The Gamble: A Novel (10 page)

How he gets women to drop their panties is making so much more sense faster and faster. The confidence in his elocution. Putting just enough softness in it to be baited into believing everything out of his mouth is meaningful. Master player in the Superbowl of manipulation. He's collecting points on the board and the clock has barely started. Oh my gosh....am I really using sports analogies? I have to stop hanging out with him.

“That um...sounds like a line too.”

Marie whispers, “Because it is.”

He casually shrugs. “It's not.”

What do you think?

Before I have a chance to ask, Marie volunteers, “I'll put those in water for you.”

“Thanks.”

She takes the flowers and warns, “Be
safe
and come home tonight.”

“I will. No couch crashing for me.”

“Or bed crashing,” she reiterates.

Luca tosses his head at her. “Enjoy your night, Marie.”

She gives him a harsh glare before she shuts the door behind us.

On our way to the parking lot, he sighs, “She's always going to hate me, isn't she?”

“Probably.”

Part of me loves the fact I never have to worry about her confessing that they ended up in bed together or asking for advice on how to tell her boyfriend.

At his car, I prepare to open my door when his hand gets in the way. He quickly asks, “What do you think you're doing?”

“I thought I was getting in the car. Walking to the hockey game doesn't really sound like fun to me.”

My sarcastic remark is met with a slick smirk. “I meant, a woman shouldn't open her own door.”

“Luca, I
always
open my own car door.”

“Not when you're one a date with me,” his voice softens. “You deserve to be treated like a lady. Now...” He gives the handle a sharp tug. “Let me help you in.”

I roll my eyes at the tactic.

So being on a date means my fingers no longer work? Does he think I need to save them for the hand job he's never going to get?

After slipping inside, I wait for him to get in to before saying, “Can I buckle myself or do you need to do that too?”

Luca leans against his door. “You're really being bitchy about me wanting to open your door?”

“It's just a door.”

“Yeah, Alexxa. It's just a door. I was trying to be a gentleman.”

“It's weird,” my mouth instantly vomits. “All of this is weird. The flowers. The door. The fact I know you're wearing your woman trap cologne-”

“What?”

Leaning against my own door, I explain, “Your woman trap cologne. It's the one in the black bottle, the one you wear when you've met a chick you have to take out for longer than one drink to seal the deal. The red bottle is the one you put on after the gym. The one in the glass bottle is strictly for already on the list women.”

For a moment he leaves his mouth shut tightly. However, just as I begin to think maybe I've gotten out of this monstrosity he says, “You think it's weird I tried to open your door? Well I think it's fucking weird you've cataloged my cologne.”

“I think it's weird
you
unconsciously cataloged your own cologne!”

“You do the same shit!”

“I do not!”

“You do, but it's not with perfume because you only own one bottle and it's reserved for anything that requires you to wear the
one
designer dress in your wardrobe.”

What the hell would I need more than one for?!

“You have four types of bras. The one you wear to work. The one you wear to self-defense class. The one you wear when we're hanging out. And the illusive low cut lacy, black date bra.”

It's my turn to fall silent.

“I'll let you out of this date
right now
if you're not wearing it.”

I mumble as I buckle my seat belt, “Just fucking drive.”

To no surprise Luca laughs victoriously and starts the car.

Don't...say...anything...

After a few minutes with the radio being the only noise in the car, I bite, “Why the hell do you know that? I've never shown you my bras. Have you been going through my laundry? Do you riffle through my underwear drawers when I'm in the shower?”

“Why would I do that when your clothes rarely make it there?”

I'm not
that
messy.

“Luca.”

“Of course I don't go through your shit, Alexxa. Don't you trust me?”

I side step answering and redirect my question while he weaves between cars. “How do you know about my bras?”

“Your tits speak for themselves.”

Classy.

“Something you wouldn't say on a
normal
date. Can I put a flag on the play?”

“No, because
you
broke normal date protocol when you tried to karate chop my hand off for opening the door.”

“I can open my own goddamn door!”

“So you've mentioned.” Another huff escapes me and he says, “Look, you may be my best friend, but I've spent numerous hours over the course of this friendship stealing glances of your tits. On average where and how they sit varies between where you are and what we're doing.”

Probably not what his math teacher had in mind when they were going over angles in pre-algebra.

Understanding the unusual logic, I bob my head back and forth. “What about my date bra?”

