Fling (Wrong 2.5)

“Preston,” I start, then stop. Can I just ask him if he’s having lunch with her today? And what, tell him I’m stepping in?

“What’s happening, hot stuff?”

“Can you not with the ‘hot stuff’ shit? We’ve discussed this.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, big guy. I’m married.”

I groan and rub my forehead.

“What do you need?” he asks, turning his attention back to the computer in front of him, already bored with me.

I’m never going to hear the end of this, but…

“Are you having lunch with Sandra today?” I ask before I can think better of it.

He stops typing immediately and twirls his chair a complete three-sixty before slapping his hand on the desk to stop the rotation, then crossing his legs and dropping an elbow to his knee and propping his chin on his fist.

“No,” he says. But he draws it out while tilting his head and waiting for my next move.

“Just spit it out, Preston.”

“She’s already gone for the weekend,” he says with a smile while carefully watching my reaction.

The weekend, he said. Not the night. I mull that over for a second. Yes, it’s Friday, but the way he said weekend I’m clearly meant to read into it. Wait, she left with Dave for the weekend? The weekend? What the fuck?

“The weekend?” I repeat back to him, as casually as possible.

“Yup,” he responds, clearly enjoying this. I can feel my jaw twitching and I stuff my hands into my pockets while I contemplate what to do next.

“You’re an idiot,” Preston says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot, sir?” he tries again.

“Just tell me how much she likes Dave, Preston. I don’t have time for this girly bullshit.” Jesus fuck, am I going to have to resort to getting girl advice from my gay assistant? What the hell has my life come to? Sandra has turned everything upside down.

“She doesn’t like Dave. She likes you. She’s had a crush on you forever and I’m totally breaking girl code telling you any of this.”

“Then why the hell is she spending the weekend with Dave?” I ask, ignoring his girl code.

“But you know Sandy’s a nice girl. She doesn’t know what to make of a guy who fucks her in his office but never asks her to dinner,” Preston continues. Apparently girl code is over. “Women are complex creatures, Gabe. They think it means something when a man takes his sweet-ass time asking her on a date. They think it means you’re just interested in the sex.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Obviously that’s not the case here, as based on the way you look at that girl it’s clear you’re already half in love with her.”

I really am getting girl advice from my gay assistant.

“Since you know everything, care to tell me where she went with Dave?”

“Marissa’s wedding.”

“Who the hell is Marissa?”

“Hello? She works here? In sales?”

I shrug. Still no idea who he’s talking about.

“You know, if you’d taken me up on my suggestion about briefing you on company gossip during Whisper Wednesdays you wouldn’t be so behind right now.”

I’m going to kill him before this conversation is over.

“So Marissa from sales is getting married this weekend. To a professional golfer, which is the only excuse for having a wedding in January, am I right?” Preston shakes his head in disbelief. “Philadelphia in January, ridiculous.”

“Preston, is this story going somewhere?”

“It’s not my fault you’re behind the eight-ball on company gossip. I’m setting a scene here, Gabe.”

“Can we skip to the part that explains why Sandra is on a date with Dave?”

“They’re not on a date, Gabe,” Preston says, not hiding his exasperation. “They’re both in Marissa’s wedding party. Marissa’s fiancé is Dave’s cousin. It’s a small world, yadda yadda. The church run-through is this afternoon. If you leave now you can catch her before she spends the evening sitting next to Dave at the rehearsal dinner. Because while Sandra doesn’t like Dave, Dave does like Sandra. So you best get a move on. I’ll text the address to your phone. You’re welcome.”

I head past him with keys in hand while shrugging into my coat.

“Glad we had this talk!” Preston calls out.

Ten

Sandra

I slip into an empty pew near the back of the church as the mother of the bride and the mother of the groom argue about the music choice for the bridesmaids’ processional while the wedding planner steps in to mediate.

“I was thinking we could have drinks later,” Dave hums into my ear while sliding his arm onto the wooden pew behind me. He’s been making subtle advances on me all afternoon.

“No, I don’t think so.” I give him my polite ‘no, thank you’ smile.

“Come on, Sandra, you’re single, I’m single, we’re at a wedding…” He trails off, as if the implication is self-explanatory.

It’s not. I mean it is, I know where he’s going with this, but seriously?

“Would it be crazy if I just cut to the chase and asked if there’s any possibility you’re going to have sex with me this weekend?”

I throw my head back and laugh. “Yes, Dave. Yes, it’s a little crazy to ask me that.” I pat his knee. “But thanks.”

“So that’s a no?” he asks, seeming unsure.

“Yup, that’s a no.”

“I really thought it was going to be easier picking up women after law school,” he says, slumping dejectedly. “But it’s not,” he says, shaking his head. “Women are still a mystery and I’m still a nerd.”

“We’re all nerds, Dave. You just have to find the right nerd for you. I promise you she’s out there.”

“You think?”

“I do. In fact… do you see that girl over there? In the grey sweater with the black skirt?”