Richard backs up an inch as if cowering as he extends his hand for me to shake. “Full disclosure, I’m sort of seeing someone. I mean, it’s not in the official phases of a relationship just yet, but I’m pretty sure we’re getting there.”
I eye his hand as if it were a cockroach. “A girlfriend.” I smear a wary grin toward the camera. “How wonderful for the happy couple.” I turn back to Richard, and he cowers in my presence once again. “Look, Dick. Petra here says you’re always up for a good laugh. Why don’t you hightail it out of here, buy your GF a dozen roses and a box of chocolates. And if we ever have the privilege of crossing paths again, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and we can share that laugh brewing in our bellies.”
His mouth falls open, and suddenly all eyes, the robotic one included, are pinned on me.
I stomp my foot in Richard’s direction, and he turns and bolts like the sissy he is.
“Thought so.” I bounce on my feet as I look to the camera. “One down, two to go!” I can’t help the fact I’m already wreaking havoc on Dexter’s disaster. This is all too easy. I turn to the other two, Lenny and the Fish, daring them to say something, anything, with just a lift of my brow.
“Ah, shit.” Fish kicks at the floor. “She’s a freaking ball buster.” He looks to Petra and shakes his head. “I’m out.” He gets in close to the camera, and for a moment, I think he’s about to gift the lens a kiss. “Sorry, Coach! I gave it my best shot. You saw her, man. I can’t have my balls sliced off before a match.” He does a disappearing act just like his predecessor, and I’m secretly pleased with the results.
“What’s going on?” a deep voice thunders from behind, and I turn to find Dexter Houston with his forehead wrinkled with anxiety. It takes everything in me to bite down a smile. If it all ended for me now, I’d call it a success.
Seth and Petra start in unison and somehow garble out the truth.
Dexter’s mouth falls open as he looks to me, and just as quick, he shuts it. He offers a vexing grin, and for whatever reason, he’s using this opportunity to crawl further under my skin. “Ember Sparks. You are proving to be every bit the wildfire your name suggests.” He offers a sideways glance to Lanky Lenny, and even Dexter doesn’t seem to have much faith in him. “How you holding up, man?” He pats him over the shoulder as if he just endured a trauma. The nerve.
“I’m good.” Lenny shakes it off. “Don’t worry, dude. I’m all in.” Those dark wells he sees the world through narrow over me as he bleeds a black smile. “I will never back away from a challenge.” He folds his enormous arms over his chest and offers up a demented grin. “I’m staying put.”
I fold my own arms over my chest as I look to the basketball wielding Nephilim they’ve paired me with. “And so am I.”
Dexter flexes a tight smile, his pensive gaze still locked to mine. “Very well. It looks as if the two of you have found a match.” He looks to Lenny with his features suddenly depleted of emotion. “Good luck to you.” He takes off, and so do Petrified Petra and Stymied Seth. Lenny and I catch up with one another as if we were old friends—a little too touchy-feely on Lenny’s part, but I must admit I’m a bit mesmerized by his tenacity. The night finally comes crashing to an end, and the alumni flood the room once again just before the cameras go dark.
Sophie and Violet come over and help navigate me toward the exit.
“What in the heck was that?” Sophie yelps as if she were sorry for me.
Vi huffs at the idea. “She was doing what she does best—giving them hell. Well done, Ember. Was Dexter giving you the old heave-ho?” Her jaw drops in anticipation of my early exit.
“Nope. He tried comforting the gentle giant he’s paired me with.” I wrinkle my nose in said giant’s direction where he’s currently entertaining a blonde in sky-high FMs with his barely-there biceps. “It’s a little early to comfort anyone, but I’m guessing it’ll be necessary in exactly five weeks. There’s no way I’m plucking my heart out and gifting it to the Leaning Tower of Lenard.”
“How about the deceptive douche running this scam?” Vi cocks her head as she awaits an answer, but Sophie elbows her hard in the rib before I can give it.
“Do not call him that,” Sophie hisses. “I think we’re being a little hard on him. He may not be the singular reason we’re with the loves of our lives, but he sure as hell accelerated the process.” She hooks her arm through Vi’s. “We’ll wait for you outside, Em.”
