All four of them awkwardly look around at each other. Clearly no one put on their big boy pants today. None of them wants to spit out whatever message it is they’re trying to subtly convey.
Finally, Finance Guy clears his throat. “We, um, just…Here’s the thing. We’re all married and…”
“And you’re well…not,” CEO Dude adds.
I put my fork and knife down and meet each of their eyes around the table. “Not anymore,” I clarify. “I was married for over six years. I’ve got a son. I’m registered to vote. My taxes are filed. I’m far more responsible than most adults. I’m not following. I’m not sure what the problem is here.”
Why are they skeptical about bringing me on board? Just because they’re all married and I’m not? What does that have to do with anything?
“Uh, well, I guess you could say our wives aren’t really fans of us associating with single men,” the operations head explains, “because puck bunnies tend to follow any single man in proximity to pro hockey.”
My brows jump to my hairline. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t associate with puck bunnies.”
“Ha. Try convincing our wives of that!”CEO Dude says.
“And whose fault is that?”
All eyes point to Finance Guy, and the band of geniuses bursts out laughing at their inside joke. Meanwhile, I sit there trying to hide my annoyance.
These guys are the biggest hypocrites ever. I haven’t known them for more than an hour, and I already know they’re probably not the most faithful husbands themselves.And yet,I’mthe bad guy?I’mthe big threat to their sad, fragile marriages?
One of the men starts bragging about this new carnivore diet he’s on. Another one is making jokes about ‘the rack’ on one of the younger waitresses. I’m not paying attention.
When I become too exhausted to continue trying to hide my annoyance, the owner chuckles. "You're a single guy, Lincoln. Come on. You can't blame a man for looking! It’s innocent.”
I focus on the medium rare ribeye in front of me, trying not to let my frustration bubble up and spill out across the table. The conversation veers away from business again.
But the moment Jules sashays past, leading a group of patrons to their table nearby, I notice the men’s wandering eyes traveling up and down her body again.
I quickly change the subject. “Tell me, who do you have going first in the NFL draft next year? And what do your NCAA connections look like?”
The conversation shifts, but probably just to appease me. These men don’t really seem all that interested in talking business during this so-called businesslunch.
We’re about to order dessert when I’m distracted by my phone ringing. I consider letting it go to voicemail—anything in the hopes of getting into these guys’ good graces—but when I see the name of Cameron’s babysitter flash across the screen, I rise to my feet.
“Sorry, gentlemen. Excuse me. I’ve got to take this.”
I answer the call and hustle to the restaurant's back exit for some privacy. On the line, it’s Gabby, the babysitter I just hired when the previous one quit.
Cameron’s in school during the day, but with the requirements of running a business on my own, I need some extra help. I’ve hired a sitter to give me a hand with the mornings and school pick-ups, to ensure Cameron has a consistent, steady schedule, no matter what meetings or travel may pop up for me during the week.
Only problem is, I’ve already gone through a revolving door of hires in the few short weeks since Cameron and I moved out here from Chicago.
“Gabby. Is everything OK?” I say as I burst out the restaurant’s backdoor, worried that the school nurse might have called her for some medical emergency.
“Oh yeah. Everything’s totally sigma, Mr. R.”
I have no idea what she just said, but hertone seems calm, so I’m able to exhale as I step outside into the quiet back alley.
The moment I do, my eyes lock on Jules. She’s leaning against the brick wall, phone in her hand, probably on her work break.
I start to lift my hand to wave—because a wave seems appropriate after what transpired between us the other night—but as soon as she sees me, she walks out of earshot to continue her own phone call.
No. She doesn’t just walk away. She does so with an impressive air of dismissal. I’ve never claimed to be a body language expert, but as Jules turns her back on me, she’s clearly telling me to fuck off.
Well, alrighty then.
I can’t blame her for hating me a little more than usual after I tried to sneak out of her bed, only to get busted by her unexpected houseguest, all in my birthday suit.Yeah. Not my finest moment…
