Not the Girl You Marry Page 5

  Haberdasher’s Monthly, the storied gentlemen’s magazine that was now entirely digital, had been his only option. It paid well, and it wasn’t hard. His how-to videos got quite a few views from the start because people liked to watch him try and fail and eventually succeed at stuff. Then they liked to send him links to their homemade porn, but he could just ignore that. What he couldn’t ignore was the fact that some of the other reporters and writers at the site—ones hired at about the same time he was—were starting to be assigned more substantive pieces. And he wasn’t because his series was so popular. Each how-to got millions of hits on the site, but he didn’t know how much longer he could stay out of the real-news game. His success was turning out to be a curse.

  As though the universe was mocking him, he kept running into real-news pieces. In fact, last week, he’d been hanging with his dad and some of his buddies at the pub when a lead had practically surfed over the head of his Guinness. A corruption scandal involving a politician with a national profile could make his entire career.

  Pop owned a contracting business—semiretired now that Michael had taken over. Now that he’d handed off most of the day-to-day to his eldest, Jack’s dad had time to go to happy hour. And since Jack didn’t have what Sean Nolan considered a real job, he got an invite to talk shit with his dad and his buddies—most of whom were connected at city hall.

  One of them had told him that there was a rumor flying around that a sitting senator was about to be indicted for corruption. He didn’t have very many details, but that was where Jack came in. To fill in the details.

  So today Jack was meeting with his boss to convince him that his next how-to should be “How to Catch a Senator Red-Handed.” He knocked on Irv’s door, struck by how going over the threshold was sort of like stepping back in time. Where the rest of the office was modern, white, and open concept—which only meant that no one had privacy for anything—Irv’s office had wood paneling, leather furniture, and even a Tiffany lamp. Piles of newspaper clippings covered the desk, even though they didn’t even publish anything on paper.

  Somehow, Irv had convinced the powers that be who owned the website that he needed to have the character of a newspaper in his office in order to produce as he’d promised.

  Jack liked it. Every time he came in here, he got a reminder of why he’d become a reporter. Now, if only Irv would let him do some actual reporting.

  “What do you want?” Irv didn’t speak; he barked. And then he usually got angry he wasn’t holding a cigar in his hands.

  “I want to write a political story.” Best to just drop that out there with a guy like Irv. He was busy making the site the hottest thing online by doing actual editing and assigning stories that would get the clicks coming without the bait.

  “Not unless you want to write the politics of splitting the check.” A barked laugh as he waved one hand to clear smoke that didn’t exist. “But that’s been done.”

  “There’s no politics to that, Irv. If I’m taking out a lady, I’m picking up the check.”

  “That’s why I like you, kid.” Of course he was the kind of guy who called his employees kids—men, women, didn’t matter. They were all “kid.” “You see things the way I do. No need to muddy up issues in a complicated world. Now—”

  “About this political story—” Normally, he wouldn’t dare interrupt his boss. But this was important. It burned in his gut, and he’d learned never to ignore that feeling. The previous Saturday, he’d had the same sensation of need running through his whole system before he’d kissed Hannah. Hannah who still hadn’t agreed to go out with him.

  “You’re not on that beat.” His boss’s emphatic closing of the issue wiped Hannah from his brain. He wasn’t focusing on her right now. Maybe he’d focus on her later, when he had the kind of reporting assignments he wanted. After he’d gotten the kind of dog he wanted. And been on his own a while longer.

  For now, he and Hannah were just friends, and he had a story to get.

  “But I trained for that beat.” He didn’t mean to sound like a whiny asshole, but when Irv sighed, he was afraid that was the impression he was giving off.

  “Your beautiful mug is the site’s most popular feature.”

  Jack flushed. He hated feeling like a piece of meat, which was possibly why he empathized so much with the women on dating apps these days. Maybe he was just raised right—both before and after his parents’ divorce. Even though his parents barely spoke, his father respected his mother and could admit that she’d been right to move on to bigger and better things. Sean had been kind of a son of a bitch in the early years of his kids’ life. He hadn’t seen that his wife was growing more and more unhappy.

  Jack had seen that and vowed never to let his lady feel like she was less than the most important thing to him. He couldn’t imagine demanding that Hannah leave a job to stay home with the kids.

  Because he was never going to have kids with Hannah. He just wanted to be her friend. That’s why he couldn’t stop texting her cute French bulldog pictures or photos of food he thought she’d like. Maybe he needed to get a personal Instagram account. Under a name that the fans of his how-to column didn’t know. Maybe if he had another outlet, he could stop trying to talk to a woman who didn’t want him.

  “Where are you, Nolan?”

  His boss’s impatient staccato was a few decibels below a bellow. Shit. Stay focused, Jack. “Thinking about how I can convince you to give me a shot at this lead I found.”

  “What lead?”

  Oh no. He wasn’t about to hand Irv the lead and have him hand it to one of the political reporters. He would do it himself or let the site get scooped. It didn’t sit well with him because Irv had been good to him, but this was too important to miss.

  He stuck his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “Not unless I get the story.”

  Irv collapsed in his chair. “You’re going to be an asshole about this.” Not a question.

