The Dating Experiment by Briar Prescott
Jamie
“You do know that you’re supposed to socialize at those things?”
Connor snaps his eyes up from his phone and meets my gaze. It’s our last night in Chicago, and we’re currently at the post-conference party. Lots of lawyers. Lots of mind-numbingly boring chats about court cases and legal documents.
“Who says I’m not?”
“Yeah, hiding behind a potted plant in the corner just screams ‘I’m open to a friendly chat.’”
Connor sighs and slips his phone into his pocket.
“I already made my rounds. I’ve greeted everybody in this building. I’ve made so much small talk that if one more person asks me why I don’t have a Boston accent, I’m going to demonstrate the right use of the middle finger.”
“Let’s not forget credit where credit is due,” I say. “I saw you talking to Bradbury. You deserve a medal for that.”
He raises an amused brow at me.
“I’ve never understood why you reserve so much animosity for him.”
“By the fortieth time he calls you some variation of Jimmy, Johnny, or Jerry, while you know he knows your real name, you kinda develop a mild case of fuck-off-and-dieitis.”
“I can’t seem to relate. He’s never called me Jimmy,” Connor says.
I roll my eyes.
“You know what I mean. It’s his bullshit way of asserting dominance. He can’t be bothered to use my real name, so obviously it has to mean he’s got a bigger dick. It’s a way to belittle people.”
Connor studies me with a thoughtful expression.
“Do I do that?” he asks.
I almost start to laugh, but I stop myself.
“Are you serious?”
“Would I have asked if I weren’t?”
“No,” I say and try to gather my thoughts from sheer surprise that he’d be concerned about something like this. “And no, you don’t. You have the cold and distant politeness down pat. You’d never lower yourself to those kinds of petty measures.”
“Good to know. Sometimes you have to wonder…”
He leaves the sentence unfinished. And I’m not going to prod.
I lean against the wall next to him and hand him the glass of champagne I snagged from a passing waiter a moment ago. He downs it in one go and places the empty glass on the windowsill to his left. I wordlessly give him my own champagne, too, and that one disappears just as quickly.
Neither of us says anything after that, but my thoughts are anything but quiet. For some reason, I can’t stop thinking about the way Anders fawned over Connor’s looks the other day.
I glance toward him from the corner of my eye and try to force a temporary amnesia on myself that’d allow me to forget that, just like Scots have over four hundred words for snow, Connor has an overflowing reserve of ways to call me incompetent.
Objectively speaking, of course he’s hot. He wears his designer suit with the ease and confidence of a man who is used to the finer things in life. He’s probably not the tallest person in the room, but he gives off the kind of vibe that makes it seem like he’s towering over everybody else.
There’s no doubt he’s handsome. More than. His face is very symmetrical. Not that it’s exactly surprising. Connor thrives on order and rules, so it’s really no wonder his features have arranged themselves perfectly. They wouldn’t dare do otherwise.
The dark, perfectly style hair and the deep brown eyes don’t hurt, either. Nor do the sharp cheekbones and full lips.
“Why are you staring at me like I’ve grown a second head?”
Connor’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
“Just think what kind of damage you could do with two mouths. You could yell at people with one and bark orders with the other. Or yell with both. Or yell at two people at the same time. The possibilities are endless. You could be like the modern version of the Hydra.”
“I do not yell,” Connor says indignantly.
“Pardon. I, of course, meant make scathing remarks in an appropriate tone. Better?”
“My dignity is restored.”
“Why do you even attend these parties?” I ask. “If you don’t like them, why not just make your excuses and head home on an earlier flight?”
He gives me a contemplative look. Like he’s never pondered that question before.
“It’s what’s expected,” he finally says. “People take offense to the strangest things, so if I never showed my face here, I guarantee you, somebody would take it personally.”
“Fuck them.”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“I shouldn’t be surprised this is your go-to solution.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not,” I say.
“Does it matter?”
“I need the data for my chart.”
He quirks his brow at me.
