Whiskey Trick Read online

  “I’m just saying sometimes too perfect is a turnoff.” She waves her free hand toward my painting. “Like this. This is supposed to be fun. But you’re acting like you’re here to paint the Mona Lisa.” She’s flustered as her blue eyes rake over my attire. “I mean, look at you. You’re all perfectly put together in a suit and tie.”

  “I didn’t have time to change. I was busy making coffees and getting donuts.” For her, goddammit. We’re both angry. Having a lovers’ spat without actually being lovers. My heart is genuinely reacting to her critical words. There’s a touch of blue paint on her cheek. If I were so perfect, I would have told her about the adorable smudge instead of ignoring it and taking pleasure in the sweet flaw. “I don’t understand. I’m trying very hard. What do you want me to do? Tell me something I can do that’s not perfect.”

  “Fine. You can start with that bird you painted.” We both look over to my painting propped up on the easel. “Why don’t you mess it up a little, add a fun detail, do something other than what’s been instructed? Think you can color outside the lines?” she jeers.

  “I can do that.” My words grind out through my teeth. “You want a fun detail. You got one.” I reach for my brush and dip it into the red paint at my station. Frustration and anger take over. She wants fun. She wants imperfect. She wants outside the lines. Well, that’s what she’s gonna get.

  Circle, circle. Okay. Do I go for girth or length? Why not both? Paint, paint, paint. And voila.

  I step back so that Trick can admire my brand-new outside-the-lines enhanced bird.

  “What is that?” she asks with wide eyes.

  “What do you think it is?” I mean, it’s clearly a gigantic red penis on a bird. I’m sure she’s aware of that.

  “Henry.” She pinches her nose, holding in laughter that results in a few tears leaking from her eyes. “What did you do?” More laughter.

  “I know bird genitalia isn’t usually visible, let alone from that high up in the sky, but I added a ‘fun detail’ for you.”

  “You certainly did,” she says between belly laughs. “I was thinking a jaunty hat or a pair of sunglasses. Maybe some purple feathers.” Her laughter is infectious. Spontaneous and silly. A sound I don’t often associate with a romantic partner. Although I’m not sure why, because hearing her laugh and laughing along with her is quite an amazing feeling.

  “I think I’ll call this painting Wangy’s Day at the Beach,” I say and relish in her fresh outburst of laughter. Wangy. I just came up with that on the fly. And she thinks it’s funny. No one ever thinks my jokes are funny.

  “Oh, back to it already.” The instructor stands behind us. Lost in our laughter, we hadn’t noticed she was walking over. “That’s interesting. Is that a cardinal?” she asks.

  Trick and I immediately sober up. We stare in horror at each other as the instructor lifts my painting up and shares my added “cardinal” with the other painters starting to stroll back to their stations, louder and wobblier than before.

  “Um. That’s no bird. It’s a giant red dick,” a drunken mom in blinged-out spiritwear announces, and her friends’ dull roars explode. With a closer eye, the instructor reexamines my cardinal, swallows, and places my painting back on the easel before swiftly walking away.

  “Am I still too perfect now?” I lean over and whisper.

  “No, you are not.” Trick giggles. She wipes another laughter-produced tear away from her eye and accidentally smears a hint of fresh paint next to the blue smudge. Two cute little flaws staining her pretty face. Trick’s right. Maybe perfect isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  A legitimate question pops into my head. If this was an actual second date, at the end of the night I would try to end the date with a kiss.

  Is that something we should practice too?

  A Tricky Situation

  “I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t.”

  I’m spilling my guts to a bored pair of eyes. She’s completely uninterested in what I’ve got to say but I need to get these things out so that I can figure out what I’m going to do. So whether she’s interested or not, I continue.

  “So there he is, in his suit pouring me coffee, knowing exactly how I like it, handing over the donut I mentioned I was craving, and it’s making me mad. Actually mad. That’s crazy, right? I mean, I even started bitching about how perfect he was. And that’s when I knew that I was starting to like him.”

