My Favorite Half-Night Stand (Page 10)
Reid sidles up beside me, reaching back and gripping the edge of the counter. I swear my pulse rockets forward when I catch the scent of his soap. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about sex this much—even when I’ve been in actual sexual relationships with other people.
“And I’m glad things aren’t actually weird between us,” he says.
I manage an easy smile of agreement.
Nope.
Not weird.
Not even a little.
He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “It’s different, but not weird. I didn’t mean to bring it up again, though.”
I reach out, booping his nose with my index finger. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll say something way more awkward the next time I make us something with eggplant.”
“You said eggplant, not baby carrot. I’m not going to complain.”
“Oooo-kaaaaay.” I dry my hands and walk back into the dining room. “How about we finish these on our own and call it a night?”
Read: How about if you stop being cute and leave me to my vibrator?
Reid is obviously pleased with himself. “Too far? How about cucumber? No? White asparagus?”
I close his laptop and place it in his hands. “Good night, Reid. Thanks for feeding me. If you didn’t bring dinner I would have been left to gnaw on a rind of old cheese.”
“You are the frattiest woman I have ever met,” he says.
“It’s Manchego. I defy you to find a frat house with Manchego.”
“You know I love you,” he says, smile straightening as we near the door. My heart clenches a little at the sincerity in his voice. Reid is so good. I could never risk screwing this up over something as trivial as sex.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
“Then you know there’s nothing wrong with the two of us making jokes about what happened. Maybe it’ll even bring us closer.”
“Maybe.” I tap his computer. “But if our goal is to meet other people, you need to finish this tonight and send it to me in the morning for approval.”
He looks down at me with a goofy smile. Reid Campbell really is fucking cute. “Yes, ma’am.”
I open the door and push him out. “And make sure the guys do it, too. I’m looking forward to judging you all.”
“As you wish,” he calls out. When he disappears out the front gate, I am free to disappear into my bedroom.
Chapter four
reid
Millie Morris
Dude. You guys.
Christopher Hill
What?
Reid Campbell
What?
Millie Morris
Your dating profiles suuuuuuck.
Alex Ramirez
There were approximately six hundred questions!
Millie Morris
I’m aware. I filled them all out, too. I’m talking specifically about your essay/intro portion.
Stephen (Ed) D’Onofrio
I spent like two hours on it!
Millie Morris
Really Ed? Two hours?
Stephen (Ed) D’Onofrio
Two . . .ish.
Millie Morris
I’m going to paste the best example in here, which was Chris’s.
Christopher Hill
That’s right, boys! Learn from the man.
Christopher Hill
Headed to a meeting so I’ll catch up then. Back in an hour.
[Christopher Hill has left the chat]
Millie Morris
He left before he realized that his also needs to be rewritten.
Reid Campbell
Hey, mine wasn’t terrible.
Millie Morris
Yes, Reid, it was T E R R I B L E. You essentially had the abstract from your most recent paper in there. Women don’t need to know about optic neuritis until, like, date four. Ok, here’s Chris’s: I am divorced, 29, six foot three, and a professor of Chemistry at UC Santa Barbara.I enjoy running, home-brewing, and Cal football.
Reid Campbell
He forgot to mention roosters.
Millie Morris
He forgot to mention, like, anything interesting about himself.
Stephen (Ed) D’Onofrio
Wait why is that intro bad? I don’t get it
Reid Campbell
Ed, aren’t you supposed to be helping Shaylene transfect her cells?
Stephen (Ed) D’Onofrio
Shit.
Alex Ramirez
lol the downside of IM’ing with your boss
Millie Morris
Chris took the less-is-more approach. Alex, you took the all-about-me approach. I can assure you that the execution is equally offensive for entirely different reasons. Ed, yours had like 700 typos.
Stephen (Ed) D’Onofrio
I hate to break it to you but so will 90% of the profiles out there. Most people are doing all this on their phones
Millie Morris
I am so old.
Stephen (Ed) D’Onofrio
Maybe you should write them for us.
Millie Morris
Uh, PARDON?
