When Joss Met Matt (18 page)

“You're a vet.” The voice behind me startled me into spinning around, wide-eyed.

“What?”

“Scrubs and animal fur. You've got to be a vet.”

“Oh. Um … I'm a vet tech, actually.”

“I knew it.”

“Very impressive. Most people assume I'm a nurse.”

“I'm a dog lover,” he said, immediately winning my heart. The quickest way to a vet tech's heart is through her animals.

“Do you have dogs?”

“Two.”

My heart pitter-patted. “Really? What kind?”

“A German shorthaired pointer, and a Chesapeake Bay retriever.”

“Aww,” I crooned. “What are their names?”

“Luke and Bo.”

I felt my eyebrows go up before I could stop them. “Like
The Dukes of Hazzard
?”

He let out an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, I know. It was this thing with my brother …”

“I should have known.” I wished I didn't have my glasses on. Or a pencil in my hair. Or my hairy scrubs.

“I'm Josh,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Joss,” I replied, shaking his hand.

“No, it's Josh. As in Joshua.”

“Yeah, and I'm Joss. As in Jocelyn.”

“Oh.” He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry.”

“Number eighty-seven!” called the deli worker.

“That's me,” I said, holding up my little pull tab. I placed my order, deciding on the smoked variety of turkey for the day, and received my little packet of meat with a tiny flash of anticipation: I knew Dewey would love it, and I loved that stupid cat.

“I guess you're up,” I said to Josh as I turned to go.

“Guess so.”

I smiled and started to walk away, but he put one hand on my elbow. “Can I take you to dinner sometime?”

My first instinct was to reach up and apologetically pat my disheveled hair and glasses, but I fought the urge. “That would be nice.”

“Number eighty-eight!”

I wrote my phone number on the back of a business card I found in my purse and handed it to Josh just after he accepted his packets of honey ham and Swiss cheese.

“Joss,” he read. “I'll call you.”

“Okay.”

And that was how I met Innocent Bystander Josh.

He called me two days later, and we made a date for the following Friday. It was a nice conversation, and I could hear the chesty bark of one of his dogs in the background. The sound triggered all the mushy animal-loving buttons in my body and I was really looking forward to the date. We talked until I got a call interrupt from none other than Matt, and Josh excused himself to go run with his dogs.

I clicked over to my new call and greeted Matt with, “I think I'm in love.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I met a dog lover at the grocery store and I'm going to marry him.”

This was greeted with silence.

“Hello?”

“I heard you.”

“And?”

“I think you're full of shit.”

I laughed. “Yeah, maybe. But I am going on a date with him.”

“Great.”

“Wait, what did you call for?” I asked.

“Oh, right. Do you think it's too soon to bring Christine to Gavin's birthday thing?”

“Why?”

“You're a girl. Do you think she's going to think I'm too serious if I bring her around to meet my friends right away?”

“I wouldn't worry about it. She already met me, right?”

“Oh, yeah. My wingman.”

“Exactly. So, I'll see you on Saturday?”

Matt's law school friend Gavin, who had a disturbingly nice apartment on the lake, celebrated his birthday like it was Mardi Gras instead of the middle of January. He reserved the community room on the top floor of the building, and gave all the neighbors immediately below the room gift certificates for dinner out. He came from money and knew how to use it. Inexplicably, he'd taken a shine to me through Matt—also a strange bedfellow for Gavin—and I'd gotten my own invite to the party, with instructions to attend come hell or high water. He'd declared the theme Early Summer, and was celebrating with tropical drinks, tacky palm tree decor, and a beach-attire dress code.

When I'd heard it was on the top floor of a building, I was ready to make excuses not to go, but Matt assured me I would survive. It wasn't a high-rise building, and the windows didn't go all the way to the floor—a major no-no as far as I was concerned. Who knew when the windows would suddenly disappear and I could plummet to my death? Fear of heights is not rational.

So I went, and he was right, it wasn't that high relative to the rest of the buildings nearby. Still, I was into my second therapeutic mojito when Matt arrived with Christine and I ran over to greet them. I flung my arms around Matt's neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi! You made it! Hi, Christine! It's nice to see you again!”

“Simmer down, Alvin,” Matt said, unwrapping my arms and laughing.

