Absolute Beginners (Absolute #1) (2 page)

“I’m not talking about dating,” Matt countered. “I’m just talking about getting someone’s hand on your dick other than your own. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I have to go,” I said. “I’m headed for the gym.”

“Great idea, I’ll see you there in ten minutes,” Matt replied, ending the call before I could protest.

Fantastic. Just what I need after the day I’ve had
.

When I reached the gym, Matt was already outside talking on his phone, laughing about something.

We were nothing alike. He was insanely outgoing and popular. He owned a sports bar with a buddy of his and apparently it was very successful. I didn’t care about sports in the slightest, and I had only been there for the grand opening a few years ago when my mother pretty much forced me to go. I spent the entire night feeling awkward and overdressed in my suit, and was thrilled to slip out early when a fight broke out.

Matt was a great guy, but I never really understood why he wanted me around when we were kids, and I guess I still didn’t. He had tons of friends and an active dating life, but for some reason he always seemed to have time for me.

“Hey, bro,” Matt called as I approached him.

Stepbro, to be completely accurate
.

Several people called out to us in greeting as we headed for the changing room, and while Matt had a clever comment for each one, I had to force myself not to look down at the floor and to nod stiffly instead. I never received any attention when I came here on my own and I preferred it that way.

“What’s with you?” Matt asked as I slammed my gym bag down on the floor. “That vein in your forehead looks like it’s about ready to pop.”

“I don’t know. I think I might be coming down with something.”

“Yeah, it’s called blue balls,” he said with a snicker. “Is it that annoying girl who’s been playing you again?”

“What?” I asked, only half-listening as I started getting changed.

“You know, the one who dresses like crap and always talks back. The one you can’t seem to shut up about whenever I see you.”

I looked up. “Ms. Wilde?”

“Mmm…Ms. Wilde, I like that. What’s her first name?”

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling irritated. “Why the hell are we talking about one of my students?”

“Ooh, now you’re dropping H-bombs, too!” Matt laughed. I had no idea what he meant. Hydrogen bombs were hardly a laughing matter. “Because,” he said matter-of-factly, “the vein is unusually large today and that only ever happens when you’ve had her in your class.”

I ran the pads of my fingers across my forehead.

“Well, what did she do today?” he asked.

“Nothing! Will you just leave it alone?”

“Wow, it must have been bad. Or good, depending on how you look at it.”

I gave him what I hoped was a withering glare to get him to shut up. I didn’t want to think about that ridiculous girl when I didn’t have to.

“Oh, I know,” he said, grinning at me. “Did she do the whole crossing and uncrossing of her legs? Give you a peek at the good stuff?”

“No!” I half-yelled. “What is
wrong
with you, Matt? She’s at least ten years younger than me.”

“So?” he asked. “It’s not like that’s uncommon. Most men dream of being with a younger woman.”

Ms. Wilde said that as well
.

“Really?” I heard myself asking.

“Absolutely. You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t love to fuck the hell out of that naughty student of yours and show her who’s boss!”

I stopped dead in front of the lockers. The thought had never entered my mind before, but now that it was there, it sounded oddly…intriguing? And utterly ridiculous. Shaking my head, I stuffed my bag and clothes into the locker, slamming it shut.

“No,” I finally said. “Even if it wasn’t against the rules, she isn’t my type at all.”

“What does she look like?” Matt asked as we headed for the treadmills.

I shrugged. “She’s kind of small with dark hair and blue eyes. She’s probably around twenty-one. She’s the worst dresser I’ve ever seen and her makeup and hair are just…well, it looks like she’s celebrating Halloween year-round.”

Matt nodded and I could see that he was creating a visual in his head.

“Oh, and she has a tattoo below the nape of her neck,” I added.

“Hmm, tattoos are hot,” he said dreamily. “How are her tits?”

I clenched my jaw. Unfortunately, I knew exactly how her “tits” were, as Matt so charmingly put it.

“That good, huh?” He grinned.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling tired of the conversation. “I wouldn’t know which criteria to judge them against.”