I head back to Seth who removes the mic pack from my back and assures me he’ll send out details of my next date soon.
“Sounds like a threat,” I tease as I head toward the exit.
I spot Dexter heading into an office to the right and decide to follow suit. Just as he’s about to close the door—and more than likely cry into his whiskey—I push my way inside and seal us in with my body.
Dexter turns around, wild-eyed for a brief moment before his lids hang low, that vexingly delicious bad boy smile twitching ever so slightly on his lips.
“What are you doing here?” He tips his head back, his suspicions aroused, and seeing that he’s exorbitantly egotistical, I’m betting other things are aroused as well.
“Just offering up a quick goodnight kiss.” I take a bold step forward and do just that. My lips connect with his in an almost chaste manner. A flicker of emotion goes off in my chest, something viral and dangerous as if I just set my lips to a livewire and an electrical current were rushing through me. I pull away, and his dark eyes open slowly as they pierce into mine. I’m not up for more. After all, I’m just here to whet his appetite, stroke his ego. I step away and give a devilish grin of my own before I dart out of the building.
Forget The Social Experiment and their wily ways to cultivate love in a petri dish.
I’m conducting an experiment of my own, and I’m taking Dexter Houston and his Texas-sized ego down along with it.
Dexter
After I picked up Chelle last night, I let Trish know about the new nanny, and she insisted on meeting her. This should go well.
Thursday afternoon, I steal away from the inner workings of The Social Experiment’s editing room and pick up Chelle from school myself, asking Ember to meet us at the Underground for an early dinner.
The Underground is half-empty at this early hour, not a rowdy frat boy in the bunch, nor has the live band they usually have blowing out my eardrums taken the stage just yet. I like sneaking in here at this hour for a quick and relatively quiet bite. I’ve only brought Chelle here a handful of times, and that was in a pinch. It’s dark inside, with a woodsy feel, dark planked floors, black marbled wood tables and chairs. One would think the bar was the star of the show, but it’s the food that keeps this place afloat. I’ve spoken with the owner a few times, and he’s assured me of this.
“Father!” Chelle bustles with excitement as she scoots into the booth across from me. “I can’t wait to see Ember again. I just know she’s going to be prettier than I remember. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”
“Yes.” I frown without meaning to. “And about that Father thing. Maybe we should go back to Daddy, or even Pops if you’re not feeling it anymore—which would break my heart by the way. There’s something special about a little girl who calls you Daddy. I’m just saying.”
A hard grunt comes from above, and I glance up to find Ember glaring at me.
“I take it I showed up at an inopportune time?” She crimps a smile before gliding in next to Chelle and offering her a hearty embrace. She turns to me, and that sweet smile melts right off her face. “I’m not calling anyone Daddy. Good luck with that.”
Chelle giggles up a storm. “He’s not your daddy, silly! But I like to say father now. My friend, Susan Wigman, calls her daddy Father, and it makes her sound very grown up.”
“Ooh.” Ember’s brows hike up a notch, and I can’t help but study those rosy lips of hers, too. The same lips she smacked over mine a few nights back. I’m not sure what that was about. I hadn’t quite turned on the ch
arm just yet. And, believe you me, I know when a girl is enamored by me, and this girl is anything but. “I like the sound of father, too, but it kinda has a Darth Vader feel to it, you know? I mean, I’m pretty sure your dad is no Darth. So I bet it bums him out a little when you don’t call him Daddy anymore.”
Chelle’s mouth rounds out as if this were a major Star Wars-based revelation, and it should be considering I’ve indoctrinated her in all things George Lucas since she was an embryo.
“I think that makes sense.” She plants those watery green eyes on me. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ll never call you Father again unless I’m mad at you.” She nods into the admission. And before I can laugh at how adorable her response was a shadow darkens the table, one that would make even Darth Vader shudder in response. My ex.
“Well, well,” she chirps with that manufactured glee I’m all too familiar with. If Ember thinks she’s a ball buster, she’s just met her nutsack-crunching match. What is it about me and women who have a mouth the shape of a nutcracker?