“Hi, Joss,” Christine said, looking a little startled.

“Come on, Gavin's got mojitos!”

In retrospect, my mental filter may have been loosened by the rum, and it's possible I spent a little too much time trying to “sell” Matt to Christine. In fact, it would be fair to say that I gushed about how wonderful he was, and how great it was that she was with him. Some of my ebullience translated into a lot of touching of Matt. I put my arms around his waist a lot and trailed my hands over his shoulders when I was standing near his chair. I was determined that my matchmaking abilities would prove worthy.

Finally, Matt knocked my hand off his shoulder and gave me a small head shake. When Christine wasn't looking, he whispered to me. “Back off, Cujo. Are you trying to scare her off?”

I saluted him. “Gotcha. Can do.”

He laughed and pinched my waist before turning his attention back to Christine, who was regarding me with a squint. I didn't have time to consider the implications, however. My drink was empty.

The next week, I had my first date with Josh. I met him at a new steakhouse in town and we had a pleasant getting-to-know-you period while we sat at the bar waiting for our table to be ready.

“So, tell me about your dogs,” I said.

He grinned and reached for his pocket. “I have some pictures if you want to see.”

“Of course, I do!”

He produced his cell phone and played with it for a few moments, looking for photos. At last, he handed it to me. “Just swipe right to see the rest.”

“Oh, they're great!” I'd learned from work that single guys didn't appreciate hearing that their dogs were “cute” or “adorable.”

“Yeah, they're good boys.”

I arrowed my way through a few more shots of the dogs. Sleeping, sitting in the back of a pickup truck, in a field … Then I came to the first shot of Josh in hunters' camouflage with Bo and Luke at proud attention and a brace of pheasant in his hand.

“Oh … you went hunting with them?” I asked, heart sinking.

“Mmm hmm, they love it. Bo's a hell of a pointer, and Luke can flush like nobody's business.”

“Oh.” I couldn't stand hunting.

“You don't like that, do you?” he asked as I handed the phone back to him.

I tried a half-smile and gave a simple, “Oh, I don't know.” As tempting as it was to mount my anti-hunting soapbox, I decided to keep my cool and learn more about Josh. Luckily, we were called to our table then, and the conversation moved into safer territory.

He didn't forget, though. When our waitress left the table with our orders, he tapped this fork on the tabletop nervously. “Look, I don't want you to think I'm a big sport hunter or anything. My dogs came from purebred hunting stock—my uncle breeds them, actually. He had me up to his place to check out Luke for possible studding …” He grinned with embarrassment. “Anyway, the dogs liked it, but, uh … it's not really my thing.”

I was relieved. “It's okay if it is.”

He smiled. “No, it's not. I can see it by your face.”

I blushed. “Okay, yeah, not a fan.”

“Tell me what you are a fan of.” He tilted his head. “Besides oven-roasted turkey and keeping office supplies in your hair, that is.”

Oh, I like this guy.

He was from Minnesota, loved Monty Python movies, and thought red hair was adorable. By dessert, we were laughing over dog stories, quoting
The Meaning of Life,
and delighted to agree on cheesecake for a shared finale to an entirely pleasant evening. He picked up the tab and threatened to knock my wallet out of my hand if I attempted to contribute. We walked out to the parking lot together and spent too long standing in the cold beside my car. My nose was running when we kissed, but he didn't say anything about it.

It was a good kiss. A kiss that made me consider violating my agreement with myself to leave him in the parking lot. I liked this guy. A lot. Enough that I was already steeling myself for the inevitable “I'll call you sometime.” No way was I going to get lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time for once.

Instead, he asked, “So, can I see you again?”

“I'd like that.”

“I'll call you tomorrow.” He kissed me again—runny nose and all—and I thought of Matt. Because I intended to call him and tell him I'd successfully matched us both in a matter of weeks.

I didn't have to call him. He'd already left me a message, I discovered when I got in my car and checked my phone. I called him, eager to gloat.

He answered the phone mid-conversation. “I've got to break up with Christine.”

“What? Why? I thought she was so great!”

He made a snort-slash-scoff sound.