  The only reaction I get is a yawn.

  “That’s not supposed to happen,” I go on. “I mean, the entire purpose of me even going out with him is due to the fact that he can’t get girls.” I stop pacing, slapping my fist against my palm for emphasis. “So, either I need to stop this now before I get wrapped up any further or find some other way to continue without falling for him.” I plop myself down onto the recliner and the old thing automatically reclines with a wallop. “Tell me, what do I do?”

  No answer. Not even one little mewl of help.

  I glance over just in time to see the furry tail curve around the edge of the doorway before disappearing altogether.

  “Great help. Thanks.” I grab my book off the end table, thankful it’s not a romance, and dive in. Asking my cat for help is not the answer. But book distraction will help… at least for now.

  Time moves differently when you’re lost in a book. So, maybe an hour, maybe three hours later, I put the book down when my phone chimes with an incoming text from Todd.

  What? I thought I had deleted and blocked him? Guess not. I ignore the text, which is stupid, because ten seconds later it chimes again letting me know that I never opened it.

  Curiosity gets the better of me and I open it to see what he wants.

  Todd: What r u up to?

  Tina: I’m reading a book.

  Damn you, technology, for making it too easy to reply to someone even if you don’t want to.

  Todd: We should meet up soon.

  I’m a smart girl. I know what this is. The new girl I saw him with didn’t work out. She probably dumped him or didn’t put out enough, and now he’s looking for a sure thing. Regressing back to the girl who he thinks was way more into him than he was into her to boost his precious ego. Hoping to land another blow job.

  Not gonna happen. But I don’t even get the chance to reply before another text pops up.

  Todd: I’m sorry. I fucked up. Give me another chance.

  Persistent. But still, absolutely not. In the short time I’ve known Henry, he has really opened my eyes. Better guys are out there. And there is no way I will ever settle for any guy is who is less than worthy of what I deserve.

  Delete. Block. Forgotten.

  Jessicat runs back in and jumps onto my lap. I take her front paws into my hands. “Go me. With my bad self. Go me. I’m a rock star.” I make her dance with me as I sing. She snatches her paws away, giving me a face that lets me know I crossed a line before jumping from my lap and running back off.

  Excuse me for being proud of myself, but that’s some serious progress in a short time. I feel all girl powery. Because I know that going back out with Todd might have helped with the whole Henry problem. He would have been the perfect distraction, but a bad one where I only did it for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t even like Todd when I “liked” Todd.

  Hmmm. But what if I could find a good distraction?

  Just because I’m non-dating Henry doesn’t mean I can’t actually date someone else. I did start a profile on the CatchLove website that I never activated. Maybe it’s time? I can take my newly acquired assertiveness and good decision-making and find a man.

  A good one. Like Henry. But not Henry.

  Tricks are for Kids

  “You’re leaving? What did I say?” So I can say it again next time.

  “You’re good. I think this is it.” Jenn’s face is one of relief as she tugs the cord to her phone from my living room socket and tosses it into her purse. “Have fun tonight.” She smiles. She waves. She’s gone.


  My sister has left the building.

  It was so odd. I caved and told her about the arrangement with Trick. Just the basics. I hadn’t planned on telling her, but what else could I do once she spotted the painting? Displaying it prominently over the fireplace was probably not the best move. And as crass as it may be, I couldn’t help but chuckle while explaining how Wangy’s Day at the Beach came to be. It was after I was done with my explanation that she started gathering her belongings to leave.

  She didn’t even give an opinion on my casual attire for tonight’s date. Instead of a tie, I put a sweater on over my button-down. I’m also wearing jeans. Pressed blue denim, and she didn’t utter a peep. Amazing. I’m not sure what she meant by she thinks this is it, but I am not going to overanalyze, I’m just going to accept and be happy for whatever it is that got her off my couch and out the door.

  Tonight is movie night. Date number three. We’re doing a double feature. Well, that’s what we’re calling it. We reserved seats for two movies back-to-back. A romantic comedy followed by a thriller. Two movies in one night, something neither of us has ever done. Trick thought of it. I chose the Sip N’ Stroke, so it was only fair that she choose the next date.