  “I want in on this.” And out of the how-to game.

  “I don’t see why you wouldn’t continue doing the how-to.” Irv gestured to the bull pen. “Political editors are a dollar a dozen. You have a niche.”

  “I don’t want to be the good-looking fluff guy.” He didn’t like calling himself good-looking. He thought it was weird, but he didn’t have body dysmorphia. He knew how he looked.

  “You should capitalize on it while you can.” Irv ran a hand over his weathered face. “I can’t just let you jump ship. If you’re going to graduate to the big leagues, you have to go out with a bang.”

  Bang. He hoped he didn’t have to write a sex story. He was too out of practice at this point. Plus, some of the nuns who’d taught him in grade school read all his stories. He couldn’t live with the shame of being responsible for informing Sister Antoninus about what she’d been missing for sixty years.

  But he couldn’t write another story about dating etiquette, even though the listicles about dating got a lot more play. They hit more Twitter and Facebook feeds. And, since he wasn’t dating anymore—well, not unless texting a girl six days in a row was dating, which it could be. He didn’t know, because he didn’t date.

  “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Come on, I’ve heard about you.”

  “You couldn’t have heard anything too salacious.” Jack paused to smile, knowing that his image as a rake was kind of key to his employment at the moment. “Lately.”

  “You can’t get a girl either?”

  “I can get a girl. I just don’t want to.” He leaned on the back of the guest chair, knowing that Irv would cut this short if he sat down. “Right now.”

  “Dating guys now?”

  “Nope. I just want to do my own thing for a while.”

  Then Irv got red in the face. “What’s the problem with kids these days?”

  “I have no idea.” Jack wasn’t a part of
whatever problem Irv had spotted with youths and their mating rituals. He wasn’t part of the solution either; he needed to get himself solved first.

  “No one dates anymore.” Jack jumped when Irv pounded on his desk. He looked out at the bull pen to make sure no one was watching him get reamed out for something he didn’t do.

  “I date. Just not right now. Still sore from my girl leaving me for that director.”

  “You’ve got to get back out there.”

  “Maybe I’d meet a nice girl political reporting?” Jack shrugged. “I’d like to find a Maggie Haberman type to come home and talk shop with.”

  “She’s already got three kids, and she would eat you alive.” Irv would know. He’d been an editor for the New York Post while Haberman was there.

  There was an awkward pause during which Jack wondered if he should leave. Irv looked like a computer buffering, and he only hoped he hadn’t sparked the rainbow wheel of death by coming in here and asking for a real story.

  After fifteen seconds, Irv hit the desk again. And Jack jumped. Again. “I’ve got it. You’re going to figure out what the problem is.”

  No. He was not going to do another dating how-to. Not even if it was the last one. It might make him terminally stupid, but he just didn’t have it in him. “Actually, I know what the problem is.” He did. He’d been witness to the problem on Saturday night. He’d almost missed out on kissing Hannah because his friends were idiots. “Men are assholes.”

  “But you’re not?”

  “I’m an asshole, but in a good way.” He’d been an asshole when some drunk loser at a Cubs game had grabbed Lauren’s breast. She hadn’t wanted to be there anyway, and she’d almost demanded to leave a playoff game. Instead of missing out on the game that would clinch the pennant, he’d given the groper a black eye. And then he’d talked his way out of getting arrested. That had been kind of an asshole move. Maybe.

  “Then you can teach these schmucks something.” He motioned out toward the newsroom.

  “Teach them what?”

  “How not to lose a girl.”

  That was one thing Jack had no expertise in. He’d never figured out how not to lose a girl once she saw something better on the horizon. He could convince a girl that he was a good bet right off the bat—well, every girl excepting Hannah—but he couldn’t make it over the finish line.

  “Listen, Irv. The only thing I have to teach is how not to behave like a total asshole.”

  Another wild gesture. “That’s what I need you to do.”

  “It’s pretty simple. Look up from the phone. Don’t send dick pics.” Jack almost laughed out loud at the face Irv pulled when he said “dick pics.” “Pay attention to what the lady says.”

  “None of these knuckleheads know that.” He put his hand on the side of his nose in a thoughtful gesture. “But you’re right. That’s a boring story.”

  “I didn’t say it was boring—”

  “So, I need you to do all the stupid shit.”

  “That seems like a terrible idea.” And deeply unethical. The Catholic schoolboy inside him objected to it.

  “Not on tape, of course. That would tip anyone with a brain in her head off to the whole story.”

  “I don’t want to do it at all.”

  “If you do this—”

  “I don’t even know who I’d do this to.” Definitely not Hannah. She would see right through him and rip his balls off. “It’s really mean, don’t you think?”

  “You’ll get to write your political story at the same time.” Dammit. He didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted to be taken seriously as a reporter at this site. Not if he wanted to work in his hometown again. If he refused, he’d get a reputation.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have to do it for long. One date he could pretend to screw up. He wouldn’t even have to do it with Hannah. He could go out tonight and meet someone else. Or he could just go with it for one date. He could write the story from one date. Then he’d tell Hannah, and she’d understand.

