The Trade Page 5

He shrugs and says, “I don’t find you attractive.” Then he gives me a slant of his closed mouth, as if to say, “What can you do?” Is he kidding me right now?

  “You don’t find me attractive?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Sorry. Pictures can be deceiving.”

  Pictures can be—

  How fucking rude.

  I don’t even use filters on my pictures for that very reason.

  “This coming from the guy who altered his eyes to be blue. Newsflash, pal, they’re a muddled shade of poop brown.” I stand from my chair and whip my jacket over my shoulder, tucking my iPad into my purse and storming up to him. Right before I pass him, I say over my shoulder, “And for your information, those pants are a little short on you. Expecting a flood?”

  With that, I walk out the door of the coffee shop, at a loss for words. Doesn’t find me attractive? Then why come on the date?

  I flag down a taxi and give him directions to my apartment before calling Monica.

  “If you’re calling me to tell me you met up with another guy during the day, I’m going to walk to your apartment tonight and punch you dead on in the ear.”

  “The ear?”

  “Yeah, the boob is too easy, the eye is obvious, and your ass has way too much cushion. It would be the ear so you’d hear ringing for days.”

  “There’s too much bone there, you could really do some harm.”

  “Exactly. So do I need to punch you?”

  I wince and say, “Can I wear earmuffs?”

  “Natalie,” she groans, and I can hear her shift in her chair. Monica works as an interior designer, has the coolest boss ever, and one of the prettiest offices I’ve ever seen. Her workday is relaxed, and I’m grateful I have my best friend at my disposal whenever I need her. “Let me guess, he was a real loser?”

  “Didn’t get to find out.”

  “Did he stand you up?” she asks, switching from annoyed to angry in seconds.

  “Nope. He gave me one of the most thorough once-overs of my life, decided not to take a seat but instead told me he didn’t find me attractive and didn’t want to waste my time.”

  “What? But he saw pictures of you. How does someone not find another person attractive if they saw pictures of the person first?”

  “He said my pictures were deceiving.”

  “Bullshit. I took those and they are unfiltered and beautiful. I captured your essence.”

  “Well, apparently he didn’t like my essence.”

  “He’s a moron and obviously mentally unstable.”

  I love that Monica is trying to make me feel better, and even though I felt like I gave him a good zinger back, I still can’t help but think . . . am I really that unattractive? According to my husband, I wasn’t attractive enough to hold his interest. And he’d promised to love me forever.

  “Don’t even think it,” Monica says, reading my mind. “That silence, I know exactly what you’re thinking and it’s not true.”

  “But what if I’m, you know . . . not pretty?”

  “Why do you make me yell at you? I don’t want to yell at you, but when you say stupid shit like that, you force me to be a bully. Is that what you want, Natalie, for me to be a bully?”

  I chuckle and shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “No, I don’t.”

  “Then don’t be an idiot. We both know you’re gorgeous, not just on the outside, but on the inside too, and that’s what makes you such a great catch. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now I have someone I want to set you up with and before you say no, you have to give him a chance. He’s the son of one of my clients and he’s adorable. Really sweet and loves his mom. I showed him a picture of you, and he’s more than interested. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know. A blind date? That seems too scary.”

  “Remember what I said? Getting yourself out there.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I say, “Okay.”

  Start a new chapter in your life; it will be great. That’s what everyone’s been telling me, but no one warned me how hard it might actually be.

  * * *

  Natalie: Platypus. PLATYPUS.

  Natalie: Did you not hear me? PLATYPUS!!

  “And that’s how I got into painting vaginas,” Robert, Monica’s “adorable” blind date says.

  “Oh . . . that’s . . . interesting, all from porn, huh?”

  He nods and sips his wine. “Yup. I find porn star vaginas to be more intricate in detail because they’ve been stretched—”

  My phone vibrates and I quickly pick it up. “Hello?” I give him an apologetic look.

  “You can’t possibly be using platypus on Robert.”

  “Oh no, really? Shit, okay, I thought I sent that file over before I left.”

  “Natalie, he’s adorable. So sweet.”

  “Yes, I’m busy. What am I doing? Well, I’m on a date with a very nice man.” Robert smiles charmingly at me. “Can’t you wait until tomorrow?” I pause. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

  “You better call me—” I hang up and stuff my phone in my purse.

  “I’m so sorry, Robert, but that was my boss. I apparently forgot to attach a document to a bid and they need it, so I have to go into the office.”

  “I understand completely.” He stands with me and leans over to give me a hug. For a brief second, I think maybe he is a nice guy, that’s until he whispers, “If you ever want to be painted, let me know.”

  Or he’s just a creep.

  I awkwardly laugh and then sprint out of the restaurant and hail a taxi. Once inside, I call Monica again.

  “What the hell happened?” she asks, insulted.

  “He paints—”

  “Which I think is sexy.”

  “. . . porn star vaginas.”

  Silence.

  I envision Monica trying to process my statement with a confused look on her face.

  “He what?” she whispers. I chuckle.

  “He paints vaginas, Monica. Porn star vaginas because he thinks they’re better painted used.”

