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Greg made a face. “It’s Friday, man, loosen up.”
Uh-huh. He was working on that. Though he’d never thought of himself as uptight. It was just that he’d spent his growing-up years swinging a stick or tossing a ball or rowing a boat. Being sedentary was making him tense.
Ten minutes later he had changed and was heading down in the elevator with three other people. The guy who’d responded to his impulsive ad, Sam, had sent him a text. Liam had briefly wondered if it was wise to give a total stranger his number, but he figured he could always block the guy if things took a downturn.
What’s on tap for your weekend? Expanding your beer gut?
Fighting the urge to take a selfie of his abs to prove that he did not have a beer gut, Liam responded. Running home from work actually.
Jogging or you mean that figuratively?
Literally. I am running.
Or he was about to, anyway. It was exactly four miles from his office in Midtown through Central Park to his apartment.
Shit. Did he admit that?
He was trying to reach five miles. But it was Friday, after all. He had plans with Travis to grab a pint later.
How many miles?
Four.
So you’re sixty-three years old then?
Damn it.
Twenty-seven.
Then you can go the extra mile. Ha-ha. Pun intended.
Liam laughed as the elevator dinged open and he followed the petite woman in front of him out. She glanced back and gave him a sour look. Feeling lighter already, he just smiled at her. She was unmoved. Cranky. Liam didn’t want to morph into that type of person. Not even leaving the office on a Friday made this woman happy? Not good. It had heart attack written all over it.
He texted Sam back. Fine. I’ll push for five.
You got this, man.
There was something odd about texting with a person he’d never met. Liam knew people did it all the time. They met on dating sites, answered ads for everything from apartments to bikes and had no problem with it. But to Liam, it felt foreign, unnatural. He needed a face to visualize. He needed to know the guy he was communicating with wasn’t a complete and total freak. Any more than the average freak. Otherwise, it was like texting with a nonentity and he wasn’t comfortable with it. Maybe it would make sense to meet up with Sam for a pint, just to get the guy’s measure.
I’ll text you when I’m done. But we should probably plan on meeting up in the next day or two and make some payment arrangements.
I’m out of town this weekend.
Monday then? I get off work at six. I can meet you anytime after that. Where do you live?
Brooklyn. So how will I know you actually jogged the five miles?
You’ll have to trust me. I’m the one who wants the benefit, remember?
Liam stepped out onto the street, appreciating the temperate fall weather. It was the perfect day for a run, crisp and clear. Putting his phone away, he started down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of the crowd of people. He didn’t imagine he’d ever get used to the sheer volume of human beings in New York. The town he’d grown up in was on the coast, a fishing village filled with colorful cottages and colorful characters. It was small, intimate, rainy, and a bit tired about the edges. Nothing like Manhattan at all, and while he loved his adopted city, there were days where he wished everyone would clear out and leave him be.
But today he didn’t mind navigating his way through the city as he ran. It just felt good to pump his arms, steady his breathing, find a rhythm. Once he’d gone a few blocks he felt better. Tension left his body and his head cleared. By the time he entered the park, he felt great, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his texts. Distance running was something he’d never mastered and usually by mile three he was struggling. He liked the short sprinting and the hard-hitting aspect of rugby better.
From Sam: The ladies will appreciate your increased stamina.
Then a second text. Or the gents? However you roll, leg strength is a positive attribute. :)
Yeah, this definitely felt weird. He had no interest in discussing his sexual preferences with someone he’d never met. Yet it seemed rude not to answer and it wasn’t as if Sam had asked something particularly personal. Using voice command, he responded. In my case, the ladies. Though not many ladies these days.
Why, are you ugly? Or married?
That made him laugh again. For some reason he was picturing Sam as the type of guy who was always the water boy at sporting events. Small, wiry, quick with a quip, slightly nerdy.
I’m no pretty boy but I don’t make babies cry either.
No one who wants a nemesis is pretty.
Was that true? Liam wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as though he had looked into it ahead of time. Plus he wasn’t even sure he was the type who wanted a nemesis. He was just desperate.
Ego just a tiny bit nicked, he decided to send a picture of himself playing. You couldn’t really see his face in it. Just his dirty uniform, his arm muscles. It was a cool shot he’d lifted off the team’s website, taken during a match the previous season. So take that, Sam. He was no namby-pamby.
The minute he actually hit Send he felt like an idiot. This wasn’t Tinder or Zoosk. He wasn’t looking to impress a chick. It was to release tension and the fucking ridiculous feelings of inadequacy his job, and his retirement from rugby, inspired.
Now the very fact that he was trying to impress the nerdy nemesis he was paying to bully him, made him feel like a gigantic asshole.
When the fuck had it all come to this?
As his mother always said, every man is wise until he speaks. The modern amendment should be until he sends a text.
Liam put his phone away and ran faster, harder.