  “I want five thousand words. You have two weeks.” Shit. “And make sure it’s a girl you like so it doesn’t seem fake.”

  The only girl he’d liked in ages was going to kill him when she found out that he was trying to get her to not like him for a story.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HANNAH SURVEYED HER CLOSET like a general surveying the field of battle. She hadn’t been on a date in almost two years, and her fun, going-out clothes had been gradually culled from the walk-in until only daytime and nighttime work clothes remained. Just a few months ago, she’d donated everything that didn’t “spark joy,” and somehow everything she’d ever worn when she was with Noah had ended up in the box going to Goodwill.

  Her closet purge presented a huge problem now that she had a date—one she had to impress—on this fine Friday night. Jack had texted her a few minutes after her fateful meeting with Annalise. As though the universe had heard her silent, screamed pleas not to have to ask him out herself, he asked her if she wanted to have dinner with him tonight.

  On the one hand, she could have used more than one day to formulate her plan of attack. Like, instead of actually dating him, what if she just told him that she needed a fake boyfriend for a few weeks? Jack seemed like the kind of guy who would be game. But part of her resisted that idea—the same part that wanted to know what it would be like to actually be in a relationship with a guy like him. One who seemed to be thinking about her—more than about getting in her pants—a guy who seemed to care about what she thought about things.

  She flipped through three nearly identical black dresses before sitting on the bright yellow rug on her closet floor.

  “This is dumb,” she said to no one in particular. She usually tried not to talk to herself—something her mother did all the time. Her bitter, lonely, stuck mother. The one she’d sworn she would never be like. But ever since Noah, she’d taken down bitter and was rounding the corner on lonely. The only way she would avoid stuck was if she dated Jack long enough to get a promotion. If she was professionally successful, she wouldn’t have time to worry about the fact that she was going to be alone for the rest of her life. By choice. Definitely by choice.

  If she didn’t find something to wear, she’d end up going out with Jack in her bra and panties—definitely not nice enough for the restaurant he was taking her to. Her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when he’d suggested it, and she’d just stopped herself from asking how he would afford the Michelin star restaurant on his salary.

  That was what really kept her from inviting him into her scheme. He seemed to be serious enough about her to blow a month’s rent on a first date.

  Not that he wasn’t good at his job. She’d watched a bunch of his videos, and they were great. She just didn’t know if they were being-able-to-afford-Alinea-for-a-first-date great.

  His suggestion had brought up a lot of guilt, too. She was agreeing to date Jack only because she wanted a promotion. This wasn’t a real romantic evening; this was the beginning of a two-week-long con. It wasn’t about getting to know Jack or building intimacy.

  This date was about baiting the hook so he couldn’t help but bite. Too bad she wasn’t in possession of any fancy lures, er, clothes that would hijack her date’s hormones for the two weeks and make it so that nothing that came out of her mouth would turn him off.

  She was still sitting on the floor when Sasha walked in with a vodka soda and a glass of wine. She’d had to come clean with her best friend about the previous Saturday night—the tacos, the kiss, the texts. They shared a two-bedroom condo in Bucktown, owned by Sasha’s parents, and it would be impossible to keep an actual date from Sasha. Besides, right now she needed the liquid courage and a wardrobe consult.

  Hannah motioned for the vodka soda. It wouldn’t do to greet Jack with stained teeth.

  “What’s wrong?” Sasha’s forehead wri
nkled, so Hannah knew she must really look like a mess. “Why aren’t you ready?”

  “I have nothing to wear.” She took a swig of the cold, fizzy drink. “Everything I own is for work.”

  “Want to borrow something from me?”

  “I wouldn’t feel comfortable in any of your clothes.”

  “Why not?” Sasha looked puzzled, and it made the crinkle in her forehead deeper.

  “Stop doing that with your face, or it will stay that way.”

  Sasha smoothed out her forehead with her finger. “My clothes fit you.”

  “But they don’t feel right.” Sasha tried to look confused without making her face crinkle but failed. “I look better in my clothes, but I don’t have date clothes.”

  Sasha picked through her nighttime work clothes until she found a tight black dress that would probably show off her hoo-ha. She’d worn it to a party after the local hockey team won the championship. She was pretty sure a few of the players had appreciated her ass in this dress as much as they’d appreciated the vodka-luge replica of the trophy. “This one.”

  Hannah rose off the ground. “Really? It’s not too over the top?”

  “Just sexy enough.”

  “But I thought I wasn’t going for sexy.” She squinted. “I thought I was going for potential girlfriend.”

  “Obviously, neither of us knows how to dress for that,” Sasha said, taking a big gulp of wine.

  “Oh, honey.” She took the dress from Sasha. “Did you hear from him after he sent you a picture of his anemic penis?”

  She shook her head and took another drink of wine. Hannah’s stomach sank from the pointlessness of it all. Sure, she could put on the barely there dress and play the game of making Jack think he might get laid. That might keep him chasing her for two weeks. But she had no idea how to put on the pretense anymore. She’d probably end up like her friend, in sweats and no bra, ready to settle in with Herr Netflix on a Friday night.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Sasha sniffed, probably to suppress unshed tears. “What matters is that you have a great time tonight.”