Chelle leaps up past Ember and hugs her mother. “Mommy, this is Ember! She’s the new Cecilia. Isn’t she pretty? Daddy thinks she’s pretty, and I do, too.”
“Does he?” Trish offers a stock smile my way that says you bastard more than it ever does I’m happy for you. Trish is a five foot six terror with long dark hair and pale green eyes much like Chelle’s. Thankfully, Chelle only seems to have taken on her mother’s physical qualities and none of the piss and vinegar that keeps her going. And as bad as I like to mentally paint my ex, we’ve actually come a long way. I’ve made peace with the fact she chose to replace me with Bart, the hip-hop director who’s about as exciting as a manila envelope. You’d think with his musical connections, or the nature of his career in general that he’d be the life of the party. He’s about as fun as a paper cut and attractive as one, too. I still don’t see the lure. But in her defense, I wasn’t in my best form while we were together. Not that I’ve improved leaps and bounds. I’m still cynical, don’t believe in flowers or rubbing someone’s feet just to put a smile on their face. Nope. I’ve always been an end game kind of a guy. Not a lot of emotion hidden behind my desire to fuck. There. I’ve said it. I might be alive and well on the outside, but Trish was right when she accused me of being a corpse on the inside. I’m ashamed to say our relationship improved markedly after the divorce was final. It seems I do better with women when I don’t have an emotional responsibility to them. And that’s the biggest thing that scares me about raising Chelle. I have an insurmountable emotional responsibility to that little girl.
“I’m Ember Sparks. You can call me Em if you want.” She offers a hand to Trish, and my ex inspects Ember’s bright blue fingernail polish before shaking.
Trish slides in next to me, and the cloying scent of her thick perfume does its best to smother me. It’s strong, potent, and jarring, sort of like Trish herself. It’s always reminded me of something that’s used in religious ceremonies, evil ones to be exact. She’s worn it just as thick and heavy for as long as I’ve known her, and I should have heeded it like a harbinger of things to come. Trish laid me out on her altar and gutted me like an evening sacrifice. I should have run once I got a whiff of that offensive scent, but in a way, I’m glad I didn’t. I needed Chelle in my life, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.
“I’m Patricia. You can call me Trish.” She needles Ember with that narrowed gaze of hers. Trish on a good day is intimidating, but on high alert, she’s a loaded gun with a hair trigger. Truthfully, I’m not sure whom I should warn about whom. Ember’s no piece of cake either. She almost took down Group C singlehandedly on night one. Nope. I’ve got two bitter pills at the table, and whether I like it or not, I’ve got to swallow them both.
My gaze drifts down Ember’s sweater. She’s stacked nicely. And for a brief moment, I envision myself removing it, taking off her bra with a flick of the wrist.
“Isn’t that right?” Ember gives me a swift kick from under the table, and I straighten in my seat.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. I was a bit distracted.”
Ember blows out a breath. “I bet you were. My eyes are up here, sweetheart. I was just telling Trish here that it wasn’t my idea to meet with her in a bar.” She turns to Chelle. “I would have much rather this meeting taken place at Chuck E. Cheese’s. It’s my favorite place to eat pizza, and I’m a whiz at Skee-Ball. In fact, I’ve got over two thousand points in tickets that I’m saving up to get a big prize, and I have no problem sharing those with you.”
“What?” Chelle screams so loud. “Geez!” Her eyes bug out as she laughs up a storm. “I love Chuck E. Cheese’s! Can we go there sometime? I need to go so I can practice Skee-Ball and get good at it like you.”
Trish leans in. “Only once in a while,” she says it sternly right to Ember. “And that’s very nice of you to offer.” She shoots a disgruntled look my way. “I figured the bar was Dexter’s idea. He means well, but he’s basically clueless.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Ember is quick to acknowledge.
“Great,” I mutter as I look to Chelle. “They’re ganging up on me.”