  “Oh, dear God.” She makes a puking sound on the other end of the phone. “I’m telling his mother.”

  * * *

  “Why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be on your date?”

  “That ended,” I say, putting my car into reverse and backing out of the parking spot.

  “Why? Didn’t it just start?”

  “Yes, well, on my way to the restaurant, I was pulled over for failing to signal.”

  “Failing to signal?” Monica practically yells into the phone. “That isn’t something they give tickets for.”

  “Apparently they do.”

  “So you were in a bad mood and cancelled?”

  “Oh no, I thought hey, why not go on this date still, maybe have a few drinks, make out in my car for a bit, the normal stuff, you know . . . get some action. But that ended the moment my date walked up to me.”

  “Was he not who you expected?”

  “He was the cop who gave me a ticket for failing to signal.”

  “Oh . . .” She laughs. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, I told him to stick his dick in a blender and walked out.”

  “Yup, that is a sure-fire way to end a date before it starts.”

  * * *

  “Are you going to eat the rest of your dish, dear?”

  Smiling tightly, I shake my head, as I fill in the tip amount on the receipt, add up the over one-hundred-dollar bill, and then sign my name.

  “Wonderful.” I look up just in time to see my date’s mother pull a box of foil out of her purse and start wrapping my leftover chicken and potatoes in it while my date’s father leans back and rubs his belly.

  To say I was surprised to go out with my date . . . and his parents is an understatement. I didn’t have it in me to ditch him in front of his parents who are rather chatty people.

  “What a wonderful night. I think it’s a match. Gary, what do you think?”


  Gary, the father, eyes me suspiciously and then picks at his tooth with his finger. “Nah.” He shakes his head. “Too uptight. Evan can do better.”

  “And this is why I bring my parents.” Evan gives them both a hug.

  Good Christ.

  Insulted, I stand from my chair and gently look at Evan as I point to his parents. “And they are why you’re still single. Have a good night.”

  * * *

  I’ve never seen a man sweat as much as poor Roger sitting in front of me.

  Large dark circles color his armpits, beads of sweat caress his upper lip, and just above his brow, a nervous vein keeps twitching at me, startling me with how big it’s getting.

  Is he even breathing over there?

  “Are you okay, Roger?”

  “Oh yup, fine. Just fine. Very fine.” He dabs his forehead with his napkin and then looks down at his plate. “I’m sorry, you’re just very pretty and entirely out of my league. I know it, you know it, everyone in this restaurant knows it.”

  “That’s not true,” I say, trying to make him feel better. His lack of confidence is not attractive to me at all, neither is the way he keeps licking his lip. I’m seconds away from offering him some of my lip balm to soothe the redness that’s starting to ring around his mouth.

  “It is.” He nods and rocks in his chair. “It’s very true. You’re just very beautiful and I knew I shouldn’t have gone on this date. I’m sure you’re having a hard time finding something you like about me.”

  Sheesh, grow a pair, Roger, and man up.

  “There are plenty of things I like about you,” I say, so he doesn’t feel any worse than he is right now.

  “Tell me one thing.” He looks up at me with hopeful eyes and just like that, my mind goes blank.

  One thing I like about Roger? Uh . . . Sweat forms at the base of his neck, his lips tremble, and I watch as he fidgets in his seat, as if he has an itch in his butt crack that he’s trying to inconspicuously scratch.

  Think of something . . . think of something.

  Aha.

  I lean forward and say, “I like the way you smell.”

  Simple. He did smell nice when I first met him at the bar. Who’s to say what he smells like now, given the excessive sweat he’s been excreting since sitting down, but at least when I first met him, I thought his cologne was nice.

  “You like how I smell?” he asks, giving me a weird look.

  “Umm, yes.”

  “Huh.” He ponders that. “Well . . . I just smell with two nostrils like the rest of us.”

  . . .

  Oh Roger.

  It was nice knowing you.

  * * *

  “Seriously? You have ten siblings?” I ask Lance, starting to actually feel good about this date. Finally. Smart, funny, good job, and he loves the Bobbies, can’t get any better than that.

  Plus, he has a really great body, at least from what I can tell. I keep telling myself not to get too excited, because the last two weeks have been dating hell. I’m almost waiting for the other foot to drop.

  “Yup, ten. And one bathroom for all of us. I don’t know how we all survived.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “I have two brothers and we had two bathrooms between us, and we still fought. I can’t imagine what growing up in your household would have been like.”

  “Not easy.” He smiles and starts to lean forward to grab my hand when the waitress moves between us.

  “Here.” She practically slaps the medium pizza between us, startling me backward.

  Like every other time she’s been to our table, the waitress eye-fucks my date again and then hands him the garlic shaker that’s on the table. “Use it,” she says under her breath, just loud enough that I can hear her.

  Awkwardly, Lance looks up at her, swallows hard, and starts dousing our pizza in garlic. And not just a sprinkle, but as if he’s trying to create a garlic blanket to keep our pepperoni pizza warm.

  “Umm, I think that’s enough,” I say, concerned my tongue might fall off with one bite.

  “More,” the waitress mutters, and Lance shakes the garlic feverously over the pizza until there’s a small pile in the middle. Good God, man, slow down on the vampire repellant.