  It was a great choice. I haven’t been to the movies in a long time. I’m not even sure what a movie date entails anymore. Popcorn, soda, candy, yawning and putting my arm around her? These are all things I’ll need to know for future dates with Tr… with whomever I meet and date in the future.

  There’s a slight break in the cold weather, so I think skipping on my coat tonight should be fine. The sweater should be enough to keep me warm without having to worry about finding a place for my coat during the movies. And other than walks to and from the car, the majority of the night should be in the theater.

  I pat my back pocket to ensure my wallet is there and grab my keys. I’ve finally been given the green light to pick my date up at her home. We live close, half of Bush’s “Glycerine” and a full Radiohead’s “Creep” away.

  Her porch light is on, and as I walk up, the curtains move in the front window and she peeks out, sees me, and smiles. I don’t even have to knock. The front door opens.

  “I knew you’d be early. Come in, the movie doesn’t start for another half hour.” She eyes my sweater before lowering her gaze to my jeans. “Are those ironed?”

  “Pressed,” I say, stepping inside. “The dry cleaner presses all my clothes.”

  “Can you bend in those?” She uses her hand to cover a giggle.

  “Will I need to? I thought we were just going to the movies.” I thought I had nailed my look tonight. “Is this bad?”

  “No, not bad at all. You look great.” She places her hand on my chest, and the slight action causes my heart to beat faster. A woman’s touch. It’s been a while. “Would you like something to drink? I have water or a bottle of zinfandel that my mother gave me for Christmas because she knows I like ‘white wine.’ Sorry I’m not as prepared as you are.” She tilts her head. “Wait, you don’t have anything on you to offer me, do you?”

  “Just breath mints for after the movies,” I say without thinking through the implication.

  “Oh.” She tugs and twists one of her curls. “Well, this is the third date. I guess kissing is what would normally happen. Is that something you need advice on? Kissing?”

  “Oh, uh….”

  No. The breath mints are for my breath. I always carry them. I know I asked her for help with figuring out my dating flaws, but I really can’t expect her to kiss me. I imagine that’s crossing some sort of line. Isn’t it?

  I zero in on her lips, full and shiny. Dark pink. Kissing them would be wrong. Besides, kissing is something I excel at. But then again, I thought flowers on a first date and pressed jeans were a good thing too.

  Still... no.

  I cannot ask her to kiss me for the sake of a learning exercise. And how accurately could we even judge a kiss when there aren’t genuine feelings progressing between us to back up such an action? No, kissing is definitely off the table.

  She holds out her hand. “Give me a mint and let’s see what you got.”

  I’ve never retrieved mints faster, handing one off and popping the other in my mouth, using my molars to chomp the hard candy, preparing for the kiss I just mentally took off the table. If she’s willing, who am I to say no? Just a peck for some critical feedback. There’s no harm in that.

  With no thought-out plan ahead of time, I step forward. My cold hands cup her warm cheeks. Her eyes close and her mint-tinged breath halts. My senses are wide awake. The tip of her tongue quickly slides over her bottom lip. My heart pulses through my fingertips pressed into her soft skin. Awareness courses through me in an alarming rush. If I kiss her, it won’t be a peck. This moment right here could ruin things. Screw up the plan we set in motion. The logical side of my brain can’t allow that to happen. Tina’s help is too valuable. No, see, it’s already messing with my brain. She’s Trick, not Tina. I can’t fuck this up.

  Lifting my head and pressing my lips to her forehead is no easy task. The simple gesture still leaves me winded. She opens her eyes, bewildered.

  “It didn’t feel right,” I say, even though that is the exact opposite of why I did it.

  It did feel right. And that’s what makes it wrong.

  It’s hard being next to Henry after a kiss like that didn’t happen.

  I squirm all through movie number one, pretending I’m neither hot nor bothered when I am extremely both things.