“You're not the lingerie type, but every chick has a sexy bra she puts on that builds a little extra confidence. Makes you feel or appear more daring.” His head rolls over to me at the stoplight. “The bra you only wanna show off to those lucky enough.”

True. Even if no one ever gets to see it because things never escalate to that level, I haven't given up hope it one day might.  And I wanna clarify to him I'm not
not
the lingerie type. I've just haven't had a reason to buy it. Yet.

“I'm always the one lucky enough to see it.” He gives me a wink. “With the exception of you of course.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Glad to be the exception.”

“Alexxa, you're always the exception.”

Unsure of exactly what he's hinting at, but aware it has a double meaning, I simply turn the radio up.

One minute I wanna throw up penalties for being a douche and the next I actually wanna give him points for being unintentionally sweet. Ugh. This is gonna be a long fucking night.

About an hour later, we're sitting in our seats, screaming along with the people who packed into the center to watch their favorite hockey players for the sake of charity. Apparently both teams are a collaboration of various players who volunteered from the NHL and the AHL to essentially play for free. During the first thirty minutes, Luca attempted to drill into me details I didn't care to learn. Eventually, he gave up and broke down to the bare basics. Goals. Pucks. Legal fighting.

Does anything else really matter in hockey?

The waiting dancer to the right of us lets her eyes wander to Luca for the fourth time. The women linger around the arena to perform poorly choreographed minor dance moves to hype up the crowd and in between those moments they're supposed to act like cheerleaders. Build the crowds enthusiasm.

This one though. She's got a one track mind and it's headed for Luca Sex Town.

I shift in my seat to face him. “Are you gonna acknowledge her or what?”

Luca drags his eyes away from the rink. “Who?”

“Kelly Kapowski over there at three o'clock.”

He glances around me and then cocks a smile. “Did you just Saved By The Bell me?”

“Blame Marie. She was making weird 90's references earlier.” His laugh makes me join in with him as I pull my hair to the side of my face. “Okay, but seriously. Chick cannot stop eye fucking you.”

To my surprise, he shrugs and folds his hands together. “She can eye fuck me all she wants. I'm on a date with Lisa Turtle.”

I giggle, “I knew. I knew you grew up watching that show.”

“Who didn't?” The two of us laugh again before he clears his throat. “But if you tell anyone-”

“I'm gonna tell everyone. Starting with Warren.”

“Fuck. Don't tell him.” We chuckle again and he continues, “Seriously though? On an actual date I tend not to notice those things.”

“How is that possible?”

“You said it yourself. I don't date. Meaning if you've somehow managed to get me on one, you've obviously done something to grab and keep my attention. Just because some mildly attractive cheerleader wannabe makes come fuck me eyes doesn't change that.”

My head tilts. “But this isn't a
real
date.”

“Says the chick wearing her date bra.”

His words cause me to bite my bottom lip.

Another point on the board for Larson.

“Alexxa, I meant it when I asked you out. This is probably the only date you're ever going to give me. Why fucking blow on it something that couldn't compare to you on your baggy shirt and sweat pants day?”

The compliment causes me to gently bump my leg with his.

That was probably a line too, but damn it felt good to hear. He's not gonna strike out is he? Why can't I stop using sports references?!

I toy with the ends of my hair as the players take the ice again. “Why don't you date?”

Casually he replies, “What's the fucking point? Most chicks wanna hop into the sack just as much as I do. Why jump through hoops to get to the good shit if you don't have to?”

Any sweet feelings he previously planted wither and die. “So, everything is just about getting laid?”

“What else would it be about?”

My head snaps to him. “Spending time with someone because you like them? Having someone to go to the movies with or dinner? Fall asleep next to? Having someone to vent to about how shitty work was or have someone to celebrate with when you get good news?”

His eyes fall onto mine. “What the fuck do I need someone else for all that shit when I have you?”

A small swoon slithers out of me. Immediately I turn my face back to the hockey game, desperate to try to focus.

This is all Luca just being Luca. Saying what a woman wants to hear in such a way she can't help but fall for it. He doesn't mean it. He can't mean it. And if he does mean it then he's really fucking stupid to not see that would mean he's possibly in love with me, which is something not allowed in the friend's zone.

He playfully questions, “How bad is my score on this date by the way? If you can try to pick one sport to compare it too. You know how it drives me fucking crazy when you mix up football and baseball.”

“I kinda like driving you crazy.”

Luca gives me a small smirk in return. “I kinda like
when
you drive me crazy...”