Trish knocks her elbow into mine. “Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You know it’s fun to do.” Her lips curl into a smile, and for once it looks genuine. “Besides, it’s clear to me that Ember here has a very good head on her shoulders.” She nods to Chelle. “I can see that you’ve had a hand in the hiring process. I approve. Ember, if you need anything at all, I want you to give me a call.” They quickly exchange numbers.
The waitress comes by and takes our orders, and we have a quick bite with a nominal amount of conversation peppered throughout. It seems both Trish and Ember have a number of things in common, like the fact they majored in communication with a minor in business. Trish and Ember share a love for Walt Whitman and Ansel Adams. They delve further into their favorite intellectual pursuits and discover they both obsess over artists as others do rock stars. By the time the check comes, they’re working out a schedule to take Chelle to the library’s children’s reading hour for kids her age and have already exchanged enough book recommendations between themselves that I’m sure a book club is next.
Trish checks her phone. “Bart wants me to hop across the street and pick up a Leland sweatshirt for him.” She looks to Chelle. “Want to come with me? I’m sure they have a few things in your size as well.”
“Yes!” Chelle bursts past Ember but not before locking her arms around her. “I want a stuffed cougar, but Daddy keeps saying no.” She gives me the stink eye before laughing.
“We’ll see.” Trish takes ahold of Chelle’s hand, and they ready to leave. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ember. My ex doesn’t do things right often, so it’s times like these that give me a glimmer of hope. Thank you for that.”
“Thank you for procreating with him. I can’t wait to hang out with both of you girls!”
They take off, and my features harden as I lean back with my arms folded tight, inspecting this creature of unmitigated beauty and wondering how in the hell she landed in my sights to begin with. I’m sure there are a hundred coeds at this school who could have easily filled the position nicely without steely claws, sharpened and ready to pluck out my soul.
“You have great taste in women.” Ember’s lips twitch as if she were ambivalent about what direction they would take next. “And”—she swallows hard as if she were about to drink something lethal—“it’s not a wonder. You’re a pretty amazing man yourself.” She grimaces as she says it. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t believe a word, and judging by that look on her face, neither does she. “I have a confession to make.” She bites down on that cherry red lip, and I’m suddenly moved to bite over it right along with her. I’ll confess that the kiss she planted on me put Rosy Palm right to work. “I think you’re wildly attractive—and smart.” She winces. “I mean, I know you have women nightly who whisper the very same things in your ear, but I thought you
should hear it from me.”
A dull laugh rattles in my chest. “I’m not sure what’s up with the ego stroke, but you’ve got the job. You can carry on as usual. And for your information, I’m not into women like that.”
She sucks in a quick breath, and her cleavage bounces right out of the deep V of her sweater. “Oh my God, is my gaydar off? Are you light in the loafers?” Her mouth widens with surprise, and that smile expanding over her face suggests this would be a great twist. “That’s amazing!”
“What? No. Not me. I’m into women, just not the nightly thing. I have Chelle. I’m not parading my conquests around her, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Oh.” She cocks her head to the side as if she were slightly disappointed. “So the hussy parade runs Sunday night through Tuesday.” She snarls as if she were sickened by the thought.
“You’re not altogether wrong, but you’re a far cry from right. I’m not bedding down the masses.”
“Well, good.” She leans in heavily, her cleavage blooming in size, and if I didn’t know better, I’d guess she were trying to seduce me—which reminds me that I should be striving to do the very same thing. “It’s nice to know that even someone as heavily jaded about love like you is open to holding out for that special someone.”
I narrow in on her, my suspicions fully aroused—among other things. “Aren’t you equally jaded? In fact, if I remember well, it was you who drew first disbelief. Do you or don’t you believe that love is just a myth?” There. I’m about to nail her to a wall with her own words.
Her mouth opens, and she lets out a choking sound. “That’s not really a topic I’m ready to sit on anytime soon. I mean, I am a participant in your experiment. If you can tender my heart to the L word, I’d say you’ve garnered more than a miracle.” Her eyes widen a notch as she takes me in. I can feel her gaze scouring me, scorching my skin in her wake. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a handsome as hell man. That certainly doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate someone as brilliant and powerful as yourself.”