  Henry’s arm slowly creeps over. These are luxury seats; we’re reclined and spaced apart way more than his long arm can reach. His fingers do nothing more than tap my shoulder.

  “Is this awkward?” he asks.

  I nod. The only way it wouldn’t be is if we were in gym class and the teacher wanted us to stand arm’s length apart before doing jumping jacks.

  He shifts in his seat, trying to move in closer to the edge for a better reach. This time his arm slips and his hand lands on my boob. And even though it’s just more awkward practicing, my body still reacts, wanting his hand to stay there, itching for him to make a real move.

  This fake dating, asshole training, assertiveness enforcement—whatever you want to call it—is getting ridiculous. It’s confusing everything. I’m training him to be likable yet can’t like him myself. It’s borderline insane. He’s paying for these dates, but is he also going to pay for the therapy I’m going to need after they’re done?

  He gives up, his hand retreating back to the safety of his own reclined chair. I glance over and see the disappointment on his face. He failed at making a move in the movies. I bite the inside of my cheek out of frustration because it’s technically my duty to help him out.

  “Hey,” I whisper, and he turns his head to me. I reach my hand out to him in-between our two armrests. He grins and takes my hand into his. Our fingers entwine, and we relax back into our seats, hands clasped.

  “This is really nice,” he whispers, and I can’t help but notice the way his eyes gleam. Wait. Is it from the glow of the movie or could it possibly be from holding my hand? My heart flutters with hope in my chest. Are my eyes gleaming too? Can girls’ eyes even gleam? If they can, mine are.

  “It is.” I keep my voice low and try for one of those eye smiles. “A simple gesture that’s still very romantic.”

  “Noted,” he says, turning his head back to the screen. Noted, as in I will make a note of this romantic gesture to use another time. On another girl. Who’s not me.

  Wonderful. My eyes go from smiling to rolling.

  The movie finally ends. Hopefully, no one will quiz me on it because my mind has officially turned to mush. I’m on date number three, having date three feelings with a forehead kisser who’s making notes for future dates with other people. It’s sad, but what’s sadder is that it’s not my worst date this year. Although, does going back to his place after meeting up at a bar even count as a date? I’m going to say no. But then that just means I ha
ven’t dated anyone other than Henry this year.

  In the lobby, the people exiting the theater of our next scheduled movie appear shaken. “That was terrifying,” I hear someone say.

  Terrifying? Did I misunderstand the premise of this next movie? I can handle a thriller with a little action and suspense, a whodunnit. But if this is some bona fide slasher horror film, I’m in trouble. I don’t do too well with those. I live alone where normal noises sometimes set me on edge. Factor in a horror flick? Nope. It won’t be good. I do a quick search on my phone. Gory pictures. Even gorier description.

  “Hey, would you be okay if we skipped this movie?” I ask. Really, I don’t think I can do it and I’m embarrassed to tell him why since I’m the one who chose the movie. Mr. Research would surely judge me.

  “Yeah. Is everything okay?” He looks down at me, concerned.

  “I’m just. Tired.” My words don’t come out fluidly, making it obvious I’m lying. But Henry just nods and leads the way out into the parking lot where his car is.

  The silence between us makes me uncomfortable as we drive toward my home. I’m glad to be ending the date early. I’m also miserable to be ending the date early. This is a horrible mess. The only saving grace is one, that we are now halfway through the set number of dates arranged, and two, that I went forward with plan B and set up my account on CatchLove. Probably something I should have done a long time ago.

  I matched with three people so far and look forward to going on a real date with one of them. The sooner, the better. Maybe tonight when I get home, I can work on narrowing it down. Anything to get my thoughts away from this confusing situation with Henry and on to someone new.

  The car gets parked in my driveway, and of course the ever-gallant Henry insists on walking me to my door.

  “Trick, did I do something tonight and you’re not telling me?” he asks at my doorstep. His hands attempt to slide into the tightly pressed pockets of his jeans with no luck. He gets as far as his fingertips and gives up.