Whiskey Trick Read online

  “Time? Um.” I glance over at my date. “I’m actually in the middle of something.”

  “Besides reading?”

  Shoot.

  “Yes. I have something on the stove. It’s burning. Can I call you later?”

  “If something’s burning, you better go,” Henry says.

  “Okay. Thanks. Bye.” I click end and stare down at the disconnected phone guiltily. Even though I shouldn’t. I’m doing nothing wrong. I shove my phone back in my purse and decide a quick trip to the ladies’ room to freshen up is a good idea.

  A quick fluff to my dark curls and new layer of lipstick later, I emerge from the ladies’ room and head back to the table. I was only gone a couple of minutes, but I have an apology ready and my phone turned off and tucked away at the bottom of my purse. No more interruptions.

  I pick up the pace when I see the waiter back at our table. He’s probably back to take our order, and I’m not even sure what I want yet. Only as I get closer, I realize it is not the waiter. It’s Henry.

  My steps slow and before I can make a swift getaway, Dan looks up and smiles.

  “Tina,” he says. “Come have a seat. This is Henry Barclay.” Henry turns and faces me, a smug smile across his handsome face. “We did a golf tour in California a few years back. Not that I did anywhere near as good as this guy.”

  “Tina, is it?” Henry extends a hand toward me, and I have no choice but to take it. “Your date exaggerates. I didn’t even place in that tournament.”

  “Excuse me for a second.” I back up a few steps in the direction I just came from. “I forgot something, and I need to go take care of it.”

  “Is something burning?” Henry asks and both he and Dan laugh for different reasons. I turn around and race back toward the bathroom, knowing full well Henry is going to follow me.

  Dammit. Why did I lie? What now? I wait, and a minute later he appears.

  “I’m not doing anything wrong,” I say before he says a word.

  “You’re on a date and you lied to me about it,” Henry states.

  “Okay, the lie part was wrong. But it’s okay that I’m on a date.”

  “Then why lie about it?”

  “I don’t know. It was stupid. I just did.” I smooth my hands over my skirt and look up to meet him in the eye. “Henry, I am on a date tonight.” There. Lie over. I’ve now told the truth.

  “Even though you’re dating me?” His words are delivered smoothly, but the fire in his eyes betrays some of the anger he’s trying to hide.

  “We’re not really dating, and you never said I couldn’t date throughout this little whatever thing we have going on, so, yes, I am on a date.”

  “Okay.” He tugs the cuffs of his suit jacket. I was right, best-dressed guy in the place. “I’m saying it now. You cannot date while we date. Real or not. I want you all to myself.” He stops and cocks his head to the side before adjusting his last sentence. “I just mean, you need to be available to me during the allotted weeks.”

  “Available for what? A phone call?” I say, bewildered. “And what do you want me to do? Leave now in the middle of my date? How did you even know I was here?”

  “I’m here with clients trying to have a professional evening when I see my girl—” Another twist of the neck. “I see you here on a date with another man. Then have you lie to me about it.”

  You don’t own me, Henry. This isn’t a paid job; it’s a favor. I can do whatever the hell I want. All good things to say, however none of those things gets said. Because I’m afraid if I say those things and make my valid point, this whole non-relationship with him will end. And in my heart, I know I’m just not ready for that yet. I want to go to the cabin. I want to pretend meet his family. I want to pretend date him at the driving range. And if at all possible, I want to get another one of those practice kisses.

  HEARTS ARE THE FUCKING WORST.

  “Fine,” I say, still taking in all the fine details of how good he looks. The green tie around his neck does amazing things for his already magnificent features. “I will go back to the table and make up an excuse and tell Dan that I’ll need to reschedule our date for another time.” Proof that I’m not clairvoyant, ’cause I did not see this coming.

  “Another time?” Henry’s voice changes and his hand clasps around the green tie, loosening it, tightening it... I’m not sure.