“No, Matty, you can't do this! I just had the greatest date of my life. We were going to double-date.” I put my fingers on the wheel. Still too cold. I tucked my hand under my thigh.

“Yeah,
that
wouldn't be awkward.”

“Never mind that now, you're going to ruin it anyway. Ruin a perfectly good relationship with a perfectly good girl.”

“She is not perfectly good, Joss, or should I say anti-wingman?”

I laughed. “All right, all right. Tell me your big whiny baby story.”

“I'm pretty sure she's nuts. Like
Fatal Attraction
nuts.”

“What, did she boil your rabbit or something?”

He laughed. “No, not yet. But if I had one, she might.”

“What happened?”

“She's a too-much-too-soon girl.”

“She didn't tell you she loved you, did she?” I asked. They'd met three weeks earlier.

“No,” he said, but his tone was hesitant. “Not in so many words.”

“Tell me.”

“She's just making so many plans … She's talking about whose parents we're going to spend Christmas with.”

“Oh!” It was January. She was planning for the end of the year already? “That's, um, presumptuous.”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe she just really likes you?” I suggested.

“She wants to get a cat.”

“So? I have a cat.”

“She wants
us
to get a cat.
Together.
”

“You have to break up with her.”

“And you are aware that this is all your fault?”

“I will only admit that I introduced you. I can't be held responsible for her being crazy.”

“I would never have talked to her if it wasn't for you.”

This was true. “I will consider taking a small portion of the blame.”

He sighed. “I'm gonna call her.”

“Good luck.”

Chapter Twenty-one

One Year Earlier … Third Year Out of College

Christine turned out to be hard to shake. When Matt called her with the breakup news, she cried and promised to change and made a general scene. He reinforced his position that he didn't really want to see her anymore, and thought he'd done a thorough enough job, but she called back the next day. Like nothing had happened. Talked about what their plans were for the weekend. Matt was flummoxed. He'd never encountered her particular brand of crazy before, and he didn't know what to do about it.

They broke up every day for a week. He tried the phone. He tried email. He tried not answering her calls. But Christine didn't seem to understand the words he was saying.

“What are you exactly saying?” I asked him when he called me on Wednesday.

“I say, ‘I don't think we should see each other anymore.' You'd think that would work.”

“Maybe she's interpreting the ‘don't think' part as you not being decided or something.”

“Maybe she's just crazy.”

“Could be.”

“I'd like to remind you this is your fault. Your taste in women sucks.”

I laughed. “Well, excuse me for not having good taste in heterosexual women.”

“I'm not even gonna touch that one.”

“So, what are you going to try next?”

He blew out a sigh. “I have no idea. How do you convince a delusional crazy woman of something she doesn't want to believe?”

“Does she have a rabbit you could boil?”

“Wow, I never thought I'd hear you suggest pet abuse.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Maybe I'll just tell her I hate her family.”

“Have you met them?”

“No.”

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. “Well, good luck with that, then.”

He groaned. “You owe me for this.”

Normally, a threat like that from him made my stomach go all liquidy with anticipation. This time was no exception, but I pressed the heel of my hand into my abdomen, remembering Josh and our upcoming date. “I gotta go,” I told Matt.

When he called me on Thursday, he sounded more desperate. And more annoyed.

“She says she doesn't want me to see you anymore.”

I could barely make sense of the words. “I'm sorry, what?”

“She said she sees the way we are together, and you must be the reason I can't commit to her.”

I didn't even know what to say. My stomach clenched and my ears got hot.

“Joss?”

“Yeah, I'm here.” I sank onto the arm of my couch and scratched at a sudden itch behind one knee.

“How the hell am I going to get rid of this nut job?” he demanded.

The itch spread down my calf and I nearly toppled from the couch as I reached down to chase it. “Maybe you could change your phone number.”

“She knows where I live, genius.”

“Well, why the hell would you bring her to your house?”

“I didn't know she was crazy at the time.”

“Maybe you can get her to break up with you.”

“Doubtful.”

“Think about it.”

He sighed again. “This is your fault.”

“Yeah, I know.” The itch migrated to my other leg. “Ugh, Matty, I gotta go. I have to wash off the fur.”

“From anyone else, that would sound downright disturbing.”