Stephen (Ed) D’Onofrio
You’re good at this shit and you obviously care more that they’re well written.
Reid Campbell
Ed. Cells. NOW.
Millie Morris
I am not being the organized, well-spoken woman to your male chaos.
[Stephen (Ed) D’Onofrio has left the chat]
Reid Campbell
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he has a point.
Millie Morris
UGGGGGGH
Reid Campbell
Please Mills? I’ll buy you lunch.
Millie Morris
You owe me lunch anyway.
Reid Campbell
Two lunches then. You can wear your elastic waist pants tomorrow.
Millie Morris
No
Alex Ramirez
Please Millie
Millie Morris
No
Alex Ramirez
It’s a good idea Mills
Millie Morris
No
I sense that victory is near—Millie is just about to break—but I’m called away from pressuring her when my phone rings. My smile fades at the picture of my mom lighting up the screen. In the photo, she’s standing on the wide front porch of my childhood home, wearing her worn denim shirt and rubber boots up to the knees of her khaki pants. Her long gray hair is tied back with ribbon. We’ve always had an easy relationship, my parents, Rayme, and I. But three months ago, at Christmas, Mom and I took a long walk through the family vineyards behind the house and—whether out of some strange mood or the impulsive decision that I was an adult and therefore ready to also be a confidant—she told me about nearly all of her marital woes. Not only did I have to hear her frustration that my parents barely have sex, and how Dad never tells her she’s pretty anymore, but I had to talk her off the ledge of panic when she started speculating that Dad was having an affair with the woman down the street, a forty-year-old artist named Marla who creates sculptures out of only things found in her yard: twigs, leaves . . . rodents.
So these days, unfortunately, a call from my mother triggers mild nausea.
“Hey, Mom.”
She doesn’t seem to be in the mood for small talk. “What night are you arriving for the party?”
I take a few moments to figure out what she’s referring to, vaguely staring at the still-scrolling chat screen on my computer. Finally: “What?”
“Your birthday,” she says. “I assume we’re celebrating it here?”
“I assumed I’d just have drinks out with friends, or whatever.”
“It may be just a go-out-for-drinks birthday for you, but thirty-two years ago,” my mother says, voice thin with emotion, “I pushed out the most—”
“Okay, Mom.”
“—beautiful baby boy—”
“Yup. Okay.”
“It took twenty-seven hours of hard labor,” she reminds me. “You were nine pounds, fourteen ounces! Do you have any idea how big that is? Oh, how I tore.”
I rub my temples. “Thank you for enduring that.”
“So, if you think you’re celebrating this day anywhere but with me?” She pauses, and when I don’t reply she says simply, “Think again.”
“Okay, let me check my calendar.” I minimize the chat window, catching only a gif Millie sent of Kristen Bell pretending her middle finger is a tube of lipstick, and peek at my calendar. “April second is a Monday,” I say.
“Come the weekend before. Bring Chris. And Millie.”
Her words snag the last shred of hope I see to avoid this. “But if I bring Chris and Millie, I have to bring Alex and Ed.” My mom gently tolerates Alex, who, among other things, somehow managed to turn half of her guest towels green, and Ed, whom my mom has accidentally seen naked on three separate occasions.
Mom sighs. “Fine. Just this time, no nude races in the vineyards.”
Exhaling slowly, I give in. “I’ll do what I can, but you know they’re hard to control.”
I think that’s all I’ll have to endure for today, until she says, “Hopefully your father has gotten his head out of his ass by then.”
At a loss, I can manage only an “Oh?”
“I bought new lingerie, but he still—”
My internal organs tangle and the words burst out of me. “Oh, crap, I’m late to a meeting, Mom.”
Untroubled by my abrupt departure, she kisses me through the phone. “Love you, Reidey.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. I do have a meeting . . . fifteen minutes after I end the call with my mom. Which affords me enough time to hit the coffee kiosk and swing by my lab to grab Ed.
He meets me in the hall, deliberately ignoring my pointed look as I catch him tossing his lab coat over the chair closest to the door.