“I keep a handy Excel table in my phone at all times so that I can keep an eye on your insult-to-compliment ratio. The average is ninety-five percent insults versus five percent sort-of-compliments. Last Christmas it got to ninety-one versus nine, and that’s when I seriously started considering giving that exorcist I have on speed dial a call.”
“How exactly was the exorcist supposed to have helped?”
“He was supposed to put the devil back in, thus restoring world order.”
“I don’t think that’s their specialty,” he says.
“I believe in people. He would have pulled it off.”
He glances at me thoughtfully before he snags another glass of champagne and empties it.
“I compliment you,” he says after a little bit.
“Really? I wasn’t aware you calling me and asking me if I had died in the copy room or if I had just gotten lost was meant to be a compliment. Nor is it a compliment to loudly wonder if you should wait until the body has been discovered to post the job ad.”
He shakes his head and lets out a huff of breath that I’m tempted to classify as laughter. The silence that falls between us is disturbed a moment later by the loud grumbling of Connor’s stomach.
“Hungry?” I ask. “I think I saw a waiter with some hors d’oeuvres just a moment ago.”
“I’ve eaten so many of those already the waiters are running away whenever they see me even look at them.”
That startles a laugh out of me. Connor grins. He rarely ever does. There’s a dimple in his left cheek that makes him look just a tad boyish. Champagne on an empty stomach seems to be doing wonders. I make a mental note of it for the future.
I really want to see more of this side of Connor. I don’t really even consider the why of it that much. Instead, I go with the flow.
“Come on. We’re getting out of here.” I straighten myself and lift my chin toward the doorway on the other side of the room.
Connor looks like he’s going to argue for a second, but then he frowns at whatever he sees behind me.
“Unfortunately, it seems Castor has spotted us.”
I glance behind me. Sure enough, Bradbury is pushing through the crowd with a determined look on his face.
“Shit. Time to evacuate the premises. I’ll stall him. Meet you outside?” I say.
I’m not sure what makes me so confident he’ll go for my plan. Connor actually seems to like Bradbury just fine, so there’s no reason for him to go with me. And yet…
“Sounds like a plan,” he says.
The dimple is back. What is happening to the world?
Connor disappears into the crowd, and I step in front of Castor Bradbury. I can’t stress enough how much I dislike the guy. He’s one of those people who thinks that the fact that he is some big-shot lawyer means he can look down on everybody else. Luckily, he doesn’t live in Boston, but the few times a year he stops by are already too many.
“Johnny, was it?” he asks as soon as he’s in front of me.
Of course.
“Where did Connor go?”
“Cassi! Hello,” I say. He makes a face at the nickname, which is nice because it means it’s served its purpose. The purpose of annoying one Castor Bradbury.
“Connor,” he says pointedly.
“No. I’m Jamie,” I say and repeat very slowly and exaggeratedly, “Ja-mie,” all the while pointing at my chest. “Well, James, to you,” I add after a second.
“I don’t have time for this,” he says and starts to turn around.
“Connor had to take a call.” I clap him on the back.
He looks startled for a second before he schools his features into a nasty grin.
“I didn’t know assistants were invited,” he says.
Ah, fuck that guy. He brought it onto himself.
“We weren’t. I just snuck in for a sec to… bask in the presence of the legal world’s greatest minds. Listen, Connor asked me to tell you he really wanted to talk to you about something.” I make a thoughtful face. “My little pea brain has already forgotten what it was I was supposed to do. But it seemed very important. Can you stay right here and wait for him? Right here, next to this window? Connor’s really looking forward to chatting with you. It might take him a bit of time. London was calling, and you know how those guys get, but he wouldn’t want to leave without speaking to you.”
Bradbury straightens himself.
“We do have a lot to discuss,” he says and throws me a haughty glance. “You can run along. I doubt it’ll be of any interest to an assistant.” He says the last part with a curled lip. I really hate this guy.
“Sure. You have a pleasant evening.”
I give him a cheery wave and hightail it out of there.
Forty-five minutes later, Connor and I are sitting in a small dive bar with burgers in front of us.
Connor keeps looking around with a suspicious expression. He takes his napkin and starts scrubbing his fork with it.
