Content warning: strong langauge

October 2018
Leominster, MA, USA

Never thought I'd have to play matchmaker between two grown adults. But here we are.

Then again, after eight years of helping Sylvia ditch The Siren, I can face any challenge. And trust the hell outta me, Marcus was a siren. An evil male version. One who lured Vee away from the love of her life against all rationality into a marriage that sucked more than a Dyson on max.

By now I can probably qualify as a full-blown marriage counselor.

Nah, who am I kidding? Psychologists need to listen, ask a metric fuckton of questions, and never give away the answers they know are lurking in their patients' subconscious minds. I could never—ever—do that.

More like shake them and say, "Wake the hell up! This ain't The Matrix!"

Yeah, no. Maybe I should stick to being a bilingual secretary.

Even though this is definitely a personal call, Ian has booked me in for an online appointment like I'm an undergrad visiting during his office hours.

He's seated behind a huge mahogany desk in his home office with dozens of books lining the matching bookshelves recessed into the wall. All his papers are lined up just so! With a Cross pen situated perfectly front and center. It makes me wanna jump through the screen and screw it all up—just to see his placid expression melt away.

Has he turned into the academic equivalent of a dickmobile?

I hope not, for Vee's sake.

Dressed in a slim fit charcoal gray suit with a white tailored shirt and a matching gray tie with silver cufflinks, he's dressed to impress. As always. Making up for lost time, I guess, when he couldn't afford it.

Over the past eight years, Ian has exchanged a buzz cut for a professional comb over hairstyle that highlights his masculine jawline and prominent cheekbones. Clean shaven despite the fact that it's no longer en vogue.

Not that Ian would ever give a flying rat ass fuck about fashion.

As always, Ian has donned a neutral expression that betrays not a single hint of emotion. Thanks to his love of the outdoors and his Sicilian heritage, he has naturally tan skin. His dark gaze seems sharper, keener, and more penetrating with contact lenses than it ever was with glasses. None of the warmth he had in college. Can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Still! How does Vee take one look at him without her ovaries bursting?

Despite eyeing him like a piece of candy, Ian isn't really my shtick. I prefer Alan Ritchson lookalikes. Ya know? Dudes who can crush a Range Rover in one hand. Men like my hubby. This tall slim deal doesn't do a damn thing for me, though the guy does know how to make the most of what he's got.

The square jawline? Check.

The deep baritone? Fuck yeah.

The intelligent, well-spoken, yet slightly arrogant attitude? Oddly, I have the urge to take a bite even though it ain't my favorite flavor.

The rest of it? Meh...

But Vee loses her mind around this guy. All her brain cells melt into a giant puddle of goo. Right where she needs him the most.

"Sorry to say it, but one of the downsides of having a political doctrine with strict gender roles is that it's the man's job to do the hunting," I say with a hint of sarcasm. "Personally, I think it's a crock of shit, but you do you."

When I say crock of shit, a muscle jumps in his jaw.

Yeah, it pisses him off when people swear gratuitously. But does that stop me? Hell nah. More like it encourages me to get a rise outta him. Because he pretends to be so damn nonchalant all the time.

"Either you're a big, strong Republican male who hunts his woman," I say in a caveman voice before adding in a normal one, "or you're a progressive, modern man who expects Vee to come to you. Not both."

He exhales a heavy breath through his nose but doesn't respond.

"Here's another hint from your very own Ann Landers," I say, piling on the sarcasm even higher. "Vee was raised conservative like you, only her impetus comes from faith, which means she ain't comin' to get ya."

"I'm well aware," he says in an even tone.

"At least you've got compatible values." I shrug. "That'll hold you in good stead if you ever decide to jump in the deep end and boink for real."

"I'm not interested in pursuing a physical relationship at this time."

Excuse the hell out of me, Mister Meep-Morp.

"Here I thought conservatives respected the truth."

"We do," he retorts in a matter-of-fact voice, "which is why I added at this time."

Smart ass.

"It's more important to build a strong foundation first," he adds with no small amount of condescension in his tone. "One built upon genuine love and affection. To do this, we need mutual loyalty, respect, and trust."