“They can’t be too small, but not too big either. A handful is perfect, and I do have pretty big hands,” he said with a laugh, holding them up in front of him and crudely mimicking fondling a pair of breasts.

I rolled my eyes, stepped onto the nearest treadmill, and started running. I didn’t want to think about Ms. Wilde’s breasts, and I hoped that Matt would drop the subject.

“Oh,” he said, after he’d finished his imaginary groping. “They have to be nice and perky. But that’s pretty much a given with a twenty-one-year-old, you lucky dog.”

They
were
perky, I couldn’t deny that. I ran faster.

“So, are you going to make a move on her?” Matt continued, despite my running at top speed and the fact that I hadn’t answered his asinine breast inquiries. He’d stepped onto the treadmill next to mine, but was barely strolling.

“Of course not,” I panted.

“Why not? The way you describe what she does in your class, it sounds like she’s into you.”

She is not
into
me. She’s…I don’t know
what
she is
.

I kept running until it felt as if my heart was about to burst out of my chest and sweat was pouring off me. I stopped the treadmill and downed my water while Matt continued to watch me from the machine next to mine with a stupid grin on his face.

“What?” I snapped.

“Easy, bro, don’t give yourself an aneurysm,” he said and stopped his slow pace. “I’m just saying that if this girl can get you that worked up, there might be something there.”

“There’s
nothing
there,” I panted. “She’s stupid and annoying and frankly, I can’t wait for the semester to be over so I don’t have to look at her twice a week. And, yes, her breasts are very perky and probably just the right size, but that doesn’t change the fact that she looks like an extra from a Tim Burton movie and seems hell-bent on annoying the crap out of me!”

I stormed off and heard him laughing as he followed me to the weight room. I lay down on the bench press, hoping that Matt would keep his mouth shut while he spotted me. Of course, I was out of luck in that department.

“Sooo, when your class is over, it wouldn’t be illegal for you to date her, would it?”

I groaned with the exertion. “Since I have no interest in dating her, it’s a moot point. Besides, I’m much too old for her, and like I’ve already said, she’s not my type.”

“You like brunettes,” he countered.

“Yes, but I don’t like ghoul makeup, torn pantyhose, and especially not tattoos. Why are we still talking about this?”

“Because you’ve mentioned her every time I’ve seen you in the past two months,” he said.

I haven’t talked about her that much, have I?

“You don’t even realize that you’ve done that, do you?”

“It couldn’t have been that much,” I said reluctantly as we switched places and Matt added more weight for his set.

“Are you kidding me? I know what she’s worn and how she’s done her hair for every single one of your classes. Not to mention all her winking and smiling at you.”

“You’re exaggerating.” I dismissed him. “What was she wearing on Friday?”

“Uh, a black-and-white checkered skirt and a T-shirt with a logo. Sounds like The Ramones, from the way you described it,” he said without hesitation.

That’s absolutely right. God, this is so messed up
.

I didn’t say anything. What could I say?

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Just shut up or I’m going to drop this on you,” I muttered, handing him the bar.

He did his set while I stood there feeling perplexed. I hadn’t realized that I’d been complaining so much about Ms. Wilde. After we finished our sets, I didn’t feel like doing any more and we hit the showers.

“All kidding aside, Stephen, why haven’t you dated anyone in forever?” he asked me as we were dressing.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “I haven’t met anyone who held my interest.”

“Except for the girl you haven’t been able to shut up about for the past two months,” he interjected.

“Plus, I’m not very good at talking to women,” I added, ignoring his comment.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

I glanced at my stepbrother and he gave me a smile.

“I’m just kidding, Stevie. You’re not as bad as you think.”

Except I was. While I didn’t like to admit it, I couldn’t deny the facts. My dating life was practically nonexistent, and it always had been. At university, I was always studying, and since I didn’t participate in parties and such, I never spent much time with women. I had watched my peers socialize, and while I had wanted to join in, my shyness kept me back. I had nurtured the hope that the right woman would somehow just come along some day. Someone nice, whom I could easily talk to without feeling intimidated. Someone who would accept me, flaws and all.

