Trophy Husband (14 page)

“I love it when you talk dirty,
McKenna.”

“You know it’s true,” I say emphatically.
“You become part of the Trophy Husband project, then my viewers
will get to know you, they’ll check out your show, they’ll check
out you and bam. You are well on your path as you reach out to
female gamers.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I like the way
you’re thinking. I like everything you’re saying. And yes, I do
need to get the word out about my new show. But there’s one teensy,
tiny little problem.” He holds up his thumb and index finger to
show a small amount of space.

“What’s that?”

He holds up his hands, as if to protect
himself. “Now, this isn’t personal. This isn’t about you. But, I
don’t want to be a Trophy Husband.”

I give him a look. A look
that says
you can’t be
serious
. A look that rebuilds my barriers
and protects me from letting him see too far into me, into the
truth of this business deal. That it’s not merely for business. But
that the game might be the only way I can move closer to him
without revealing all that I feel for him. In my body and in my
heart. “Chris, this is a business deal. You and I are business
partners. I am not asking you to move in, I am not asking you to be
my man, I am not even asking you to be my boyfriend,” I say,
deliberately not adding
husband
to the list. I make a mental note of the fact that
I can’t even breathe the word
husband
, let alone bear to utter
it.

“But I kind of thought that was what this
contest was all about.”

“Yes and no. It’s about proving a point,” I
say, returning to my platform, like a politician. My talking
points. Because the more he questions me, the more I lose sight of
my goals. The more I lose sight of the game. Because there’s no
game with him whatsoever. Everything I feel for him is so scarily
real, but I can’t let him know that though.

“So you’re not actually going to go through
with this? The marriage thing?”

“All I want to do is prove that a woman can
play a man’s game. So play with me. It makes things interesting to
have you on the show.” I pause, then continue. “This is the Web.
People want to laugh, they want to be entertained. They want to see
people do wild things they can’t do on regular TV. They want us to
be daring. They want us to do the things they can’t do.”

Chris shifts back and forth a bit,
considering.

I go for the kill. “And you like to play
games. C’mon, you’re a gamer, Chris. This is the ultimate game.
Come on my show and play my game and let’s see if you can win.”

“Oh, those are fighting words that cut
straight to my competitive heart.”

“Good. I knew I could hook you that
way.”

“So you want me to be your pretend boy toy
for the sake of making a point?”

“Dude, I totally want to make a point with
you.”

“Now it does sound like you’re talking dirty
to me.”

I quirk up my lips and I’m not sure what
comes over me, but maybe it’s the fact that I’ve already had his
hands on me, his mouth on me, that in my fantasies he knows what I
taste like. So I say, “Maybe I am.”

Chris rises and switches sides, sliding into
the booth next to me. My heart leaps into my throat. My belly does
a flip flop, and I am warm all over. Wait, make that white-hot when
he fingers a strand of my long hair, playing with it. Does he have
any idea what he does to me? Can he tell that I want to be tangled
up in his arms? That I want to him to move me under him, to slide
inside me, to lay his hot body on mine as he takes me? “You know,
if I’m going to be a candidate, I think it’s only fitting, don’t
you think, for me to kiss you?”

“You mean to sort of test the waters?”

“Make sure we’re a good fit.”

“So this would be like a business partner
kiss?”

“Since we’re in business together, yes.”

“Then this would be a business kiss.”

“All business.”

“Okay, Chris. You may business kiss me
now.”

His hand finds its way to the back of my
neck and the feeling of his firm hand on me makes me shudder. I
close my eyes reflexively, letting myself feel that little zing
that rushes from my belly down to my toes and back up again, as he
leans into me, his soft lips brushing mine, his hand still gently
resting on my neck, his fingers playing with my hair. It’s not a
long kiss, just a few seconds, but enough time for me to notice his
lips are soft and full, his breath tastes fresh, and that even a
even a starter kiss from him feels a bit like magic and music and
falling all in one. He pulls away slowly, his lips taking their
time leaving mine.

It’s better than all my fantasies. It’s ten
million times better. Because it’s real, and it’s tangible, and
it’s happening, and he’s touched me, and I want so much more. I
want him. All of him.