  “For when this ends,” I clarify, stepping away from him. And for when my heart is in pieces and in need of a night out with someone I stand a chance with.

  “Wait, Trick,” Henry says, and I stop and turn. His eyes close, and his fists clench. “I just…. This whole thing…. I’m sorry.”

  Sorry for what? That he’s ending my date? That we ever decided to do this in the first place? That it’s going to take me forever to recover from all this?

  “Me too,” I say.

  Trick of the Mind

  I can’t focus.

  The work in front of me is easy, manageable data. And yet I’m lost. Work is not in the forefront of my mind these past few days.

  My priorities have always been work first, everything else second. But lately I don’t feel the same way. I ran for two hours last night on my treadmill to help clear my head but still couldn’t think of work once. Not once. Instead all the cleared-out space was used for thoughts of her.

  I hated seeing her on that date and I bullied her out of it. She let me. An assertive backfire. She’s right. I’m not helping her like I promised. If anything, my behavior the other night set her back.

  If she wants to date other men, then I can’t stand in her way.

  Even though I do have one looming question: Why does she want to date other men?

  I haven’t thought of another woman since this whole thing started. I mean, generally I may have, but not specifically. Not once did I log into my profile on the dating website and browse potential dates. But Trick feels differently.

  Why?

  If she’s coaching me toward being better boyfriend material as per her guidelines, then shouldn’t I be a good match for her? Shouldn’t she want to date me? Because after the other night, I have become 100 percent painstakingly aware that I want to date her. And logistically speaking, if she’s training me to be date-worthy but doesn’t want to date me herself, then she’s not doing a good job.

  I want to call her and put her on the spot with my logic. But as I play it out in my mind, it just comes across as more bullying. I want you to train yourself to specifically want to date me. That can’t happen.

  I scroll through her Instagram checking for any T. Rick updates. None. But an ad for flowers does pop up, and before I know it I am on the phone with Jean Paul having a large bouquet delivered to the Chi Ming building.

  “What do you want it to say on the card?” Jean Paul asks.

  “Please write ‘thinking of you.’” Because it’s the truth.

  It’s now all I do.

  Today sucks, and now some lucky bitch in my office is getting flowers delivered to her at work.

  “T. Rick?”

  I stand up so fast my chair falls backward and crashes to the ground.

  “That’s me,” I say, crouching down to hoist my chair back up.

  “These are for you.” The delivery man places the bouquet down on my desk. It’s gorgeous, filled with roses and cascading flowers that droop over my piles of untouched work. I snatch the card.

  Thinking of you. Henry.

  If only.

  If only Henry was at his job thinking about me like I’m thinking about him. But I won’t get caught up in that again. This is just more of the game. The charade of what he would do if he was interested in me and if he was really dating me. Well, kudos to him, because if this was real, it would have won me over for sure.

  “Are those from your boyfriend?” Sarah from accounting gasps at the arrangement displayed on my desk.

  “No. Just a friend,” I say and suppress the gag that builds. Friends. I hope that’s not something we dis
cuss this weekend. When this is over, I will need a clean break. No “let’s be friends” allowed.

  “Wow. I could use a friend like that.” Sarah walks over and touches the petals of one of my delicate roses. She’s pretty and perky. Confident and professional. Exactly what Henry is looking for. “What’s this friend’s name?” she asks.

  “Todd,” I lie. If she wants more info on him, I’ll gladly give it to her. She can be with Todd all she wants. But hands off Henry.

  “You better get on the phone and thank your friend, Todd.” She adds another stack of papers to the corner of my desk, tucking them under the flowers, then takes off.

  Yes. She’s right. I have an excuse to call. I need to say thank you. Yay. I pick up the phone and dial.

  “Hello?” Henry answers right away.

  “Are you busy?” I ask, almost positive he must be. It’s the middle of a work day. This will likely be a short call.

  “For you, I have time. How’s your day?” he asks.