Now I was thirty-three, and so far, it hadn’t happened. Maybe it never would. The few friends I had made in college and grad school were all in long-term relationships, most of them married with kids. I was the only one still on my own, and I was starting to worry I would always be alone.

“You want me to set you up?” Matt asked. “I know a lot of women who would love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“OK, so maybe not a
lot
. But I’m pretty sure I could wrestle one up for you. Someone nice and boring, just like you,” he said, as if that were a compliment.

“Do you really think I’m boring?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately.

“Wow, thanks for not sugar-coating it, Matt.”

“I’m sorry, Stevie, but just look at your life, man. You spend every night at home with your nose in a book, you haven’t gone on a date since JT brought sexy back, and you dress like a grandpa.”

Who’s JT? What’s sexy back? A
grandpa
?

I looked at my clothes and compared them to Matt’s. I was wearing khaki pants with a belt, a blue button-down shirt, a brown corduroy blazer, black leather shoes with laces, and, of course, my bowtie and glasses. My stepbrother was wearing some odd-looking sneakers, dark denim jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a leather jacket. Even I could acknowledge that there were differences, but I didn’t think that my clothes were
that
bad.

“Do I really dress like a grandpa?” I asked.

“A little,” Matt said. “Like your pants. What’s up with them?”

“Um, what’s wrong with them?”

“There’s nothing exactly wrong with them,” he said. “You just wear them a little too high and the belt is just…geriatric-looking. Why don’t you ever wear jeans?”

“I don’t know if I’d be comfortable wearing something so snug,” I admitted.

Matt shook his head in open disapproval. “What’s the point of working out three times a week if no one can see it?” he asked, flexing his bicep.

“Staying healthy. Regular exercise is the best way of maintaining a healthy cardiovascular system. You know my family history.”

Matt put his hand on my shoulder, giving me a little shake.

“Sorry, man, I know. But you’ve been to the doctor recently, right? Everything’s fine.”

Rubbing my hand across my chest, I nodded.

“You’re healthy as a horse,” he continued. “You can worry when you’re older. Right now, your main focus should be getting some p—”

“Please don’t say it!” I interrupted, holding up my hand.

“—proper lady to go out with you,” he guffawed.

Oh, please. I know what he was going to say
.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

“Think about the jeans, though?”

“I’m sure you’ll remind me if I forget,” I muttered.

He patted my shoulder sympathetically.

“The next time Mom offers to take you clothes shopping, just say no.”

“Fine.”

“Look, why don’t you come with me to the bar and have a beer. We can grab some dinner on the way,” he suggested.

I hesitated.

“It’s Opening Day for the Giants, and it’s sure to bring some women to the bar. That’s our baseball team, by the way.”

“I know,” I said, rolling my eyes, although I probably wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t been born and raised here in San Francisco.

I considered turning him down. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy spending time with Matt, because I did. It was his bar, or any bar for that matter, that had me hesitating. I wasn’t good in social situations. Still, I knew it would mean a lot to him if I came along.

“All right,” I agreed. “But just for one beer, OK?”

Matt’s face lit up.

“Really? Awesome! Do you want to stop by your place for a change of clothes?”

“No.”

“OK, just…err, lose the jacket, at least, and untuck your shirt.”

I sighed and did what he told me.

“The bowtie?”

“No. Anything else?” I asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, don’t do that weird hair part on the side. It makes you look like you have a combover,” he said, ruffling my unruly hair.

* * *

I was already regretting my decision when we pulled up at Matt’s bar later that night and I saw how many cars were parked outside. The place was packed and I could feel myself getting nervous. We stepped inside and Matt was greeted enthusiastically from all corners. Apparently everyone in the bar knew who he was. I didn’t care for attention, unless it was in a setting I could control, like my classroom.

“Come on, bro. I have my own table,” Matt said, ushering me over to what seemed like the best seats in the house. They had a great view overlooking the whole bar, in direct view of the large TV on the wall.