“You didn’t say ‘no’ to her weird fetishes; you asked your PA to research them,” I remind him, narrowing my eyes accusingly, but I can’t help the giggle that springs from my throat, mood lifted and irritation gone just like that, like always. We recover quickly, effortlessly. He laughs too.
“I didn’t actually partake, Emma. I just didn’t think she was being serious; I thought I was missing some joke.” He smiles his natural, cute Jake smile, and it makes me smile too, glad that he is once again his normal, infuriatingly smug, and naughty self, our bickering over.
“You called me at four in the morning to ask me if diapers would turn me on,” I reminisce while chuckling, remembering the shock that had run over me when I had been rudely awakened with that drunken question.
“I needed another female perspective, a normal female perspective. She scared the shit out of me.” He cringes at the memory, which only makes me grin.
“How do you think I felt? I got a wake-up call from my drunk boss asking me about weird crap like adult babying fetishes and diapers,” I remind him, raising my brow and fixing him with an accusatory look.
“You were very cool on the cell … efficient as ever and serious about the whole thing. I think it was the first time I figured you and I would be best friends.” He’s laughing at the memory as my heart skips a beat at the ‘best friend’ comment and warms slightly. He has said something similar several times before. I guess the feeling is mutual. Before this promotion progressed, I never really thought about us being friends, but I think we are.
I remember that night well; I had tried to gauge his seriousness and even attempted a rational, factual conversation while skimming Google for answers. I was cringing the whole time and wondering what the hell he was on. I shake my head, grinning too.
“Only you could pull the freaky one in a nightclub full of normal women, Jake,” I point out, relaxing.
“She ended up going home with Daniel, and he still doesn’t mention it.”
I burst out laughing, unguarded and heartfelt, making me feel better. Daniel still gives me the creeps, and the thought of him tied up in a baby’s crib with some strange, diaper-wearing crazy makes me laugh. Jake is chuckling too.
He leans over, topping up my now empty wine glass; we’re only halfway through our food, and I hadn’t noticed how much I’d drunk already. I never drank much before Jake. His bad influence has turned me into a wine-with-food type of person. He always orders by the bottle wherever we go to eat.
I pick up my fork, starting to eat again now that my appetite has improved along with my temper. I’m feeling light and merry now and ravenous once more.
“I like you when you’re like this,” he nods at me, a happy expression, eyes almost twinkling.
“Like what?” I look up innocently. The steak is so tender I’m savoring every mouthful, appetite fully restored.
“More relaxed. PA persona on hiatus. When you forget to play cool.” It sobers me slightly; he has a way of making me forget myself when we are kicking back, and, much like now, it startles me. I don’t particularly appreciate letting that mask drop; I don’t like people seeing too deeply, especially not him.
“It’s hard to focus when you ply me with alcohol,” I return, a little too quickly, trying to reel in my calm facade, pushing the glass away from my plate.
That’s enough wine.
“Maybe that’s why I do it,” he smiles softly, making me suddenly uncomfortable. I ram food into my mouth and stare across the restaurant looking for a diverting topic.
I gesture toward the far window with my fork, and he turns to look at what I’m pointing at; spotting the movie star too, he looks back at me, shrugging.
“He’s an asshole,” Jake says dismissively. “I’ve met him. He’s a bit of a diva, and, I mean, look at him; he’s wearing a goddamn sparkling flower brooch. If that doesn’t scream closet gay, then I don’t know what does,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but for some reason, this makes me laugh unexpectedly and causes me to choke on my half-chewed steak. I erupt into a coughing fit, which has me grabbing for my wine to dislodge the lump in my throat before I die.
“Jesus, Emma! Don’t have a coronary over seeing some asshole Hollywood big shot.” He’s laughing at me now, and I throw him a pained look. I gasp for air, thumping my chest to push my steak down and inhaling heavily.
“Fuck you,” I manage weakly with a smile.
“Swearing at your boss is good grounds for dismissal … gross misconduct,” he jokes and tops up my glass again with a wink, highlighting that I just drank it all without meaning to.
“So, fire me,” I throw back, slugging down my red wine and finally clearing the food still caught in my throat, half killing me, not caring about intake while choking.
“Can’t fire my future wife!” He acts shocked and grasps his chest in mock horror before putting his fork down on his plate, also finished with his food. I ignore the wife comment, another frequent joke he makes.
“Dessert?” he gestures at me with a questioning brow. I shake my head; I’ve drunk too much wine, am feeling a little tipsy now, and need to get out of here. I need coffee.
“Back to the grind, Bella.” He offers me his hand as I get up, tossing my napkin on the empty plate. I take his hand without hesitation and let him pull me with him, then immediately wonder when this stopped being weird when we started holding hands so casually.
How often have I let Jake touch me without repulsion coursing through me? Or questioning it?
I walk behind him, contemplating this fact, staring at our loosely joined fingers. It’s become something as familiar as being around him now. Maybe it is just the nature of our relationship: platonic and safe. We are real friends.
The innuendos about sex, the best friend comments, and wife jokes are frequent, but I know it is all play. Jake is never anything but a complete gentleman, minus the man-handling, but even that is not so bad. I’ve never had a platonic relationship with men of any age, and now that I’m examining it, it makes me feel slightly strange.