“Gotta love me,” I said distractedly, already stripping off my scrub pants as I headed for the bedroom.

“Your charm almost makes up for the fact that you saddled me with a crazy woman.”

I tossed the phone to the bed and hauled my Hello Kitty scrub top over my head. That felt a little better and I sighed as I picked the phone up. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't set you up with your dream girl.”

“You'll just have to make it up to me, I guess.”

“You'll have to break up with her before I do a damn thing,” I said. “You know the rules.”

“I'm trying, doesn't that count?”

“No.” I carried the phone into the bathroom and turned on the shower. “Besides, I've got a date with Josh. You might be on your own with this one.”

“The grocery store guy? Please.”

If I was a dog, I would have flattened my ears at that point. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Joss, come on, I didn't mean anything by it.”

“Then why did you say it? I really like this guy. Just because you're all pissed off at Crazy Christine doesn't mean you should be a jerk to me.”

“All right, all right. Don't get your panties in a twist.”

“Actually, Matt, I'm not wearing any.” And then I hung up on him.

The next day I had a series of text messages from Matt.

I called him, but got no answer. I left a voice mail. “I have a date with Josh tonight, so whatever evil plot you've cooked up is going to have to wait.”

The return message arrived while I was in the shower. “Fuck your date with Josh, I need your help. You owe me. Please, Joss, I don't know what else to do.”

I returned the call with my hackles up out of principle more than any remaining anger. I'd never heard him so genuinely at a loss, and it made me soften toward him. To my surprise, he didn't answer again. “I can't imagine why you think I owe you after you were such an ass to me last night. Tell you what, I'm going out with Josh. Call me if she's wielding a knife or something. Wait. Scratch that. Call 911 if she's armed. Good luck. Bye, Matty.” Not completely softened, I guess.

The next call from Matt came just after I'd arrived at the restaurant to meet Josh. I didn't answer. Then, I muted my phone and ignored a volley of text messages while Josh and I worked our way through cocktails and appetizers.

Before our main course was served, I decided to make a quick bathroom run, and out of habit, I checked my messages.

I dialed his number.

“Damn it, Joss, it's about damn time!”

“I'm on a date, Matt!”

“You can ditch.”

“I'm not ditching him in the middle of a date. My food hasn't even arrived. I'm calling you from the bathroom!” I whispered, earning a curious look from a woman at the sink.

“I finally figured out how to get rid of her,” he said, ignoring me. “I'm gonna convince her that I'm going back to you.”

“Back to me?” I repeated.

“She's convinced that you're my ex-girlfriend, and that you want me back.”

I bridged my forehead with one hand and turned into the tiled corner near the hand dryer to avoid more furtive glances from Sink Woman. “So, what does this have to do with me leaving in the middle of my date?”

“She left me a message that she's coming over tonight. I told her not to, but she's coming. I want you to be here. As proof.”

“More like as your bodyguard, you big chicken!” I hissed, my voice echoing off the wall. I glanced at the woman at the sink, who was taking a suspiciously long time drying her hands on a paper towel.

“Alvin, just do this for me. I can't keep breaking up with this girl. She's a fruit loop and I don't speak crazy!”

“What makes you think I do?”

“I need your help,” he whined. It was not an attractive sound, and I wrinkled my nose.

“I can't just ditch Josh.”

He huffed, then tried a new tone of voice. “This is Sorbet, Joss. You owe me.”

“How is this Sorbet? There's nothing about helping you break up with a crazy girl in the rules.” I finally turned to the woman, still laboring over her hand drying and said, “Do you need something?”

She startled and shook her head, making a beeline for the door.

“New rule.”

“Oh, no, buddy. No new rules to get me to walk out on a date. Besides, you know the deal: the relationship has to be over for Sorbet.”

“I've been trying to make it over for a week!” he said. I could hear from his tone of voice that he was searching, desperate for the thing that would make me cooperate. “Okay, no new rules. Old rules. I'm allowed one violation.”

“No way. You can't choose your violation while I'm in the middle of a date.”

“Why not?”

“I like this guy!”

“Have you slept with him yet?”

“No.”

“Then you're not in a relationship.”

“Sex does not define a relationship,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut to avoid my reflection.

“Joss, come on! I don't know what else to do.”