Chapter Two
Samantha ogled her phone screen. “Shut the door, Trina. Figuratively of course. Liam just sent me a picture. Is this real? This can’t be real.” She hoped it was real.
“Why, is he like a troll or something?”
“No.” Sam dodged a garbage can as they walked to the deli down the street from Katrina’s apartment. Trina’s boyfriend, Drew, was bartending that night so it was Sam’s job as the single best friend to keep her company until Drew got off work at eleven. At which time she was expected to make herself scarce so the happy couple could get naked. Samantha would then go home to her windowless apartment solo, most likely mildly buzzed, and fall asleep watching Game of Thrones. It was a glamorous life, what could she say?
A life which had suddenly gotten way more interesting since she’d embarked on her new career as Professional Nemesis a few hours earlier. It was unlikely it would be a sustainable career path but it beat the hell out of asking her mom for money and it was proving to be fairly entertaining. Liam seemed to get her teasing and jokes, but he wasn’t taking the bait. She figured it was only a matter of time before he realized she was übercharming and utterly adorable. Though he had said he was straight, so how adorable he would find her thinking she was a man, she couldn’t say. But something about the freedom of texting a total stranger at random with no necessity to impress him was amazing and liberating.
Not only did she not have to impress him she could be as bossy and flippant as she wanted. It was awesome.
And if this picture was real, Liam was a sweaty, muscular mountain of manliness she wanted to climb.
Damn. “He’s hot. I mean, I can’t really see his face, but what I can see is all hard and yummy.” She tilted her phone for Katrina to see it. “Rugby. Men legally shoving each other in pursuit of balls. I love it.”
Katrina laughed. “So now you’re a rugby fan? Please.” She took the phone and studied the picture. “This is one masculine man, I agree. But this is a professional picture, you know. I bet it’s lifted from a social media site. It’s probably not even him.”
Well, that would spoil all the fun. “Really? You think so?” Katrina was a social media expert, so if anyone would know if something was sketchy, it was her.
“Let’s do a reverse image search and find its origin.” Katrina tapped and swiped. “It’s a picture from the website of the Brooklyn Rugby Club.”
That was deflating. “So it’s probably not him, is it? Shit. I really like the idea of bossing around a hot guy.”
“It might be him, but it could be a classic catfish case.” Katrina handed her the phone back. “Make him send you a time-stamped selfie to prove it’s him. You know, him holding today’s Wall Street Journal.”
“It’s a tangled web of deception we live in these days, isn’t it?” she said, texting Liam, calling him out on the photo being from the rugby website. “And who knew there is a Brooklyn rugby team, by the way? Because I didn’t. Why don’t we go to those games?”
“Um, because we have better things to do?”
“I don’t.” She meant that most sincerely. “I’m unemployed, remember?”
“And by the way, I don’t think you can be butthurt about being catfished when you told him you’re a man.”
Huh. Good point. “That’s not the same thing.” Never admitting she was wrong was another one of her thoroughly unmarketable talents. “I never actually lied and said I was a man. I just implied I was.”
Katrina pulled the door to the deli open. “True. And you said you didn’t want to meet him. But now that there is an albeit remote possibility, but possibility nonetheless, that he is this foxy rugby player, you totally want to meet him, don’t you?”
Busted. “If that remote possibility proves to be reality, then yes, I won’t lie, I do want to meet him.” She stepped into the deli. “Despite my omission of truth, I am a woman, and I find his physical type hot, I can’t deny it. But, I can’t meet him. For multiple reasons, not the least of which is that even if he were to forgive me for failing to mention my gender, he is precisely the type of guy I should be avoiding. I don’t need a competitive man in my life.”
Pulling her knit hat off her head, Katrina stuffed it into her hobo bag. “You’re nuts, and I regret my suggestion for you to search Craigslist for a job. You obviously can’t handle it.”
“Hey!” She laughed. “I can handle Craigslist.” Glancing up at the menu she added, “What I can’t handle is all this meat. OMG, I thought being vegan was in these days. Look at the size of those corned beef sandwiches, holy crap. I’ve seen smaller smart cars.”
“We need a base in our stomachs before we go out and drink cheap wine at the bar.”
“I can’t afford cheap wine. I’m down to like my last ten bucks, I swear.”
“I’ll spot you.”
“No, because I have no idea when I’ll be able to repay you.” Unlike her student loans from college, she didn’t want to defer paying Katrina back indefinitely, so it was better not to get in debt to her friend.
“Think of it as a congrats for getting this nemesis deal.”
After ordering a corned beef sandwich the size of her head, Samantha was debating how much energy she had to continue to argue with Katrina when her phone buzzed.
It was a picture from Liam. He was wearing a smirk on his face, and have mercy, he was shirtless. In front of his very studly chest, he was holding up the newspaper. Pinching it to make it bigger Samantha checked the date. Yep. Today. Then he sent another pic with a sign that he’d written on. It said Jealous? There was an arrow pointing to his six-pack abs.
