Happenstance(14)

Banks clears his throat. “That brings us to the second problem.”

“Enlighten the group,” I sigh, refusing to let him know I’m interested.

“Do we trust the elected representative?” Banks sips his beer. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure either of you should trust me not to ask her out. Alone.”

“Same,” Gabe says, his expression saying he holds the winning lottery ticket in his giant mitts. “I’d cook a pot roast for her.”

“And if she’s vegan?” I ask, popping my green olive into my mouth.

Gabe pales.

“Bottom line…” Banks doesn’t look happy about what’s he’s going to say. “Social media leaves too much up to chance. I think it has to be in person.”

I pause mid-chew. “You’re saying we should simply show up at the Gotham Times?”

“She’s going to hate that,” Gabe and Banks say in unison.

“Yeah, she will,” Banks continues, turning his beer in circles on the table. “But I genuinely think we’ve seen the last of her otherwise.”

“He’s right,” I find myself saying. For the life of me, I can’t see Elise answering a Facebook message and agreeing to meet with us. “So we go to the newspaper and…ask her to choose. Is that your shite plan? Because I fancy keeping my balls.”

Banks is silent for long moments. “I don’t know. Should we ask her to choose?”

Gabe leans forward, head tilted like he’s trying to hear a song playing on the radio at low volume. “What’s the other option?”

A muscle jumps in Banks’s cheek. “We don’t.”

“We don’t see her again at all?” Gabe sputters.

“My God, man, you’re thick,” I groan, massaging the bridge of my nose.

“No, Gabe. We don’t ask her to choose.” Banks is visibly surprised he said it out loud, the bronze of his neck darkening slightly. “Look, I coach a team. We have two players I consider all-stars, but they can’t win the game alone. The team behind them—that’s what makes them great. When they try to be heroes and score without that supporting cast, that’s when they fail, right?” He pauses. “What if…there was something about us as a whole that appealed to Elise? Not only as…individuals.”

We’re all silent for a moment and I know what they’re thinking about. They’re replaying how she turned to putty as soon as we were all surrounding her. Touching her. When the four of us connected, a tangible change took place in her. In her energy. In the air. “She enjoyed having triple the attention and fuck, she deserves it,” I say without thinking.

Gabe is shaking his head. “I don’t know how to do that. One of her, three of us.”

“You were doing it,” I point out.

The foreman drains his beer.

“This might be a good time to address everyone’s sexual preferences,” I say. “I’ve experimented with men, but it’s the pussy life for me. What about you two?”

“Straight,” Banks says.

Gabe stares over my shoulder, like he’s trying put a puzzle together. How does this guy even tie his shoelaces? “A guy on my crew is gay.”

I stare. “Yeah, that doesn’t count.”

“I’m straight.”

“Okay, fine,” I say, in my element now. “So this is just about Elise. We’re all about her pleasure. And getting pleasure from her.”

Gabe shifts in his booth, very obviously still dealing with his erection. “Yeah.”

“Not from each other.”

They both shake their heads.

“Then are we being selfish by only offering her one of us? Bear in mind, I have the ability to provide the same amount of orgasms as three men, possibly four, but…she did seem to have an odd fondness for you both.” I polish off my martini and signal for another. “Enjoy that while it lasts, because I’ll eventually be her favorite.”

Says he, with absolutely no confidence.

Banks snorts. “Whatever, guy.” He hesitates. “But the rest of what you said makes sense. I liked…watching her get overwhelmed. By what we were doing. At the same time. One man can’t give her that. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think our best chance of spending time with her is…together.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, along with Gabe. “Another round, then?”





Chapter Five





I push my sandwich cart through the sea of cubicles, soaking in the sound of ringing phones and cable news. It’s noon on Friday and the only time I become the most important person in the newsroom. Because I’m peddling everything from a classic pastrami on rye to caprese on ciabatta. My cart has a squeaky wheel, which has turned into a Pavlov’s dog situation. When the staff writers hear the wobbly whine coming their direction, they turn with hungry expressions and begin extracting money from their wallets and purses.

Someone holds out a ten and I already know this guy wants the turkey wrap, so I hand it to him without stopping, depositing his cash in my apron, tossing two singles onto his desk.

“Enjoy your eight-dollar sandwich,” I murmur, my attention directed squarely ahead, as usual. On the managing editor’s glass office walls. Karina Grazer sits on a giant turquoise exercise ball behind her desk, shaking her head at whatever is being said on her Zoom meeting. Her shoes have been kicked off, her nylon-covered arches digging into the foot massager beneath her desk. There are two pictures hanging behind her on the wall. One of Karina meeting the president. One of her getting arrested at a reproductive rights rally.