  “Well—about ten minutes ago the sweetest thing happened. I received the most beautiful bouquet of flowers at work. So, I’d say my day is going pretty good.”

  “Flowers at work. You must be very special to someone,” he says, and I can tell he’s smiling.

  “You’d think,” I laugh.

  “What do you mean?” His voice deepens, and I’m pretty sure there’s no more smile.

  “You know what I mean.” I blow it off. “But I must commend you. There are no flaws to report. We’re a few weeks in, we’ve had a few dates, some late-night phone sessions, the message on the card—it’s all perfect.”

  “You like it? Really?”

  “Of course. I can’t imagine a woman who wouldn’t.”

  “But you like it?” he asks again, with emphasis.

  “Yes. Believe me, yes. No man has ever sent me flowers before. This is an amazing gesture and if things were different,” I opt for that word over real, “I would be spending the rest of my afternoon thinking up ways to thank you.”

  “Thank me how?”

  “You know….” I giggle into the phone. “Thank you... good. Thank you... hard.” There’s no reply. Silence. “Hello?”

  “Um, yeah. I’m here. I just was absorbing what you’re saying.” He coughs. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe what you’re saying is that if this was… different,” he uses my word, “that this is when things may turn physical between us.”

  “Well, yeah, but please be warned, this is only my opinion. I can’t speak for other women when it comes to this subject. Although, if I were to guess, I’d say if the feelings were starting to build, most women would probably be at thank you mode about now.” More silence. Is this him or a bad connection? “Are you still there?”

  “I am.” His breath pours through the receiver. “I’m just thinking about how much I would like to be thanked.”

  “Been a while?” I laugh even though I’m in the same boat and could certainly use a night of having my brains thanked out, preferably by the man on the other end of this call. “I suppose I could find a way to thank you.” I pause for a second, wondering if I have all the ingredients needed. I think there may be an extra box of candy canes leftover from Christmas tucked away in a kitchen cabinet.

  “You want to thank me?” I don’t even recognize his voice. The connection is definitely going wonky on us.

  “I can make you my famous mint brownies. Or regular, depending on whether I can find candy canes. Some do say chocolate is better than sex.”

  “Nobody says that,” he replies quickly. “Maybe diabetic virgins, but even that’s highly unlikely.”

  “Sorry, but I think brownies are the best I can offer you right now.” I laugh, my hazy brain wanting to reply with a little humor of its own. “Unless sex is something you need feedback on?” My laughter stops the second the words come out. That was stupid. “I’m sorry. I was kidding,” I get out before he has a chance to say anything. “I’m going to make you those brownies. Tonight,” I add.

  “Tonight? I’d like that,” he says.

  “I can freeze them and bring them with me on Friday.”

  “Oh.” His voice gets weird again. “Yeah, on Friday.”

  A wave of nerves rushes through me. Maybe the weird change in his tone has been him having second thoughts.

  “Are we still on for Friday? It’s okay if you changed your mind. We don’t have to go,” I stammer. “In fact, if you’re ready to end this, I understand. Honestly, I think you’re ready. You don’t—”

  “No, we are definitely all set for Friday,” he interrupts. “I am not ready. Trust me, in no way, shape, or form am I ready to move forward without you.”

  “Okay. Good.” My cheeks heat up. Nice words from hot guys will do that to a girl. “I’m really looking forward to it.” ’Cause foolishly, I am.

  “Me too,” he says.

  The conversation is over, but neither of us says goodbye. The line stays quiet. I know I should say something, but I don’t know what. Ten seconds go by. Twenty. And then I realize he probably hung up. He said “me too” as his closing salutation and disconnected.

  I place my phone gently into the holster and sit back in my seat, gazing at the bouquet in front of me. What was I holding out for during those extra twenty seconds on the phone? I laugh. Everything had been said.

  There was nothing left to say.

  It takes thirty seconds for me to work up the courage to say what I want to say.