Thanks for the morality lecture.

Why the fuck am I friends with this guy?

Oh, yeah. 'Cause of Vee. And Helena.

And 'cause the Republican pole up his ass amuses me.

God, Ian didn't use to be such a pain in the ass. He really built up those brick walls, didn't he? How am I gonna get through to this dude?

"Fair enough." I lean back in my office chair. "I can accept that."

He gives me a curt nod.

"But how d'ya plan to do that if you won't talk to her properly?" I ask, fighting hard to keep the frustration outta my voice. Not sure I succeeded.

In fact, pretty sure I didn't.

When Ian turns his head to the side, revealing his sharp jawline, I begin to understand why Vee might have fallen for him. "I need to wait for the opportune moment."

All right, Captain Jack.

You do that.

"I seem to recall how someone missed his mark using that tactic," I say. "Don't know 'bout you, but I'm sick of waiting."

His glare can blast through any material known to mankind, not that it fazes me. Man, does he need to get laid! Like, right away. Preferably by Vee.

Two birds, one stone.

"What do you suggest?" he asks.

Final-freaking-ly, we're getting somewhere.

"Invite her to something she'll enjoy," I reply. "Something virtual or where she doesn't have to interact with a crapton of people but it's also not one-on-one. Then there's less pressure."

"Perhaps you're right."

"It'll help to rekindle the spark. Get to know her again."

Only then does his voice betray the tiniest hint of vulnerability. "I—We haven't spoken in so long that I'm not sure...what she enjoys anymore."

It's almost like he's just now come to that realization and it's chipping away at his confidence. That's when the ice begins to melt around my heart.

"Vee hasn't changed all that much," I say in a kinder tone. "She loves socializing with a purpose if you recall from our college days."

"There is an interdisciplinary conference at Holy Cross," he says, cupping his chin. "Perhaps I could invite her to it?"

"Are they streaming it?"

"Yes, they are."

"Good! Because between you, me, and the wall," I say in a hushed whisper, "her purchasing power is somewhat—limited—with everything going on."

"Understandable."

God, I could never date such a cold fish. I need a man to pour gasoline on my fire and light me the fuck up until I can't stand the heat.

But Vee must know what the hell she's doing. Maybe she only sees the sweet yet passionate nerd from college with a heart of gold rather than one of stone. Ya know, before Ian became jaded and cynical. Which is easy to do when ya stare from afar and don't actually have to talk to the Mother Hubbard.

"Will you be giving a talk?" I ask.

"Yes, on the Mathematics of Music."

"The what with the what now?"

"As I said, it's an interdisciplinary conference," he says. "If I remember correctly, Sylvia always appreciated such approaches."

"Yeah, but—" I furrow my brow. "How are those two even remotely related?"

He chuckles, which warms my heart. It always takes him a few minutes before he starts letting down his guard. "You'd be surprised."

"Guess I should listen to your speech."

"You're more than welcome, of course." He pauses. "Why did you want to know if I would be speaking?"

A wry smile forms on my lips. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Always."

Coming from him, I believe it. You could probably hang this guy by his toenails and yank his teeth out one by one, and he wouldn't speak.

"Intelligence turns her on the way some men like lingerie," I lean in like a co-conspirator. "If you start talking about complex topics in that sexy voice of yours—"

He raises a quizzical brow but doesn't say a word.

"—let's just say it'll get her in the mood to talk," I say with a grin.

"Indeed?"

"Oh, yeah..."

"Interesting." His Adam's apple bobs. "Thank you for sharing."

You're very welcome, my Vulcan friend.

Always pleased to be of service for the sake of Team Sylvian.

"If you want to impress her," I say. "Fuck her with your mind. Not your body."

"Sylvia lives in her imagination," he says under his breath.

"Yes, exactly!" I point at the camera. "Let her fantasize. Let her dream. Let her wind herself up. Make physical reality a delightful little digestif rather than the starter, main course, and dessert."

When his lip ticks upward so briefly that I almost miss it, I wonder what Ian's thinking.

___

Word count: 1,556
Total word count: 13,592/40,000