We’re well into the cocktail hour when I finally see him duck through the door, and for a moment I forget all about how irritated I am and just admire how striking he looks in his crisp black suit and tie, his hair flawlessly tousled, his lightly stubbled jaw locked tight as he pauses to search the crowd for me. His photo could be filed in the encyclopedia under Man in His Prime. I want to cast his cheekbones in bronze. He’s like an NFT—I can’t explain what it is, but I’d gladly overpay to own it exclusively.
He’s still halfway across the room, but my body reacts reflexively: My pulse quickens and my breath shallows, my nose already tingling in anticipation of his cologne hitting my sinuses. There’s a defiant, devil-may-care energy in his stride as he stalks toward me. He’s a debonair man on a determined mission, and dangerously handsome, like a suave Cary Grant, a smoldering Gregory Peck, and a rebellious James Dean all rolled into one.
I’ve definitely been watching too many Turner Classic Movies.
“Hey, you made it,” I greet him once he reaches our group. “Thought I was gonna have to send out a search party.” I reach up to give him a kiss, but at the last second he turns his head and I end up grazing his cheek.
I pull away slightly to look at him, and he gives me a tight smile in return. I smooth my hand down his lapel, wondering what the heck happened at work. I’ve grown adept at reading his moods, even learned how to laugh him out of a funk when he’s stressed, but it’s hard to get to the bottom of whatever’s bothering him with an audience. Right, our audience.
I turn back to the group, taking a minute to introduce Jack to my friends. “Everyone, this is Jack Bradford, my”—Should I call him my boyfriend? Is that too sixth grade?—“uh, my date.” He eyes me oddly and I wilt a little.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Gabriel says, reaching out to grip Jack’s hand. “Cass tells us great things.”
“Get out of here. Brawler, right? Big fan, man,” Kara’s boyfriend Cody breaks in, and he and Jack exchange a fist bump.
“Did you say Brawler?” Kara says, looking from Cody to Jack to me in confusion.
“I’m sorry, are you two together?” Daniela blurts out with palpable shock, and I cringe internally. Maybe I should’ve given people a heads-up.
“Sure are,” Jack replies without missing a beat, deliberately ignoring the shade in her tone. He throws an arm around my shoulders and squeezes, crushing me against him so hard my ribs crack. “The old ball and chain.”
Now I’m the one giving him side-eye. Ball and chain?! Is this his way of poking me for my awkward introduction? I glance at Daniela; she looks like she’s just swallowed a handful of rusty nails.
I decide to laugh it off, like I’m in on the joke. “It’s pretty new,” I say by way of explanation, patting Jack’s chest mildly.
“Not that new,” Jack counters. “Of course, Cassidy likes to take things slow, really dig into a person before she commits. Isn’t that right, honeybuns?”
I freeze, slow-blinking at him in disbelief. Is this his idea of making a good impression? Because he’s failing miserably. “Um . . . mm-hmm,” I manage to croak, my cheeks flaming in embarrassment.
Registering my distress, Nat comes to the rescue. “Guys, I think Mindy Kaling just walked in!” she says, pointing, and every head whips toward the door. Thank God for Nat.
With them distracted, I tug Jack off to the side and lower my voice. “What is going on with you?”
He crosses his arms. “What do you mean?”
“I mean is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” The belligerence in his tone makes me flinch.
“I meant at work.” His response is a blank stare, so I clarify. “Whatever kept you late?”
He lets out a beleaguered groan. “Great, here we go. Are you going to nag me about being late now? I’m here, aren’t I?”
Over Jack’s shoulder, I lock eyes with Gabriel, who’s monitoring our exchange with a frown. I shake my head slightly: Stand down.
“Have you been drinking?” I ask in a hushed voice. It’s the only way I can explain his erratic behavior.
“No, though I see you’ve started without me,” Jack responds at full volume, nodding at my wineglass. “Guess I need to catch up. But I’m sure you already have a drink waiting for me, right babe? Or is that one for me?”
Before I can react, Jack’s grabbed the glass from my hand and drained its contents in one stiff swallow. The others have stopped talking and are openly gawking now, watching the scene unfold like the train wreck it is. Daniela’s glaring at him like she’d like to massage him with some barbed wire.
He sees her face and laughs, holding up his hands defensively. “It’s okay, this is just one of Cassidy’s rules for dating. She likes to always have a drink ready and waiting for me at the end of the day. It’s one of my favorite things about her, how devoted she is to taking care of her man.” He grins down at me, his eyes cunning and sharp, and something pricks at my subconscious. “She even cooks for me! Talk about every man’s dream, amirite guys?”
The men laugh nervously, shuffling their feet and casting uneasy glances at their significant others, most of whom have steel in their spines and daggers in their eyes. But I can’t worry about their reactions for long because I’m too busy having an epiphany of my own:
He knows.
I’m as certain of it as I am that his eyes are blue—and it’s those same eyes that ultimately give him away. The look he just cast me—the devious gleam and focused intensity, the antagonism and steely resolve—is the very same one he wore the night we met. We’re back in that bar and at each other’s throats in a ruthless battle of the sexes, only this time, one of us won’t make it out alive. It’s a fight to the death and Jack’s just thrown down the gauntlet. Honestly, I’m surprised it took me this long to figure it out.
Sabotage. That’s what tonight’s been all about. I have no idea how he figured it out or how long he’s known, but he’s obviously been planning this—and it’s not like he’s trying to hide it. Indeed, as awareness dawns and the diabolical motives behind his antics sink in, Jack’s villainous smile only burns brighter, as though pleased that I’ve finally caught up. He wants a willing and worthy adversary because where’s the fun in besting someone who’s oblivious to the fight? No, he intends to embarrass me, and he wants me to watch. He wants me to preside over my own defeat, thrashing and flailing on my way down. It’s payback time, and if he has his way, I will pay dearly.
Welp, be careful what you wish for, Jack. If a fight is what he wants, then he’s about to get one. Two can play at this game, and he’s overlooking something crucial: I’ve had a weeks-long head start at acting like I’m a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
I tuck myself against his side and gaze up at him adoringly, splaying my palm on his chest possessively. “Oh no, sweetie—you’re the one who’s a dream.” I tug lightly on his tie and imagine choking him with it. “I often think, how is it fair that one man can be so handsome and smart and funny, all while doing such important, admirable work—oh wait.” I snap my fingers. “Scratch that last part. Oh well, can’t have it all, can we, ladies?”