“Stop being a snob,” I chide as I pull the fork out of his grasp.
“Somebody has spilled something on this table. I can feel my sleeves sticking to it.”
“This table is old. It’ll stick a bit no matter how hard you scrub. It’s the history of this place sucking you in.”
“I think I had a fever dream with that exact scenario once,” he grumbles. “It was after an especially nasty bout of food poisoning. I fully expect that is where I’m headed tonight as well.”
“I’ve been here before. Just taste your burger and you’ll see why the sticky tabletops don’t matter.”
He sighs and reaches for the utensils again. I pull them away from him.
“This is not a fork-and-knife burger. You have to eat it with your hands.”
“Why would they give me a fork and knife in that case?”
“To laugh at you behind your back when you actually use them. I saved you the embarrassment. You can thank me with a raise.”
“I already pay you more than any reasonable person would an assistant,” he says.
“Yes, well, I need to fund my lavish lifestyle somehow. Now eat.”
He gives a resigned sigh and picks up the burger. His eyes widen after the first bite, and then he proceeds to destroy everything on his plate like he’s in a speed-eating contest. It’s so impressive that I almost want to start chanting, “Go, go, go,” to see if he can be even quicker.
“That was excellent,” Connor says once he’s done.
“Told you.” I clear my throat and pick up my abandoned burger. It’s a bit cold now, seeing as I chose to stare at Connor instead of eating. It’s still good, though. Good enough to make my taste buds sing as I chew. I close my eyes for a second to enjoy the moment. When I open them, I find Connor studying me with a quizzical expression.
“What?” I mutter through a mouthful. “Do I have something on my face? Because I’m going to warn you, you just inhaled your food like you were coming off a hunger strike, so you have no room to criticize here.”
“Your face is fine,” he says and turns his head to look out of the window.
I don’t have the energy to figure out what’s caused another change in Connor’s mood. Let’s just stick to the explanation that he’s a mercurial asshole and be done with it.
“Thank you,” he suddenly says.
“For what?” My brow furrows in confusion.
“For feeding me. For the plane earlier.” He sends me a knowing look.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It was kind. I don’t encounter that a lot. It’s what makes you so unique.”
“Unique,” I repeat. “Care to elaborate?”
“Wouldn’t you wish.”
He refuses to say anything else on the matter, so I give up, finish my food, and wipe my hands. I lean back in the booth and just enjoy the sound of people around me and the fact that I don’t need to hurry anywhere right this second.
Connor stands up. Seems he’s going to leave. And just when he was about to feel like a human being. Shame.
He surprises me, though. He only shrugs off his suit jacket and places it carefully on the seat next to him before he sits back down, rolling the sleeves of his white dress shirt up and exposing his strong forearms.
We eye each other. Neither of us says anything. Connor’s looking at me like he’s trying to figure out the behavior of a new species, and I suspect I’m returning his gaze in kind.
Ah, the great boss man out of his regular habitat. The behavior of this species is still unpredictable out of the confines of his office…
“I’m going to get us something to drink,” Connor says and gets up. “Beer?”
I nod wordlessly and watch as he moves to the counter.
The place is relatively empty, so Connor’s back in seemingly no time at all. He slides a beer in front of me.
“Thanks.”
He raises his bottle toward me, and we clink them together. It almost feels like we’ve done it before. Just two friendly colleagues out for a drink after a long day of work.
Only there’s a lot of silence. It’s not exactly the painfully uncomfortable kind, but I don’t feel a hundred percent at ease either. We’re in uncharted waters. This is not Connor’s usual behavior. He doesn’t just hang out with people. He never goes out with people from the firm, and truth be told, everybody stopped asking him a long time ago.
“How are Gray and Kai?” I finally ask.
Connor’s brother and his boyfriend are the definition of a happy relationship. Gray used to be a bit like Connor. Very serious. Very dedicated to his career. Very unhappy. Until he got together with Kai.
“Good,” Connor replies. And follows it up with absolutely nothing.