Six-pack abs that were sort of oily and sweaty and looked very lickable. His arms were muscular, strong. Capable of throwing a rugby ball, knocking over the competition and lifting one petite Jewish girl with red glasses above his waist while he pumped hard into her...
“I need that cheap wine, after all,” she told Katrina. “Fuck me, Liam is hotter than my apartment in August.”
Suddenly her Friday night didn’t look so sad and lonely after all. She could send sexually ambiguous texts to a man so hot the fire department should be hosing his ass off. Silently, eyebrows raised, Katrina held her hand out.
When her friend studied the photos, her mouth dropped. “I stand corrected. It appears he is actually the dude on the rugby team website. Which is admittedly very cool. But now I’m just confused as to why a hot guy needs someone to verbally kick his ass. Doesn’t he have coaches and whatnot to do that?”
“I have no idea, but I’m not about to complain.”
Truthfully, Liam was not pretty or handsome in the classic sense. His features were too imperfect for that. But he had a sparkle in his eye and an aura of such pure masculine mojo that she basically wanted to drop her panties for him. And she hadn’t even met him in person. Imagine what would happen if that occurred. It boggled the mind. Pushy, aggressive, dominating, bossy, hot sex, that’s what would happen.
Sitting down, she crammed her mouth full of meat. “I think going all this time without dating was a mistake. Or at least, I should have created a reliable booty call because suddenly the lack of sex in my life feels like a crisis.”
“The guy is pointing to his penis,” Katrina said, sounding sympathetic. “You’d hardly be human if that didn’t affect you on some level. He is your type, too. But remember that is precisely the type of guy you’re trying to avoid.”
“I know, I know.” Grumble. “I can’t go back on that one. Dating competitive and aggressive guys just left me as a perpetual wet noodle. It’s not a good look.” Pushing her glasses up, she allowed herself a sigh. “The whole point of taking on this weird sort of job is not just to make some extra cash but to learn to be more assertive. When I was with Ben, I basically became whatever he wanted that day. I don’t know why I do that, and I am determined not to repeat it.”
“So don’t meet Liam. Simple.”
“He wants to meet next week to work out payment options. I also think he wants to screen me.”
“Instead of meeting him, why don’t you just Skype? Come clean about being a woman after he’s seen how awesome at giving him shit you can be. Then suggest an online chat or phone call.”
That might work. It would mean she would have to admit that she was very much female, but if she wowed Liam in the meantime maybe he wouldn’t care. Either way, she could probably only hide her gender for a few more days before he caught on. “That is probably wise.”
She thought about what to text in response as she took another huge bite of her sandwich.
Then she typed. Not jealous. Confused.
Confused about what?
Why you want a random stranger to boss you around when you have coaches and teammates.
I’m retired. Don’t want to lose my edge.
“He’s retired,” she reported to Katrina.
“Good to know.” Katrina sipped her iced tea. “Are you going to be texting with your nemesis all night? Because it’s leaving me staring at my roast beef with no one to talk to.”
Oh, please. That was rich. “You’re on your phone all day. You can’t go five minutes without sending a kissy emoji to Drew. It’s an addiction we all share.” It was a smartphone thing. She couldn’t help it. But Trina was right. They were hanging out together so she vowed to send one last message and put the phone away for a few hours. “But I concede your point. One last text.”
“That’s fair. And I promise not to send any kissy texts to Drew for the next two hours.” Katrina bit her sandwich and chewed. “Best thing about him working, besides the fact that I get to hang out with you? I can eat grilled onions on my patty melt and don’t have to worry about dragon breath. It will have time to recede, like an onion tide, before he’s off work.”
So not the Trina of a few months ago. It seemed the honeymoon phase of their relationship was over and her best friend was feeling quite content with her man. Sam wanted to laugh, but resisted the urge.
“The wine will overtake it,” she reassured Katrina. “Best thing about being single is I don’t have to worry about that ever. Or waxing.” There were other benefits as well, like total freedom and time to reflect on who she was and what she wanted. The suck-ass part? She was lonely. She could admit it. Yes, she missed sex but she also missed just touching someone. An affectionate hand on her back, the right to touch a man’s chest. She missed those little things, and at almost twenty-five she wasn’t really interested in going out to a club and hooking up with some random guy.
That didn’t prevent her from drooling over Liam’s bare chest, though. Look, but don’t touch. Nothing wrong with that. Staring at his picture again, she composed her final text before dropping her phone back into her purse.
I’m an advocate of taking the edge off.
It was a little flirty. But she couldn’t help it. It seemed so harmless.
But it nearly killed her to ignore her phone for the next ninety minutes as agreed upon.
When she and Katrina were done eating and had walked to the bar where Drew worked, she gave in to her compulsion and checked her phone when Trina went to the restroom.
I’m not sure what you mean.
