Until You (Until #1)

by Briar Prescott

“You’ve got a nice ass. I’d like to get in there.” Ah, romance. You’re not dead after all.

It’s not the first time I’ve settled, and it won’t be the last.

I should be out there, rubbing my ass against someone’s crotch, making questionable decisions. Instead, I’m dodging half-naked bodies like I’m afraid sweat turns into acid with skin-to-skin contact.

I am a better-on-paper person. As in, I look good on paper. As in, I’m a textbook example of that dating profile you read and think to yourself ‘this one sounds almost promising,’ so in the end, you swipe right because hope springs eternal, and you’re desperate to strike gold.

Are you interesting enough to make it worth my while, Blake?” In response, he tilts his head and smiles. “Why don’t you find out, Jude?”

We were a bunch of kids building a ramp, so it wasn’t the most stable thing out there. Then again, what it lacked in sturdiness, it made up for in height. Also, I may have exaggerated my BMX skills a tiny bit. I lost the bike midair and landed on my right foot. The bone snapped like a twig, and then it came right through the skin. I impressed everyone who managed not to puke. Or cry. Or faint. For the record, I did none of those. I’m hardcore like that. And I was in shock. But mostly the hardcore thing. It was an awesome day. I got to touch my own bone,” he says, like that’s the greatest achievement ever.

“What’s your worst quality?” Can’t say I have to think about it for too long. “I’m extremely cynical. You?” It takes a long time for him to answer that one. His eyes stay locked somewhere on the skyline when he eventually says. “I’m loyal.”

“Waking up one day and finding I’m the only living person left in the world,” he says. Well, he got the weird part down. “How would that even happen?” “A meteor hits the Earth. I’m a heavy sleeper, so it’s entirely possible I wouldn’t hear a thing. Then I step outside for my morning jog and find the world burning to the ground. Or aliens come and kidnap everybody, but they deem me too much of a loser to take with them.”

Come on then, what’re you afraid of?” “Moths. Creepy little fuckers.” “They’re actually very important as links in the food chain and as pollinators. Not to mention, they’re beautiful, and completely harmless,” Blake says like some kind of moth-loving freak. I send him a dirty look. “What’s with the moth propaganda?

“Locker room,” he says. I motion for him to continue. “I’m listening.” “It’s a pretty straightforward story. I had sex in a locker room.”

“Go annoy your wife. Why even get married if you still need me to do stuff with you? Be like a normal newlywed and forget you have friends. Grow apart from me, woman!” “You should really make more of an effort to keep me around. If you push me away, who’s going to find your corpse when you kick the bucket?

“I keep telling you I’m not gonna help you cheat on Nora.” “Yes, because as we all know, it’s my dream in life to cheat on my wife with a gay dude.

“I’m your wife,” Nora says. “I know. I was at the wedding,” Blair says,

“You know why Nora and I fit so well?” “Love and mutual respect?” I venture a guess. She rolls her eyes and waves her hand impatiently. “Sure, yeah, that too. But…”

when one of them is out of town for two days, the other is miserable and puts her shirt on a body pillow, so she’ll feel closer to her and can smell her while she’s sleeping?” “There are people who do that?” I gotta be honest, I’m genuinely mystified. “Why?” “Aww. There’s the cynical asshole we all know and barely tolerate.

“You poor thing. Having somebody who cares about your life is the worst.” “Die,” Blair says shortly.

I storm past people like I’m an Olympic sprinter going for the gold. It’s a new sport called ‘how many pedestrians can I hit in twenty minutes.’

“Unfortunately we don’t have any free tables,” she says, and boy does she not look sorry at all. It’s almost like they’re trying to keep their standards in place and aren’t interested in sweaty, yelling clients.

“I was meeting a client and was really late getting back to town.” “You said you work in IT?” “Yup. Computers,” he says. “I mean, if you tried, I’m sure you could be even more vague.”

“You’re a nerd,” I say. “I’m a highly sought-after professional,” he protests in a very dignified tone. “A big ol’ nerd,” I repeat with a smirk.

“People pay me loads of money for what I do.” “They should. I mean, the things you have to do day in and day out.” I lean forward and hold his gaze. “Penetrating defenses. Hardening. Testing the back door. Going as deep as you can until you’re as far inside as possible. Takes a real man to do the job properly.” He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “It’s impressive you managed to make it sound that dirty.”

“Do you have family here?” I hesitate for a moment before I nod. “I have a… Blair and Nora.” “Sisters?” Blake asks. “Of sorts.” I feel like I’m under a microscope with all that intense attention aimed at me. “You’re close?” “I like them more often than I dislike them,” I say.

I can’t even begin to count how many people I’ve accidentally offended over the years by saying things that I meant as a joke, but other people took personally. I can’t blame them. Half the stuff that comes out of my mouth should never have passed quality control.