  When he stops, she gives him a curt nod and then takes off.

  Unsure about what just happened and a little nervous that she might be able to hear me, I lean forward and whisper, “What the hell was that about? Our pizza is ruined.”

  Unfazed, he picks up a slice and bites into it. Studying the pizza, he answers, “She didn’t want us kissing at the end of the night. She thinks garlic will stop me.”

  “Umm . . . why would she care if we kissed?”

  “Oh.” He chuckles. “That’s my girlfriend.”

  Blinks.

  Leans back.

  Blinks some more.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah, my girlfriend. She loves getting jealous.” As if we’re sharing a secret, he lifts his hand and talks behind it. “You’re really pretty, which was the first thing to set her off, but the fact that you’re easy to talk to as well, oh yeah, she’s going to suck my cock so hard tonight. Thanks for doing this for me. Angry foreplay is the best kind of foreplay, am I right?”

  I toss my napkin on the table and gather my purse. “Un-fucking-believable.”

  * * *

  “Why are you all dressed up?” I ask when Jason opens the door. “Please don’t tell me you’re going out on a date?”

  Wearing a tailored suit that spans his broad shoulders, Jason shows off his backside and says, “My ass looks amazing in these pants, doesn’t it?”

  “Stop showing your butt off to your sister,” Dottie says, coming up to the door with her purse in hand, wearing a gorgeous purple dress that hits her right above the knees. She looks me up and down and asks, “Oh, are you coming to the party too?”

  “What party? Are you two leaving? I was really hoping to drown my dating sorrows in some of your homemade ice cream.”

  Jason got an ice cream maker from Dottie for Christmas and he’s spent the last two weeks making every concoction you can think of . . . and perfecting them. It’s to the point now where I crave his ice cream, and I hate admitting it, but after my date just used me as a tool for angry foreplay, I needed some.

  “We’re headed to the Rebels new year party,” Jason says. “It’s to kick things off with the new players and families before we head to spring training. Come with us.”

  I shake my head. “No, there is no way I’m in the mood to talk to a bunch of Rebels players. I’m going home.”

  “Nope,” Dottie says, looping her arm through mine. “Not going to happen. There are a lot of single Rebels players. This would be the perfect time to meet a good guy.”

  “They are Rebels, so none of them are good guys.”

  “That’s not true,” Jason counters. “I’ve met quite a few, and they’re not all bad.”

  “See?” Dottie says. “You’re coming.”

  Chapter Five

  NATALIE

  “Why do they still look dirty in their suits?” I ask, feeling my nose scrunch up.

  “Hey,” Jason whispers into my ear, “you’re going to have to get used to me playing for this team, because they have me by the balls for a few years. So perk up and smile.”

  “I am smiling.”

  Dottie leans in this time. “You’re actually sneering.” She presses her hand to my shoulder. “I get it, it’s hard for me too, but we have to make the sacrifice for Jason.”

  “And you two say I’m the dramatic one.” Jason adjusts the cuffs of his shirt and says, “I’m going to get us some drinks, so for the love of God, please be cordial. Don’t you dare embarrass me.”

  “Coming from the man who embarrasses us on a daily basis,” Dottie says, her smile lightening the mood.

  Jason grips her cheek and says, “I love you,” right before placing a gentle kiss to her lips.

  Ugh . . . they’re
annoyingly cute.

  When I first met Dottie, I immediately knew she’d be the one who’d keep my quirky brother in check. Jason is his own person, one of the toughest guys I’ve ever seen on the ball field and doesn’t take shit from anyone. But when he’s at home, it’s like he transforms into this annoying, teasing teddy bear. He loves joking around, getting a rise out of people, making fun of himself, and trying to make the most out of every situation. Not many people can handle his obscure humor or his tortuous teasing, but Dottie can. She handles him beautifully. And it’s because she’s tough, strong-willed, and she doesn’t back down. They understand the need for give and take, respect for one another, and they communicate well . . . something I’m very jealous of. They are couple goals, for sure. Jason needs her in his life. She’s the perfect match for my brother.

  And because I love Dottie so much for loving my brother, we’ve become close over the last month or so, especially once Jason told her about Ansel. She swooped in like a big sister and took me under her wing.

  “Now that he’s gone,” Dottie says, pulling me to a high-top table, “when we were in the car, I went through the roster to see who was single and made notes.”

  “Dottie, you can’t be serious.” I chuckle.

  “Oh, I am. Let me pull them up.”

  Laughing and shaking my head, I take in the event space while I wait for Dottie to scroll through her phone. We’re in a converted warehouse near the stadium. From the outside, the venue looked less than desirable—kind of fit with the stigma of the team—but the minute we stepped inside, I admit, I was blown away. The event reeks of sophistication. Men in expensive, bespoke suits, women in just-as-expensive-looking dresses—me excluded—high-tops scattered with dimly lit centerpieces gracing the center, and exposed brick walls caressed by red uplights. There’s a large bar in the back, decked out with every liquor you could imagine, and waiters dressed in black-on-black bow ties parade the room holding trays of decadent-looking appetizers.