  “I think we need to discuss something,” I say, breathe, and continue, “I’m not sure about you, but I’m starting to feel like something is happening between us. Something more than expected. I like you, Trick.” She doesn’t answer right away. My heart races while I wait for her to reply. I was aware that I was having feelings for her, but until this moment I hadn’t realized how strong those feelings were. Wow. Still nothing. Is this a good sign? A bad one? “Trick?” Nothing.

  I take the cell phone away from my ear and look down at my homepage lit up on the screen. She’s not there. She must’ve hung up. I took too long working up the courage to say what it was I wanted to say.

  That just means this weekend I’ll have to work up the nerve to say it all again.

  The Trickster

  This is not a cabin. It’s a mansion they call a cabin.

  “Tina!” I’m bombarded and hugged by a girl with lavender hair. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to meet you.” Behind her is another girl, and once I’m released, new arms squish me in. I assume one is the sister and one is the brother’s girlfriend?

  “We are gonna do everything we can this weekend to help things out,” a stunning girl with caramel highlights assures me, although I have no idea what she means. Henry told me they know the situation; perhaps she means help with giving him advice? Or helping me assert?

  “I’m Jenn, the sister,” Lavender hair introduces herself. “And this is Remi, my brother Adam’s girlfriend.”

  “Where is Adam?” Henry asks, crooking his neck to see into one of the grand rooms off the entryway.

  “A bachelor party in Atlantic City,” Remi provides.

  “Adam isn’t here? It’s just the two of you?” Henry frowns.

  “Yup, you got the cream of the crop.” Remi slams a hand onto his back. She tosses her shiny hair back while laughing and walks over linking an arm through mine. “Come. We’ll show you around, Tina.”

  “I can show her around.” Henry steps toward me, but Jenn intercepts, a wall of two girls now between us.

  “No, you go find something to do. We want some time with Tina before you whisk her off for dinner.” Jenn is at my other side. Two armed escorts stealing me away. I’d like to think we have a say in the matter, but we don’t. I’m not sure why they want time with someone who won’t be around much longer, but I follow their lead and we trek up a long staircase to a hallway full of bedrooms.

  Jenn opens the door to a brightly lit yellow room and throws herself down on the bed. R
emi bounces down next to her. I assumed the room they were showing me to first would be the one I’d be spending the night in, but clearly this is one of their bedrooms, with personal touches and clothes strewn about.

  “Can I just start by saying you are perfect for my brother,” Jenn says and then looks toward Remi, bursting into laughter. “Oh my God, I am getting this from you. This saying the first thing that pops in my head crap.”

  Remi pushes her shoulder and joins in the laughter.

  “Do not blame me. Everyone says I’m getting so much better. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with what you just said. She is perfect.” Remi grabs one of my curls and tugs it. “This hair is insane. I’m in love with it.”

  The compliment is flattering. Henry has told me they’re both hairdressers. And from the looks of it, fantastic ones, both of them having gorgeous heads of hair. The two girls appear to be completely in sync with each other, the best of friends. I envy it, and it reminds me of how I’ve been ignoring my own best friends since this whole thing started. I just never had the nerve to admit to Amanda or Jackie the truth about why Henry really wanted my number. But I’m trying to look at it as a good thing, giving them a month off from me and guy drama.

  “So tell us how you and Henry actually met,” Jenn asks, as if reading my thoughts. “Henry was never really clear about that night, only what came after. But I’m really curious to know how this all started.”

  “Oh, um. We were at a bar and I had a bad night. We were leaving and we thought he was our Uber driver,” I say, and the two girls take a few seconds, pondering and absorbing before breaking into hysterics.

  “You thought my brother was your Uber driver? Oh my God, I love this. More. Please tell me more. What happened when he told you he wasn’t?”

  “He didn’t actually say anything; he drove us home.” If Henry hadn’t shared this story, I probably shouldn’t either, but it’s too late now.

  The laughter stops, and the jaws on both shocked faces in front of me drop.