I’d like to get to know you better.” Well, this is awkward. How do I put this nicely? “Thanks? But I have zero interest in dating you. Or anybody. It’s not personal. All evidence points to the fact that you’re a very nice person.” “No, I’m not asking you to date me. This is not what’s happening here. I’m not really the dating type.” My brow furrows in total confusion. “Then what?” “I figured we could hang out,” he says. He laughs at whatever he sees on my face. “It’s a thing, you know? People do that.

“That’s the official version. The first time I saw Blair, I said, ‘That’s my future wife.’ And then the bitch thing after. She didn’t hear the future wife part.”

“The point is you need to let people in,” she says. “I let people in on a regular basis.” “No, you don’t,” she argues. “I absolutely do. I just expect them to leave once they pull out.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking about your ass.

“I was going to be up in an hour anyway.” I make a face. “Why? It’s Saturday.” He throws me an amused look. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you the early bird catches the worm?” “No. She was normal.”

The good news is I was right. I did send a text. The bad news is that instead of Blair, I sent it to somebody else. And as it is, Blair just happens to be right next to Blake in my list of contacts. Which means that at exactly—I glance at the phone—4:21 a.m., Blake got a text from me that said: mission accomplished got her drunk and took her to bed.

“Can you do me a favor, babe? Cut off my hand and slap Jude with it?”

“He’s… nice.” Nora peers at me from the corner of her eye. “Who’s nice?” “Jude’s new boyfriend,” Blair says. “Next time I see your mom, I’ll tell her you two are planning to name your baby after her. She’ll be so happy,” I say. “I’m sure sophisticated, confident people like you two will have a kid who’ll be able to pull off Bertha.”

They’re like two moms whose prayers have finally been answered because their loser son has finally made a friend, so they’re trying to be supportive while not being overly enthusiastic in case this whole thing goes to shit.

“You should eat some fruit. Bananas, watermelon, blueberries. They help.” “Do you think I can substitute mayonnaise and some questionable Mexican food? Cause that’s about all I have in the fridge right now.” “Depends.” “On?” “Whether or not you’ve developed a fondness for vomiting and want to do it some more.”

“You know, this is one of those times when it really pays to have friends who just happen to be free to stop by and drop off some stuff for you. Friends who just happen to live above a corner store that sells all the staples.” “Oh,” I say slowly once my brain catches up to the obvious. “This is sort of like blackmail.” He chuckles. “And you like it.”

I swallow down the interest and look away. “You’re a strange man.” “You said you were into me, so what does that say about you?”

“What’s next on the agenda?” Blake asks. I shrug. “Strip poker?” “I suck at poker. I’ll be naked in under a minute.” “I’ll get the deck,” I say and start to get up.

You have a dog? I ask because I’m suddenly curious. If I can outrun the guy who came with him, I do.

When was the last time you ate?” There’s another lengthy silence while Blake does some mental calculations. Then I hear something crinkling. “Based on the amount of granola bar wrappers I’d say I’ve definitely eaten something in the last forty-eight hours.”

Old, dog-eared paperbacks, a chipped mug filled with pens, rocks, and seashells, a single marble on a glass plate, keychains, fridge magnets, and all sorts of other things decorate most available surfaces.

“Will you keep your shirt off, so I have some eye candy while you do your thing?” I ask. He gives a tired chuckle. “Sure. I can let you objectify me for the greater good.”

“You know the shirtless thing was sort of a joke. You can put one on, and I promise you I’ll still slap you.”

My ass is completely numb by now.” “You know there’s an easy fix to that, right?” “Chop off my ass cheeks?” “That’s your easy solution?”

Nothing bad ever happens in a blanket fort.

That you never get to say goodbye to most people. They’re there, and then they’re gone, and nobody cares that you’re left behind with all those words you never got to say that are now trapped inside you for good.”

“Dinner? I’d kill for a taco.” “I hear you can get them for money these days, so you don’t have to resort to crime.”

I only know the most famous paintings, so unless they have the Mona Lisa on display, I won’t have anything smart to say. And even if the Mona Lisa is there, my contribution will still be something like, ‘Oh, look. It’s that famous painting with that woman.’”

I give up and just buy what she picks out for me. Then I buy her lunch as a thanks for the privilege of having heard her complain about my taste in clothes for the past two hours. Money well spent.

“There’s an open bar, so if all the paintings suck, I bet we can drink them better.”

Lately, I have this new problem where I want to be interesting to Blake.

“Blake is a homosexual,” Dominic says loudly. I’m not sure if it’s the homosexuality or the wildly inappropriate remark that’s making people stare. I’d go with the latter, but you never know. “Yes, here on a recruiting trip,” Blake adds. “If anybody’s interested.”

“He was the broody bad boy, and I was the repressed rich girl. It was written in the stars. We were like Romeo and Juliet. My parents despised him, and I was in seventh heaven. It was teenage rebellion in its most beautiful form. Until I realized Blake, here, wasn’t really into me. More like, he was trying to look out for me.”