Page 18 of Meet Stan

“Yeah,” I said as I watched her go back to our table. “Right.”

Chapter Eight

Ivy

A chalk muralist sprawled on the sidewalk a few steps from the bench Stan and I perched upon. I studied her picture, which appeared to include the statue of liberty but with Joker makeup. I didn’t really see what she drew, though, because my mind raced with what I was entering into.

I had begged the universe for some way to help me save my parents’ business. Well, there it sat, right next to me, and I was worried that I hadn’t made the right decision.

Stan sat beside me, one leg flung up over the other. I could see the designer logo on the bottom of his shoe, worn slightly smooth. A paper cup of coffee rested in his hand, steam curling up into the air only to be dispersed by his exhalations. His eyes burned into me as I tried to gather my thoughts.

I mean, how do you hammer out the details of a fake relationship?

“If you’re waiting for me to start, I should tell you I’ve got nothing.” I sipped my own coffee, savoring the caramel flavor on my tongue.

“I see.” Stan frowned. “I’m not sure what to say, either.”

“This whole thing was your idea.” I gave him a look. “C’mon, throw me a bone here.”

“Well, I guess we should start by sketching out a basic trajectory for how this relationship is going to play out.”

“This fake relationship.”

“Right,” he said, his face a grimace of embarrassment. “This fake relationship.”

I had been fighting with something for a while. I eventually gave voice to my concerns.

“Um,” I said. “I’m just going to come out and say it. Am I supposed to kiss you?”

That question took him aback. I hadn’t known Stan long, but rumor had it he was seldom at a loss for words.

“Well,” he said, his eyes suddenly gleaming with a hard decision. “Of course you’re supposed to kiss me. I mean, you ARE my girlfriend, right?”

I hated myself for the little thrill that ran through me at his declaration. I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t real. If not, I could easily get lost in this thing.

“Okay, granted, it would be weird if we didn’t kiss.” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “But I normally don’t kiss a guy until at least the second date, sometimes not until the sixth. Or at all.”

“Wait, you have a time quota on kissing?” He leaned forward, intent upon my next words.

“Sure, I mean, I guess I never really thought about it much until now.” I frowned thoughtfully as I mulled it over. “But yeah, kissing on the first date is a definite never.”

“Um, you kissed me on our first date.”

My heart skipped a beat, but I think I kept it off of my face.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Doesn’t count?” he blurted, an exasperated but amused laugh pushing out of his chest.

“Yeah, that wasn’t a date. I don’t kiss guys I want to like that fast.”

“What?” Stan drew back. “You didn’t want to like me?”

“Well, no, if I wanted to like you, I wouldn’t have fucked you that fast. I just thought we obviously needed each other at that moment and I wasn’t thinking about the future.”

“Good to know,” he said, looking at me warily. “So, does this count as our first date? What’s the chronology here?”

“Ah, I’m not sure what you mean.”

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