“I can't believe you'd even ask me to ditch Josh. He's really nice, and he could be, like,
the
guy. What do you think he'd say if I told him I had to go so I could pretend to be another guy's girlfriend?”

“He might think it was funny. Maybe he'd give you a ride. You don't know until you ask.”

“Yeah, I'm sure he'd just love it if I asked for a ride to go have Sorbet Sex with you.” My voice was still echoing off the tile when the door opened and another woman came in to use the bathroom.

“Who said anything about having sex with me?” he asked, with a smirk so obvious I could hear it.

I blushed and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Don't tell me you weren't thinking it.”

“Of course, I was thinking it, and obviously you were, too.”

“Come on, Matty …”

“Alex.”

I knew he had me. At least, I knew I was going to let him have me.

I sighed. “All right, all right.”

“Thank you,” he exhaled, relieved. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“What am I gonna say to Josh?”

“The truth?”

“Um, no.”

“Family emergency?”

“That's so trite.”

“Don't say anything,” he suggested, and I imagined the shrug that accompanied the words.

“What?”

“Just walk out.”

“I can't do that! That's horrible.”

“Why do you care? You don't even like this guy.”

“Yes I do.” I propped my forearm on the wall to rest my head on.

“But you like me better.”

I shifted my shoulders, trying to ease the pressure of my clothes against my back. They'd gained at least twenty pounds during this conversation. “Don't push me.”

“Seniority?” he tried.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

“Come on, Joss. Live a little.”

“Live a little?” I repeated. “This is hardly on anyone's a-thousand-and-one-things-to-do-before-I-die list!”

“Come on, it'll be a great story.”

“Matt!”

“Part of you wants to do it.”

And part of me did. I so rarely did anything truly awful. I didn't even speed … much. It would be a horrible, thrilling thing to do. Like shoplifting. “This is a terrible idea. I'm going to hell for this.”

“Well, save me a seat when you get there.”

I hesitated, looking at myself in the mirror. The stressed out look of my eyes and mouth didn't go well with the light, date-night makeup and the sparkly clip that held back my hair at one temple. I closed my eyes against the image and exhaled loudly into the phone. “If I'm gonna do this, you're staying on the phone with me.”

“I will.”

My heart was hammering as I walked out of the bathroom. I glanced back at the dining room, and then down the hall toward the kitchen. Josh was sitting with his back to the bathroom and I could skirt through the bar to leave. I took a deep breath and whispered, “I hate you,” into the phone.

“Stop stalling and go.”

I ducked my head and strode confidently through the bar, not risking a backward glance as I was briefly exposed in the entry. I had to stop long enough to retrieve my coat from the coatroom. Josh would have no reason to look in that direction, but my heart was in my throat anyway. I opened the door and walked in triple-time to the parking lot, barely breathing until I thumbed the UNLOCK button on my key fob.

“You are gonna owe me so big for this one.”

“Big-time,” he agreed.

“You have no idea …”

“They'll build a statue in your honor someday, Jocelyn Kiel.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't hold back a grin. “All right. I'll see you in a few minutes.”

My nerves made my foot heavy on the gas pedal and I was at Matt's place less than ten minutes later. I banged on his door repeatedly until he came down to open it for me.

“I can't believe you made me do that!”

He tilted his head. “Come on, it was kind of fun.”

“I am a horrible person.”

“You're not.”

“Yes, I am.” The illicit thrill of walking out was gone and I felt awful.

“It was a second date. You didn't leave him at the altar.”

“And now I'll never be able to.”

“Oh, you didn't want to marry some guy you met in a grocery store anyway.”

I frowned at him.

“Look, you could have made something up and gotten a rain check from him. You walked out”—he spread his hands—“obviously, you don't like him that much.”

“I was listening to your stupid advice!” I shouted.

“Why the hell did you start doing that?” His voice wasn't as loud as mine, but it wasn't his usual low, unflappable tone.

I clenched my jaw. “I can't believe I just did that. I wrecked things with a perfectly good guy because
you
can't handle your girlfriend.”

“Who
you
set me up with.”

“I must be some kind of masochist.” I looked at my watch. “And he's gone by now, I'm sure, so I can't even go back.”