I am an open book now – my lips parted
slightly, hoping for more, my shoulders rising and falling. My eyes
telling the truth, I am sure. He has to know. He has to know this
is more with him. That this can be everything.

As he breaks the kiss, the look on his face
says he liked it, and he wants so much more. I recognize the look,
because I’m sure I’m his mirror image right now.

Plus, now I can date Chris.

“She’s been fed and she had an afternoon
walk, but if you can take her out for twenty minutes when you stop
by, that would be great.”

I gather my purse and keys as I finish up
the instructions with Ms. Pac-Man’s regular dog-sitter/dog
walker/dog trainer. I hired Wednesday Logan when we adopted Ms.
Pac-Man and I’m also the one who attended every dog training
session and implemented the instructions. But who’s counting? Oh,
wait. I am.

“Can you be sure to leave an invoice for me
on the kitchen table?” I add as we chat on the phone. “I left cash
for you already, but if you can leave an invoice that would be
great.”

“Absolutely,” Wednesday says. “I can’t wait
to see Ms. Pac-Man again.”

“And don’t forget if you run into
Michelangelo, stay far away.”

“The horny pug, right?”

“Yep. She growls at him every time. But it’s
totally his fault. He tried to hump her once and she’s not into
that.”

“Of course not. She’s a lady dog.”

“Exactly.”

I end the call and meet Hayden to catch a
bus to Fillmore, since Julia has decided we need a Girls Night Out
and we’re meeting her at the Tiki Bar, a loungy-bar with tapas and
big, fiery drinks. She said the place is usually packed with young,
hot men in their early twenties.

I’m wearing my new
V-neck
Macbeth
shirt, a short flowy skirt, and a pair of red heels with a
buckle strap. The whole ensemble can be had for under $100 and I
shared the shopping details with my viewers last week. Our stop is
a few blocks away from The Tiki Bar, so we get off the bus and walk
the rest of the way. My phone chirps from my purse and I answer
it.

“Hey, it’s Chris.”

“Hey there. What’s going on?”

Hayden instantly looks back at me. She might
as well have boy radar. She can glean within nanoseconds when
you’re talking to a guy. Well, any good girlfriend can. It’s in our
DNA. It’s a requirement.

“So I guess if we’re really going to be
partners in crime, I need to send you a photo to post, huh?”

“Of course. You have to play by the
rules.”

We cross the street, Hayden deliberately
staying two steps ahead. This pace is part of our DNA too; we are
genetically programmed to give a fellow girlfriend the two-step
spread during guy calls.

“Rules. I do well with rules,” he says, and
his voice is super flirty, and it makes me feel melty.

I adopt a sharp but playful tone. “The rule
then is you need to send a picture soon. I announced yesterday on
the show that I am posting pictures tomorrow night for voting.”

“Oooh, giving me orders already. I like
that. Makes me feel like a boy toy.”

“Better watch out, Chris. Soon, I may be
asking you to arrive at my house and pretend to be the pool
boy.”

“I could totally do a cabana boy look for
you.”

“If I had horses you could be a stable
boy.”

“Giddy up.”

I laugh, and so does he, and the sexy banter
makes me feel, for a moment, as if Todd might not be the last word
in my life when it comes to men. Then I tell myself to settle down.
We’ve only had one kiss, and besides, this is all just a game.

He’s a gamer, and his competitive instincts
are firing on all cylinders. That’s all this is.

I see the Tiki Bar just ahead. The code
dictates you must complete all phone calls to guys before entering
the appointed location for a girls’ night out. Phone conversations
are only permitted in the window of time immediately before
entering the establishment, and phone loitering is specifically
forbidden.

“Hey, Chris. I have to go. It’s girl’s night
out, so let me call you later.”

“Enough said. Talk to you later.”

