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"And according to this shot snagged by TMZ, he is definitely packing some major heat in the dick department."
She was clearly ignoring my attempts at ignoring her. She hopped up from her station at the end of our work table and sauntered over, all teeth. I followed her quick commute and refused to look at the phone she was holding out.
"Do you have amnesia?" I countered. She didn't budge, so I jutted out my pencil, eraser first at her phone. Trying to not think about the fact that whatever photo they'd snapped was only telling half the story because I knew exactly what was going on down south. "The owner of that penis is the same man who decided it was a good idea to tell everyone the bride was knocked up during his toast."
Tamara's face fell, like a child who'd just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. "I know, but-"
"Do you even remember the look on Denise's mother's face? On her father's?"
Tamara slowly lowered her arm, a shudder rattling her petite frame. "Her mom was in complete and utter shock. And her dad?" She bulged her baby blues from their sockets, much like the father of the bride had done...right before he lunged towards Jason with murder in his eyes.
It looked like my friend was finally getting the picture and calling off her attempts at playing matchmaker, but I wasn't letting her off the hook that easy.
"And after what I told you about New Year's-" I dropped the pencil and raked both hands through my hair, tugging at the strands because I couldn't actually choke her, even if she deserved it sometimes. "How could you possibly think that having him in my life right now is a good idea?"
She held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, boss lady! My bad."
I glared at her for a good minute before I scooted from my seat and headed over to our Nespresso machine for my caffeine fix. I swiped one of my favorite mugs, chips and all, and perched it beneath the spout and let the machine work its magic. She only whipped out 'boss lady' when I was on the rampage. It was the one thing that could alleviate our rare arguments, forcing me to pause and take a breath.
I picked up my coffee and I did just that. I inhaled the robust aroma of my fresh cup, foregoing the sugar and cream that was a must for Tamara, and sipped the dark brew nice and slow.
I took in our headquarters, a small commercial space that had evoked spooky music worthy of a scary movie when I first saw it. There’d been no walls back then, exposed rafters jutting out like broken teeth. Even inhaling seemed like a bad idea because dust and god knows what else glittered in the patchy light. But after I signed the lease, standing out front and looking through the broken glass at the new home for Madison Creations, I envisioned a space that combined rustic energy and home cooking with sleek, modern gadgets and furnishings. I wanted a space where we could bake our wares and customers could come in and pick up ready made baked goods or put in orders that they'd take to their family, friends, or coworkers. They'd walk into the room with our polka dot box and everyone's face would light up, knowing they were in for a treat.
I leaned against the chrome table and swept my eyes over the room, resting on the sole seating area in the front, a long mahogany bench and two matching benches. I wanted people to gather, to get to know their neighbors if they popped by the shop, instead of snagging a tiny nook in a busy cafe and popping their earbuds in. The best part about food was sharing it, and all the warm colors and the sweet and hearty smell of the sticky buns in the oven personified that. We were closed two days a week for prep, special orders, and appointments. That aroma alone had a line stretched out the door when we were open to the public.
From Easy Bake Ovens to my own business. I smiled against the rim of my mug. A smile that faltered when I saw Tamara at the end of the table. It was a stark reminder that while we were kicking ass and taking names in the professional arena, all was not well for either of us in the love department.
After my shut down, her face was missing its usual glow. Her eyes were dimmed with melancholy. Her blood red lips were turned down into the beginning stages of a frown. She had her chin perched on her palm and she even let out a bone weary sigh to drill home her depression. The phrase 'woe is me' came to mind.
I cupped my mug with both hands and just inhaled, hoping the caffeine would perk me up because the energy in the room was definitely pulling me down.
Both of us shied away from commitment. For me it all started with Scott, and after what happened with Jason, I knew that if I wanted to maintain my sanity and avoid another devastating heartbreak, the answer was to keep men at a distance. To bask in singledom and get what I needed when my vibrator just wasn't doing the trick.
With a few exceptions, Tamara preferred to keep it casual. I even remembered once she told me that she had a guy coming over and essentially warned me that if I decided to come home before dinner, I may or may not encounter some sex going down. When I later asked for the guy’s name, she’d paused, settled back in her seat for a good two minutes, then shrugged and told me she didn't remember his real name, but she could totally give me his profile name.
Maybe it was the sudden influx of weddings. Maybe it was the fact that we were getting close to high school reunions and bombarded with Facebook photos of perfect little families, but she'd bitten the bullet first and set up a profile on some dating site. I wasn't there yet, and it was clear she was more than willing to give me a nudge in the right direction, whether I wanted it or not.
I decided to be the first to lay down my arms, closing my sketchbook and taking my coffee and apology to her end of the table. "I'm sorry, Tam. I know you're just trying to be helpful-"
"I mean, what's the worst that could happen if you guys got to know each other?" She interjected with a shrug. "He'll live up to his reputation. And maybe you'll get a trip to Europe and some climaxes out of it."
"Well, when you put it like that," I giggled, shaking my head. I didn't even have to close my eyes to conjure him up. He was right there, leaning on the stand, looking at me with those eyes that drove me crazy. Eyes that said, you'll be mine, it's just a matter of when.
And how long.
I'd never admit it to anyone, heck, I even deleted my browsing history, but I did some research on Jason Cox of my own. I learned that other than creating apps that helped cheaters and players, he liked women. I lost count of all the women he’d been spotted with, but they all had some things in common: over the top gorgeous, no hairs out of place, flawless makeup, and outfits that told me they basked in the limelight. They all looked like lingerie models and he probably posed, fucked, then traded them in for someone new, and in that order.
He'd shown me his true colors. First, when he dissed me on New Year's Eve. And then he unintentionally insulted me a second time, by forgetting me altogether. Then, just when I was starting to let my guard down, he swooped back in and reminded me: yep, still a jerk.
So, what was the worst that could happen? I didn’t want to go there. And it didn't take the sun streaming in from the window for me to see that my silence had reignited that Cupid urge in her.
"Let's forget about the blogs and photos and all that noise for now." Like she was closing the book on all the random gossip and Wikipedia-ing she'd been doing since I explained why I told Jason to fuck off after the reception, she closed her laptop with a single fuchsia nail.
"How about the concrete reasons he's more trouble than he's worth, like his antics before the wedding, at the reception, not to mention-"
"We're tabling that for later discussion as well," she informed me, holding up her finger. "I know all the reasons why not, Natalee. And they're good reasons. But aren't you a little curious about the why?"
I cast aside my mug, not even reacting when my coffee sloshed over the rim. Any other day I would have hunted down the nearest paper towel and if none were handy, used my own clothing. I had bigger fish to fry, like convincing my best friend (and myself) that I was right to ignore his social media requests. And she wanted me to put all the concrete proof that Jason Cox would result in disaster aside.
