“You should chat with Mia, I guess, and figure it out.” I go about ignoring her, but it’s hard—she’s kind of adorable when she’s prissy and pretty, and I’m guessing under that prickly exterior lies a heart of gold.
But maybe I’m just naïve. I tend to think the best of everyone and where does it get me?
Nowhere.
I’m still single, with zero kids and no dog.
I know what you’re thinking: poor guy doesn’t even have a dog?! How can that be?
Alas, it’s true—I’d love one, obviously, but would love a partner to shoulder the responsibility with and also take it to the dog park with me, because dogs need friends, too.
“You look awfully miffed. Are you sure we can’t be interim best friends because our best friends are dating?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Interim best friends?”
“Sure,” I say. “Friends for the weekend. We’ll pretend for the sake of Mia and Thad that we like each other and no one will be the wiser.”
“I’m not good at pretending,” she deadpans, looking hella tired despite the coffee mug in her hand.
She taps on the ceramic with well-manicured, light pink nails.
“Not good at pretending?” I bet you a million dollars she’s pretended to have plenty of orgasms.
I bite my tongue, folding a pair of joggers I’ve decided to leave in my duffle, kicking the entire bag beneath the rickety kitchen table—if I sat on it, the entire thing would collapse beneath my weight, not that I’ve thought about sitting on it to see if I actually weigh too much to collapse it.
I’d done a bit of snooping around while Juliet was having breakfast with Mia, checking out all the cubbies and nooks and crannies and concluding that this place is cute as a button; I’m definitely not moving out of this little slice of heaven in the boonies.
Besides, in a few hours after spending a bit of time with me, she’ll be singing a different tune, not spearing me with her murder face.
She’ll be half in love with me like they all are.
If only they loved me for me.
Ha!
“No. I’m not good at pretending and I’m not going to fake liking you for the sake of some guy I hardly know.”
The socks in my hand are wadded up as I hold them above my duffle, suspended in mid-air. “Are you talking about me, or Thad?”
“Thad.” Juliet hesitates. “And you, of course. I’m not here to be anyone’s best friend except Mia’s—she deserves a decent, honest guy and I’m here to make sure that’s what Thad is.”
“You don’t think Thad actually cares for Mia?” This is news to me. “Why would you think otherwise? Has he given you a reason not to trust him?”
I’ve never known my friend to be a cheater or a player—Thaddeus Dumont is a one-woman guy as far as I’m concerned. I’ve never seen him sleep around or step out behind anyone’s back; not that he’s had many relationships. For the longest time, his career was number one—only recently has he been giving actual thought to his future and life after football.
Thad wants a family, kids, a picket fence and two and a half dogs.
Wait.
Two and a half kids?
Whatever, he wants both in however many quantities.
Juliet is shaking her head. “No, he hasn’t. But have you seen him?”
Er. Yes? “I have to stare at his ugly mug more often than I’d like. What does that have to do with anything?”
“The man is a god—women must chase him and throw themselves at his feet. Do you know how much willpower that takes?” She snorts. “What man can resist a groupie.”
Now I’m the one snorting. “Um, plenty of them. Fuc—er, banging your way around town gets old after a while. He’s not a rookie anymore; he’s been playing ball for years and that’s his job. He doesn’t play the sport for the women.” I toss the socks back into my bag and rest my hands on my hips, facing her. “Isn’t it a little too early in the day to be so cynical, what is the actual problem? Are you pissed we’re not at the spa?”
She kind of has “spa” written all over her, not ‘I’m a roughing it in the woods’ kind of gal. Her non-response is all the answer I need.
“Let me get this straight—you’re here to basically spy on Mia and Thad and try to trap him into cheating on her?”
“No! I’m not trying to trap him into cheating with me—are you implying that I would hit on him? Ew, gross.”
So is she implying that she wants him to hit on her?
“Weird, because that’s exactly how it sounds. Am I gonna have to keep an eye on you while you’re keeping an eye on him?”
I try to laugh the idea off, but there’s an element of truth to it and we both know it. Juliet didn’t look shady when I was standing over her this morning, but now that I’m looking at her in the doorway of the camper, she looks angrier. Frustrated for no reason. Sulky.