place was gorgeous, though, and Matt was alone on the gated lot most of the year. Apparently, the servants had lived well when they were there: hardwood floors, a natural fireplace in the living room, and high plastered ceilings. My own apartment was a pre-fab nightmare in comparison.

I parked in the short drive that served the back of the house and walked around the ivy-covered corner to the side entrance that was all Matt's. I hit the buzzer and had to wait for him to come down the stairs to let me in. The owners had updated the place to the hilt when they'd converted it, but had stopped short of installing an actual mechanism to open the door from the second floor.

It took him a long time to answer, which made me more nervous. I swallowed hard, and shifted my shoulders. It seemed that my light cardigan had somehow shrunk two sizes. It felt so tight—like it was trying to crush me. Hastily, I unbuttoned it and shrugged out of it. Then it was my hair that seemed determined to wrap around my neck and squeeze out the air. I used my hands to gather it back into a ponytail for a moment of reprieve. It was then I realized I'd left my glasses on in my distraction. I took them off and stuffed them into my purse. I knew it would be a miracle if I remembered where I'd put them, but at least I'd de-nerded.

Then suddenly, Matt was pounding down the stairs in his socks, nearly slipping on the third-from-the-bottom and flinging his arms out to gain his balance. I watched the whole thing through the mullioned door and couldn't help laughing.

“Hey, come on in,” he said, turning his back to run back up the stairs without further greeting.

“Nice to see you, too!” I shouted after him, stopping to take off my shoes.

“Sorry!” he called back. “My timer just went off!”

I wouldn't exactly call what Matt had at the bottom of the stairs a foyer, but there were a few hooks on the wall for coats and a small collection of shoes he left there. I always took mine off when I arrived, though he'd never asked me to. It just seemed like the thing to do.

When I went to hang up my coat, the usual hook I used was already occupied by a dirty baseball cap. I burst out laughing when I saw it. Matt wasn't the kind of guy who wore hats all the time, like so many of the guys I'd known in college. But there was one summer where he always seemed to have a hat on. Like he was in disguise. And it had been this sad, filthy cap. I hadn't seen it since then, now that I thought about it. I thought he'd lost it.

For that matter, I thought I'd thrown it into Lake Mendota.

Chapter Fourteen

Five Years Earlier … Summer Before Junior Year

I was twenty when I fell in love.

Unfortunately, it wasn't with another human being. After two years of fumbling through a biology major with no clear idea what I wanted to do, I fell in love with a class. It was animal biology.

I'd always been an animal lover. There was no other reason to spend my working hours soaking wet in my sister's grooming parlor, cooing to terrified dogs and getting clawed for my trouble. Dogs made me smile, sucked away my stress at first sight, and gave me a reason to look forward to the wet work of washing them.

So, in my second semster of my sophomore year of college, on track to graduating in four years, I realized I wanted to be a veterinary tech. All the joy of working with animals without the pesky doctorate in veterinary medicine I didn't want to get. This epiphany required me to become a voluntary nerd, however. I enrolled at the local technical college and began collecting credits from two schools simultaneously. If I planned carefully, I could still get out in four years, I'd just have to do summer sessions.

Meanwhile, my love life sank to an all-time low. At first I thought it was related to my increased class load and decreased fun time. But, there had to be some kind of bad luck involved. Or karma coming back to bite me in the ass.

First came John, who set the standard for romance in college. He swept me off my feet with amazing plans for our first three dates. We picnicked and went for a long walk, we went to the art museum and drank wine in the middle of the afternoon, we took a tour of the capitol building, and when he wanted to go up to the dome's observation deck and I had a complete fear-of-heights freak-out, he acquiesced without a second thought. John stood alone in my college dating history as the sole example of classic romance. I thought he was my very own handsome prince come to life.

But after our fifth date, he took a phone call while he was still in my bed. When he glanced at the display, he smiled. Then, he put a finger to my lips as he answered.

“Hey, sweetie, I was just thinking about you,” he said into the phone.

The first trickle of doubt ran down my insides.

“… Not too much. Just hangin' out with the guys.” He gave me a half-smile, like we were in on a great joke together.… I miss you, too, babe.”

That was the point at which I got out of bed. My hands shook as I grabbed my bathrobe off a hook.

“… Of course I am,” he continued as if I weren't there. “… Yeah, I know. I wouldn't miss it.”

