“Tyler, do you think I could interview you sometime? For the SF Freekly?”
He turns his attention in my direction like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Sorry? What paper?”
I know I’ve told him before what paper I work for, during some interminable small talk, which I am terrible at. I don’t blame him for not remembering, though. He’s not exactly our target market. I’m not exactly his target market either, from the women I’ve seen him checking out this evening.
But I’m not letting him go yet.
“I work for the San Francisco Freekly, Tyler. It’s the city’s ‘free weekly,’ also known as ‘Freekly.’ Get it?”
He nods with pretend interest, and if he doesn’t stop looking over my shoulder at the hot girl with the fake tits behind me, I just might have to spill my beer on him. Or accidentally stomp on his foot with my high-heeled bootie.
“Freekly, yeah, I get it,” he says, pretty much as uninterested as a person could be.
That’s when Petal steps in. “Ty, Lucy’s a great journalist and it could be good for her career to do a story on someone from a local sports team.” She looks over at me, smiling, and I remember why she’s my ride-or-die.
“What do you say, Tyler? Are you open to a quick and easy interview? To be carried out at your convenience, of course,” I promise.
Rake slaps him on the back, hard, so hard some of his beer slops out of its cup, but hell, he’s paying attention now.
“Oh, sure, I’m sure that will be fine. I gotta clear it with our PR guy, but I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Great,” I say. Maybe this day isn’t a total wash.
Rake pats him on the back again like a good dog, and I remember why I can’t stand this pro-athlete-playboy-big-swinging-dick archetype, and it’s not just because I, and women like me, are invisible to them.
“Oh, Lucy,” Tyler starts to say.
At least he knows my name.
“I was thinking it might be fun to do your interview thing over dinner sometime. What do you say?”
Huh?
Petal, Gilly, and I are silent. I mean, dead silent.
Where the fuck did that just come from?
I look at my friends, then to the crowd surrounding us to see if someone is punking me.
Ashton Kutcher, show your face.
“Um. What’s that, Tyler?”
A second ago I could barely get the guy’s attention.
Rake snorts. Does he know something?
“Lucy,” Petal says, leaning closer to me but speaking loudly enough for all of us to hear, “Tyler just asked you out to dinner,” she says like she’s talking to a toddler. “That’s known in some circles as a date.”
“Yeah, thanks, Petal. Super fucking helpful,” I say with a snort.
Oops. That might have been a bit too aggro. But in case I am being punked, I want everyone to know I don’t care. I’m cool with it. A hot guy can ask me out as a joke. No skin off my back. I’ll just keep smiling.
Even if I feel like dying on the inside.
“Thank you, Tyler. That’s very nice of you. However, it’s against company policy to socialize with an interview subject.”
Now it’s Petal’s turn to snort.
Tyler, unbothered, shrugs his shoulders. “No problem. I’ll check on that interview thing and let you know.”
He and Rake are whisked away for some sort of group photo thing, and once again I hoist my backpack on my shoulder.
“You know, Lu, you don’t work for the freaking New York Times. You can go out with the guy,” Petal says.
“I know. But you know how I feel about jocks, at least hanging out with them. They’re so… bulky. Besides, they go for bimbos. Not girls like me. And that Tyler is a major fuckboy. Just look at him. He’s been scoping the crowd the whole time we were talking to him. If that’s not fucking rude, I don’t know what is.”
I watch him run his fingers through his dark, messy hair as he gathers with a bunch of his other teammates.
So. Vain. Maybe I should ask him if he’d like to borrow my lip gloss.
Petal huffs. “Lu, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re surrounded by jocks right now, and your best friend”—she pauses to point at herself with both hands—“is married to one.”
Busted.
Gilly nods, which doesn’t help.
My hand flies to my chest as I attempt to get my big foot out of my big mouth. “Petal, you know I didn’t mean that. Of course, Rake is awesome. You know how I adore him. It’s just that, you know, having dinner with one is just not… my cup of tea.”
She side-eyes me, not letting me off the hook in spite of my attempted backpedal. “Didn’t you say you were leaving?” she snips.
“Yeah. I’m outta here. And don’t be mad Petal. What I said was stupid. You’re not a bimbo. Seriously.”
Gilly pipes up. “Yeah, Petal, just chalk it up to the thong panty that’s torturing Lucy’s buttcrack.”
Petal holds her hands up. “TMI!”
I catch Tyler’s eye on the way out and he looks away quickly.
Nice.
Why the hell did he ask me to dinner if he can’t even look at me? He couldn’t possibly be interested. I am so not in his league.
Although, that’s what Petal thought about Rake at one time, and look at them now, so lovey-dovey it could make you sick to watch. But Rake didn’t give off the major player vibes Tyler does. And he certainly never looked around a party for someone hotter to talk to.
I’m not offended. I’m really not. In fact, I’m grateful to the guy. He just gave me an idea for a new assignment, something way bigger than just an interview with a little weekly paper.
I am so on this.