“How’s Kai’s workshop doing?” Gray’s brother’s boyfriend makes custom furniture. He’s incredibly talented.
Connor takes a slow sip of his beer. The bottle leaves a wet circle of condensation on the tabletop. He drags his index finger through it absently, making shapes on the surface.
A star.
Something that looks like a wonky dog.
“Great. They’re going out of town at the end of the month.” He takes another sip before he adds, “I’m keeping an eye on their apartment and the workshop.”
“I don’t think my brother or sister would ever ask me do that,” I say thoughtfully.
“Aren’t you close?”
“Very. But I wouldn’t let those lunatics anywhere near my apartment either. It’s a two-way street.”
He cocks his head to the side and frowns.
“Why not?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The snooping factor, of course.”
Amelia, Eric, and I are close in age. Eric is the oldest. A year later Amelia followed and then, two years after them, I made my grand entrance.
“You’d go through your siblings’ stuff?”
“I did when I was twelve. Maybe I’ve matured by now, but we’ll never know.”
The dimple is back. I repeat, the dimple. Is. Back.
“Remind me never to ask you to housesit,” Connor says.
“Why? What would I uncover? I mean, not me, personally. What would a possible snooper uncover? Because I don’t do that. I respect other people’s privacy a great deal, and I water their plants in a timely manner. And coincidentally, I’m totally free the next time you’re out of town.”
“What unbelievable luck.”
“Look, you don’t have to give me a verbal confirmation. Just blink twice if I’m getting close.” I consider him for a moment. “You’re a hoarder.”
“You’ve been to my place. Did it look like I was drowning underneath excess belongings?”
“I’ve been to the hallway. For all I know your bedroom is filled to the brim with squirrel skeletons and juice boxes.”
“Skulls. I have an affinity for those,” he says.
It takes me a moment to understand that, yes, indeed, Connor has made a joke. I guess there’s a first time for everything, but on my list of possible miracles, Connor developing a sense of humor was somewhere on the same level as me getting my hands on the Nobel Peace Prize. Maybe I should start listing the people I want to thank?
I take a sip of my beer to gather my thoughts.
“You pick your nose.”
“Unless I have a framed booger collection, you’d never know.”
“You have a body pillow you cuddle up to every night.”
“Morty is my best friend,” he says, keeping his face carefully expressionless.
“You know I’m going to guess correctly eventually, so you might as well save us some time and just fess up.”
“I’m betting on you getting bored first.”
“There’s a framed photo of you dressed as SpongeBob SquarePants on your living room wall.”
“That’s oddly specific. I’m about ninety-nine percent convinced you’re projecting,” he says.
I have to give him that one.
“Halloween. Two thousand and ten. My mom refuses to take it down. I used to remove it every time I was visiting, but each new copy she put up was bigger than the last. I need to be clever about this thing, arrange a heist and steal the hard drive to destroy the photo once and for all. I just need to assemble a crew who’d be loyal to a fault and work for free.”
Connor throws his head back and laughs, and for a moment I forget my mission to uncover his secrets.
“There’s a diary where you give scores for people’s outfits on any given day,” I continue my guessing game after a while.
He gives me a once-over. “Three stars for the pants and four for the shirt.”
“Out of five?” I ask.
“Ten.”
“That’s better than I expected. Okay. You write shitty emo poems,” I say.
“I would never be embarrassed about my art,” he deadpans. “My preferred form of poetry is the haiku.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes now as he presses his fist to his chest and recites, “My soul is dark black. I’m crying for no reason. I am dead inside.”
I snort at that before I continue.
“You’re into K-pop.”
He just stares at me in total confusion.
“What’s K-pop?”
I shake my head sadly. “Another gap in your education. Just like the time you thought Benedict Cumberbatch was a made-up person.”
He shakes his head. “I knew who he was. I’ve seen Sherlock,” he says and smirks. “I did it to witness the outrage. The way your voice goes so high only dogs can hear it is amusing.”
I narrow my eyes.
“I need more beer.” I get up and get us the next round. In a fit of inspiration, I also order us a few shots. Loose lips and all that.