We’d met at Jamba Juice for a quick lunch, the topic of conversation being “us” and our relationship status on Facebook. Back to work right afterward, and I’ll be honest, there was a little tension now that I knew she had ex-boyfriends there.
So… many… exes… in one spot! Where she worked! She was HR’s worst nightmare. Or best example, depending on your point of view.
All that ran through my head, all afternoon. What was I feeling? Jealousy? Maybe. Possessiveness? A little.
We met again after work, this time at a little teriyaki joint. For as much as I enjoyed cheating (on my diet), I had to stay at least somewhat disciplined. Life of a trainer and all that. Little Miss Hardbody was in the same boat, so it was chicken bowls for us.
After the first few bites, taking the edge off the hunger, small talk bubbled up. Eating out on the restaurant patio, the sun setting behind us, it was just a bit of sidewalk romance.
That’s when the conversation turned serious. No, it wasn’t her exes… or illicit quid pro quo at her office… or even our relationship itself.
But words were said and the gauntlet had been thrown down.
We went back and forth for an hour, and let me tell you, it was heated. It finally climaxed when she made this one fateful statement:
“Batman would win! He’d last just long enough against Cap to find the right tool on his utility belt! Electro-shock batarang or something! Steve would be unconscious and Bruce would make his escape.”
Our eyes locked in the moment of silence afterward. Both of us were breathing heavy.
Not sure how or why, I just sort of blurted it out: “I love you.”
A heartbeat later, right there on the restaurant patio, her lips were on mine.
That night, we recreated an intimate Peggy Carter–Steve Rogers moment.
#
We were making time for each other in a million little ways.
In the 48 hours after actually naming me as her Significant Other, her Facebook friend list expanded by 12, all from my connections reaching out. That sparked her to give me a guided tour of her online social circles.
It didn’t surprise me that she had a thousand friends. It didn’t surprise me that the majority were guys, or that all five of her closer guy-pals were on Facebook. She showed me Chloe and Claire, her two closest gal-pals, plus another close girlfriend at her office.
In turn, she took a tour of the few hundred friends I had on Facebook. A few were high school contacts, about half were Army (with other scattered branches… you meet people, you know?), and about half were from Long Beach (mostly classmates).
Lizzy’s natural accounting sense figured out I had close to a 50/50 guy/girl mix on my friends, and naturally wanted to know which of the girls on my friends list I had “done anything with.” From “just a kiss” on up, 24 was the answer to that. Twenty-four that I had at least kissed and still remained friends with.
She drummed her fingers on the desk, looking at the girls, then looked back up at me. “Okay, couple’s intimacy question: you said you have’t ‘kept count’ but if you were to ball-park, what percentage is ’24’ against your total?”
“Uhh… I can’t remember.”
“James…”
“Word problems. Why are you asking me word problems?”
“Just estimate. I’ll give you a chance for extra credit later.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad…” The melody of Van Halen carried the lyrics. “…I’m hot for teacher!”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “24 is what percent of James’s total? Solve for triple-X.”
“XXX? Oh, you’re good. You’ve very, very good.” I closed my eyes and tried recounting all the way back from first kiss, though deployments, through four years as a civilian… “24 is maybe a tenth?”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re a man-whore!”
“I dunno. Just lucky, I guess.” I had to push away from the computer. “It’s not like I’m some douchebag pick-up artist. I’ve known some guys like that. I just start conversations with pretty girls, and sometimes they end the next morning.”
“Jeezus, you’re dangerous.”
“Dangerous? I’m not dangerous. I’m… engaging. I’m interesting!”
“Do you actually hear panties drop when you walk into a room?”
“Sometimes,” I nodded. I pointed to my face. “Cheekbones and eyebrows.
Lizzy squinted. “I was going to say shoulders and abs.”
#
Yeah, so delving into couple’s history via Facebook and not freaking out is a special kind of connection. We may as well have been picking out fine china for our wedding registry.
What else did we do? We just hung out.
Sometimes it was at her place, where I could appreciate her art. More often at my place, where she could appreciate the view. Either place, the parking sucked. Not that rooftops in NoHo were glamorous, but you could see the ridge line of the north side of the Valley. That was nice.
How often did we hang out? Three times a week, but I was still sharing her with a whole stable of friends, starting with Chloe and Claire.
With C&C in particular, they worked out together, and occasionally met for coffee at lunch because that’s apparently what civilized people do.
Lizzy admit I was often a topic of conversation. Originally the one-nighter that she’d cheated on her last boyfriend with… I’d evolved into her latest boyfriend. That was a rare transition.
As we started hanging out more, the girls made up for it by calling more. Great to have friends, but it sucked when they didn’t get the hint. Just to make it interesting, Lizzy started putting them on speakerphone. C&C had no idea I was listening in, making me a voyeur as they gossiped, laughed, cried, plotted and planned.
The first hiccup: they regularly addressed Lizzy as “slut.”
Lizzy almost turned off the speakerphone, but by then, the damage was done. “Slut” had escaped the phone, run around the room and lodged itself in my ear.
She did take a moment to put the mic on mute. “Um, so, ‘girl talk’, okay?”
“A term of endearment, of course. If it makes you feel any better, half my friends are assholes and we call each other on it all the time.”
“You call your friends ‘assholes’?”
“Only to their face. Hey, if you can’t be honest with your friends…”
“Hm,” she nodded. “Okay.”
It definitely made her feel better… although her friends weren’t really kidding when they called her slut. And now, maybe because I was listening in, they seemed to be doing it more.
Every time they did, she winced like she’d been slapped.
I signaled for her to hit the “mute” again.
She tapped it and turned to me, her shoulders hunched over.
“Your girls making you uncomfortable?”
She nodded, waving at the phone. “Well, yeah, it’s all a bit ‘cringe’!”
I nodded. “Not gonna lie: it turns me on a little to hear them call you that.”
“It does?”
I looked up at the ceiling. “Help me remember: what was that conversation we had in the parking structure by Starbucks?”
She giggled and bit her lip, nodding. “Yeah, okay… I know you said it to turn me on, but I wasn’t sure if any of that turned you on.”
I smiled at her. “I didn’t realize how much it turned me on. But I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”