“Who was that?” Hayden asks, as we walk
inside The Tiki Bar, but it’s noisy, and there’s a part of me
that’s afraid of saying the truth out loud – that was the guy I’m
majorly crushing on. Because if I voice those words, they become
real. If I keep it to myself, maybe I can protect myself from
heartbreak, so I pretend I didn’t hear her as we make our way to my
sister. Besides, they want this for me. They want me to see this
Trophy Husband quest all the way through. Julia is already holding
court at a corner table, a garish pink drink with not one, but two
umbrellas in front of her. It’s ironic, her drinking this, and she
knows it. She, the uber-cool bartender, is drinking a strawberry
daiquiri because it’s an ironic act.

She’s collected two boys, one on each side.
“Look! I’m recruiting for you.”

“I thought it was a girl’s night out.”

“And on a girl’s night out, we like to meet
boys. C’mon! The more the merrier when it comes to trophies! Let’s
see who we have in store for you tonight.”

I do my best to push Chris from my mind and
focus on my turn-the-tables project. I slide in next to Boy Number
One, who sports a buzz cut, broad shoulders, and a
white-and-green-striped button-down shirt. Julia introduces him as
Carl. Bachelor Number Two flanks her other side. He’s Tom, a little
on the short side, but with warm brown eyes. They both smile.

We exchange pleasantries
and admire Julia’s drink, and then Julia gets down to business. She
leans forward, laying her palms flat against the uneven wood table,
warped with the sloshed juice of spilled drinks over the years. “So
listen,” she begins, eyeing the boys. “My hot sister is looking for
a young man to be a
kept
man. There’s like this big contest going on, I
mean this is better than
American
Idol
. This is your meal ticket, Tom and
Carl.”

I do my best not to roll my eyes. Julia
could be in sales. The boys are enrapt, though that could be her
lush auburn hair or the low-cut pink top she’s wearing. Then Julia
snaps a finger at Hayden, who reaches into a black suede bag. She
extracts a thick stack of business cards, the kind you print
yourself, the perforated edge as the tell-tale sign of the
do-it-yourselfer.

“Shut up!” I say to Hayden. I had no idea
she was up to something.

“I told you that if you’re in this, we’re in
this with you. So we thought we’d do a little grassroots marketing
for you. Think of us as your on-the-ground Skyy Vodka girls,”
Hayden says.

I reach for a card and read. “Have you ever
dreamed of doing nothing all day but looking good and servicing
your woman? Then sign up for the Trophy Husband Sweepstakes. Your
chance to be a kept man. Every boy’s dream.”

I look at Julia, then Hayden. “Sweepstakes?
Is this a sweepstakes now?”

Julia rolls her eyes. “Hello? It’s like the
biggest sweepstakes there is.”

The thought flickers through my mind that
this thing is taking on a life of its own. Calling the quest a
“sweepstakes?” This has gone well beyond little old me. It’s like a
bullet train, hurtling through town after town, picking up
passengers, gaining speed. I might as well be hosting a reality
show online, a contest for my next mate.

Then again, that kind of is what I am doing,
letting viewers pick the dates. Earlier in the week, the national
talk show host Helen even mentioned my pursuit on air.

So we pass out cards, and chat up guys, and
the whole thing has an air of crazy fun, and I suppose it has to,
because I know in some ways I have to keep a distance from the
reality of it. I prefer the unreality of the contest. But even as I
talk to other guys, I’m only thinking about one guy. The one who
called. The one who kissed me. The one I wouldn’t mind seeing
again.

“Where’s Erin? She’s
supposed to be meeting us,” Hayden shouts, and I reach for my phone
and send Erin a quick text:
Hey, you going
to join us for this girls night out or what?

I lay my phone on the table and seconds
later, it buzzes. I click on the envelope icon. But it’s not from
Erin. It’s from Chris. Turns out I didn’t write to Erin. I wrote to
Chris accidentally since his was the last call I received, Erin’s
the second to last.

Tempted, but I am pretty sure my presence is
verboten. Where, may I ask, are the festivities?

“What’d she say?” Hayden asks, peering
through her tortoise-shell glasses to try to read the message.

“Not Erin,” I say, as I
quickly type a response:
So sorry, meant
to write to my girlfriend Erin. We’re on Fillmore.
I pause for a second, wondering where he lives,
wondering if I should ask. After all, he managed to weave in a
question in his text message. That’s what you do when you want the
volley to continue. So I add:
What are you
up to?