If there is such a thing as karma, then John was my punishment for cheating on Alex. Or sort of cheating on him. Either way, I'd clearly done something to earn such a karmic kick in the pants.

My lungs ached with the strain of holding in a sob as I stooped down to gather John's clothes off the floor. He wasn't paying attention to me. So, when I carried the load to my window, he didn't try to stop me. Then, I went back for his shoes.

“Hey! What are you—?” John said when I chucked the first shoe out the window. “Sweetie, I'm gonna have to call you back.” He disconnected his call as I sent the second shoe after its mate. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You have a
girlfriend
?” I said. “What the fuck are
you
doing?” My vision was blurry with tears of rage, unshed.

“She lives in Portland!” he shouted. “Are you insane?”

“Just get out.”

“What is your problem?” he said, sliding to the edge of the bed to look for his clothes on the floor. He didn't seem to realize I'd defenestrated them.

“Me? You cheating asshole! Get the fuck out of my house!” I pointed at the door.

“Oh, believe me, I'm going.”

“Not fast enough.” I stomped across the room and threw open the bedroom door. “Get out!”

“Where are my clothes?”

“Well, the dumpster's right below my window, so I'd start looking there.”

“You crazy bitch.” He stood, holding his cell phone in front of his genitals like a tiny shield.

“Go!” I stamped my foot once, blinking hard and fast to stay in control.

“Joss?” The voice came from the bottom of the stairs. Jessie's voice. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine!” My tone had gone nasal and I knew it was a matter of seconds before I started to cry.

“I'm not going down there like this,” John hissed.

“The hell you aren't.”

“Fuck you!” he said.

“You already did, asshole.” I raised my voice. “Jessie, are you alone?”

“No, Evan's here.” Jessie's boyfriend. A hockey player. Perfect.

“You okay, Joss?” Evan called up.

“Can you come up here?” I called back.

John's face went dark. “You gonna get your friend to beat me up? You get off on that kind of shit?”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “I just want you to go.”

Evan's heavy footsteps thumped up the stairs.

John stared at me with narrowed eyes, his jaw set tight.

“You might want to hurry,” I said. “Someone might be running off with your shoes right now.” It was an idle threat, but not outside the realm of possibility in Madison. College students are not renowned for their lawful behavior and good judgment.

“Crazy bitch,” John mumbled his parting shot and walked past me just as Evan reached the top of the stairs.

“Whoa, sorry, buddy!” Evan said, holding up a hand to block the sight of naked John.

John didn't say a word, but hurried down the stairs with his phone still held in fig leaf position. Jessie screamed when he came into sight, but didn't stop him from going out the front door. My angry tears were stunned into a hiatus, and I ran down the stairs in my bathrobe to watch John's progress through the front window.

“What the hell is going on?” Jessie demanded.

I didn't answer, pressing my face to the glass until he was out of sight. Then, I ran to the back of the house and climbed gracelessly onto the kitchen counter to look out the window over the sink. That was the ultimate sign of how pissed I was. Normally, I considered even climbing on counters to be too high for my taste. But, with my head at just the right angle I could make out John's naked form as he circled the building, looking for his clothes on the pavement.

“Joss, what happened?” Evan startled me and I knocked my head into the glass.

“Ouch!” I rubbed my temple. John moved out of my narrow view. “Damn.”

“Joss!” Jessie said loudly.

I turned and eased myself off the counter. “Do I have some kind of sign on my forehead that says, ‘Assholes only'?” I asked.

“Not that I can see,” she said.

“Me either,” Evan agreed.

I shuddered. “I have to go shower. For about nine hours.”

So much for princes and white steeds and all that.

Two days before I put Naked John out into the street, Matt met Shelby, a Southern girl who'd lived in the north for most of her life, but clung to her identity and her accent with a tenacity that reminded me of one of my sister's clients, a rat terrier named Buster. He used to bare his teeth the entire time I scrubbed his fur. Shelby was like that, except with subtle sniping.

She had real skill in the area. The first time I met her, she said, “Oh my, you pull off red hair better than most people, don't you?” It took me a moment to determine the intent of her comment, that's how good she was. I would have taken it personally, but she did it to everyone.

“It's so refreshing that people around here don't follow fashion.”

“I just think it's adorable the way you still hang out with the first people you met in college.”

“My daddy drove a BMW before he got his promotion. It was all right until he got his Mercedes.”

She was pretty, of course. Matt could never pass up a chance with a pretty girl, no matter how vicious her venom. It was his greatest weakness as a male, and one of the top three reasons why I would never date him. She was smart enough to keep most of her honey-coated barbs out of his earshot, which only confirmed that she knew exactly what she was doing.

I liked to call her Miss Alabama.

She lasted three weeks.

That was our first case of mutually needed Sorbet. In later years, we referred to it as the “What the Hell Were We Thinking? Time.”

Then came Ryan, Brian, and Bryan, in that order and so unremarkable, I felt like I was caught in an alternate universe where I went on the same first date nine times.

Next, I decided to put Jessie in charge of finding me some candidates. She was a little smug after finding Evan, but I was reaching burnout stage with my summer classes at the time and I felt like delegating the task was better than giving up entirely. What ensued was a series of blind dates, or uncomfortable double dates between Jessie, Evan, me, and the Guy du Jour.

Note: Blind dates are the work of the devil and no caring friend should ever submit a friend to one, no matter how great she thinks the match would be. There is nothing less romantic than being forced to share time with someone you don't know. It's like sitting next to a stranger on an airplane and expecting to fall in love.

Double dates, on the other hand, have the added bonus of making the potential mates play the part of fourth wheel on an alternating basis.

I went through three versions of the Tim date and two blind dates before I told Jessie to stop setting me up.

Left to my own devices, I came up with a new plan: try something completely different. My so-called type was obviously not working out. I didn't really have a physical type; it was more a personality style that I went for. Someone who would do things like plan a romantic picnic, bring me flowers, and yes—get a little jealous. I hated to admit it, even to myself, but I'd always kind of enjoyed that protected feeling that a jealous type gave me. I knew it was stupid and immature—my most jealous boyfriend was unbearable, and my mildly jealous ones had been cheaters themselves. Any Psych 101 student could see they'd been projecting, but that was hardly a consolation. No matter. One thing was clear: romance does not equal trust, caring, and a healthy relationship. So, it seemed to me the next step was to find someone who was none of those things.

Kevin was that guy. There was nothing princely about him, which is exactly why I decided to flirt with him. He was the kind of awkward bookish type that always turned out to be a great guy in teen movies. In reality, they are every bit as nice as the movies indicate, but never actually end up with the dream girl. I wasn't the dream girl anyway, so I'd always secretly feared I would end up with a guy like that, until Ben asked me out. Saying yes to Kevin's proposal of meeting at Memorial Union made me feel shallow. Because prior to accepting, I could convince myself I wasn't interested in him because he was an intellectual snob, or that he rubbed his nose too much. After, when I learned that he was smart, genuine, and interesting to talk to, I had to admit I just wasn't physically attracted to him.

Still, I was determined to break my own bad habits, so I kept seeing him. And while he did grow on me—he was even nice enough
not
to invite me to his place on the ninth floor of a new apartment building when he learned about my height phobia—still, I never felt the spark I wanted to feel. Ultimately I broke up with him. I'd like to say that I felt worse about it than he did, but from the look on his face, I guessed that was unlikely.

“You have to stop beating yourself up about Kevin,” Jessie advised me as I entered my second week of guilt. We were lounging on the couch with Popsicles while we waited for the landlord to arrive and unchain the air conditioner. It was nearly July and he'd finally answered my tenth plea to save me from melting to death in my place. “You can't force chemistry with someone.”

“I just feel like a bitch for dumping this perfectly decent guy. There was nothing wrong with him.”

“But there was also nothing right with him,” she said.

“I swear, dating karma is going to get me for this one. I'm never going on another date because I dumped poor Kevin.”

She gave her orange Popsicle a healthy slurp. “The universe is not out to get you.”

“You can't know that.”

“Neither can you.”

“Look, it's not like you left him at the altar. It just wasn't meant to be. Get over yourself.”

My Popsicle—cherry—was melting fast, and I chased a rivulet of red juice with my tongue as it ran down my wrist. “I still feel bad,” I said.

“What, did you take his virginity or something?” She laughed.

“No. We never even had sex.”

“Then you're extra-lame for freaking out about this guy. What about Tim and Rob and Carlos?” Three of the guys she'd forced on me in one way or another—at my request, yes, but that was hardly the point. “You didn't even go out with any of them. Where are the tears for them?”

I narrowed my eyes at her and gave my Popsicle an aggressive suck. The end fell off in my mouth and I got instant brain freeze. “Ah, dammit!” I clapped my palm over my forehead and groaned.