Julie James - Practice Makes Perfect

J.D. had to look away, unable to meet her gaze. When he hesitated, he heard the panic creep into Payton’s voice.

“Oh, god, J.D. He’s my boss. What did you say to him?”

J.D. turned to face her. She was right; she should know exactly what had been said. And he needed to own up to his mistakes. So he steeled himself for the inevitable.

“I told him that we had sex on top of my desk one night after everyone left.”

Payton blinked. “Why? Why would you do that?”

J.D. hated that he was the one who put that hurt expression on her face. He tried to look away from her, but she was having none of that. She stormed over, confronting him. “You know what gossip like that can do to a person’s reputation—particularly a woman’s reputation,” she hissed. “Why would you say something like that to Ben? To help you get ahead? Look at me, J.D. Tell me.”

When J.D. peered down at her, he saw all the familiar anger and distrust in her eyes once again. He clenched his jaw. “I don’t know, Payton. Maybe I am the asshole you always thought I was after all.”

It was a cop-out, he knew. But the alterative was the truth, and the truth—at least with the way she was looking at him right then—did not appear to be the most viable option.

Payton stared at him with an expression of disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Is there really anything I could say that would make a difference?” J.D. was pretty certain he already knew the answer to that.

And here he’d thought her eyes couldn’t get any colder.

As Payton backed away from him, her gaze was absolutely icy. “I guess we’ll never know,” she said in a flat, emotionless tone.

Then she turned and walked away.

“WHY THE HELL don’t you have your cell phone turned on?”

Outside Wrigley Field, J.D. stormed over to the will-call booth where Tyler waited, too angry to bother with a greeting.

Tyler didn’t appear to notice the frustration in J.D.’s voice. He pulled out his phone and looked at it matter-of-factly.

“Would you look at that—the battery’s dead. I must’ve forgot to charge it. Oh, well.”

J.D. could’ve strangled him. Three weeks ago, Tyler had suggested they catch a game the night before the partnership decision, as a distraction. At the time it had seemed like a great idea. But now, after everything that had just happened with Payton, baseball was the last thing on his mind.

“ ‘Oh, well?’ ” he said. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour.”

“Sorry.” Tyler cocked his head. “What’d you want?”

“To tell you that I wasn’t going to make it tonight.”

“You came here to tell me you’re not coming?” Tyler asked.

“Yes,” J.D. said, exasperated.

“But if you’re not coming . . . then how are you here? Wait—is this a time-travel kind of thing? If so, you’ve got to tell me how that works, because I would really love to go back to Saturday night and tell myself not to bring home Ms. Looney Tunes, because that girl has—”

“Screw this.” J.D. whirled around, cutting Tyler off. “I should’ve let you sit out here all night waiting.” He began walking back to his car. Normally, he could take all the shit Tyler wanted to dish out. But not tonight.

“Hey, J.D.—come on,” Tyler said, following him. “I’m just messing with you. Hold up a second.”

J.D. slowed down, then finally turned around.

Tyler saw the look on his face. “What happened?”

J.D. looked up at the sky, shaking his head. He still couldn’t believe it himself.

Seeing his reaction, Tyler took a guess. “The firm. They told you their decision,” he said in a somber tone.

J.D. laughed bitterly. “I wish that was it.” He was struck by his choice of words. That was quite a statement to make.

Tyler seemed less surprised. He stepped over and put his hand on J.D.’s shoulder. “So, then. Do you want to tell me what happened with Payton?”

J.D. didn’t know where to start. He ran his hand through his hair. “I . . . wow, I totally fucked it up.”

Tyler nodded. “I’ll tell you what—we’re both here, and I’ve already got the tickets. Let’s go inside, have a beer, and you can tell me everything.”

J.D. knew that Tyler had sprung for club box seats, just five rows back from the dugout, and felt bad letting his friend’s money go to waste. Plus, the part about the beer didn’t sound like a bad idea. He was going to need something alcoholic—probably several somethings alcoholic, in fact—just to get through this conversation.

“Okay,” he agreed. He followed Tyler inside the stadium.

STAYING TURNED OUT to be a surprisingly good idea.

It was easier for J.D. to talk while pretending to keep an eye on the game. Discussing his emotions wasn’t exactly something that came naturally for him, and the game gave him the opportunity to look away from Tyler during certain key parts of the conversation.

He told his friend about the weekend in Palm Beach, about Paytons’s hesitations concerning the partnership decision, and what she had said to him in the parking garage just a couple of hours ago.

Which then brought him to the conversation Payton had overheard between him and Ben, and more important, to the lie he had told Ben several years ago.

It was here that J.D. stopped. As much as he might’ve wanted to gloss over that particular part of the story, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Tyler, who had been relatively quiet up until this point, ran his hand over his mouth, and then exhaled loudly. “J.D. . . . that’s pretty bad.”

“I know.”

“How did Payton react when you admitted what you’d told Ben?”

“Not well.” J.D. peered over at Tyler. “She wanted to know why. So I told her that I’m an asshole.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t go over any better.”

“No, it did not.”

Tyler looked at J.D. expectantly. “So? Are you at least going to tell me the truth?”

J.D. took a moment, then looked back toward the game. “It was a few years ago, at the firm holiday party. Payton had brought a date, some writer she’d met at the gym or something, and they were standing at the bar getting a drink. And I remember, as I watched her . . . I guess it was the way she smiled at the guy. The way she laughed at something he said. It made me think, it made me wonder what it would be like to . . .” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Ben caught me staring at her, and he cornered me the next day at the office and made some jokes about it. I panicked, thinking he might say something in front of Payton, so I made up a story that I thought would get him off my back. A story that would . . . make things seem like less than they were.”

“Make things seem like less than what?”

J.D. paused. Then he slowly looked over and stared Tyler straight in the eyes. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

“For how long?” Tyler asked, shocked.

J.D. considered this. “About eight years now, I guess.”

“You’re kidding me.” Tyler’s expression was one of disbelief. “All this time.”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“This whole entire time.”

“What do you need to know, like, the exact moment?” J.D. asked.

“Well, now that you mentioned it, I am kind of curious. Wait, let me guess—from the first moment you met her,” Tyler joked.

“Actually, no, smart-ass.” J.D. paused. “It was the second moment.” I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself, J. D. Jameson. Yep—he had spent years trying to deny it, even to himself, but that sly little look of hers had pretty much done him in for good.

Tyler laughed. “No offense, J.D., but isn’t that a little deep for you?”

“I’ve managed to remain remarkably shallow in pretty much all other aspects of my life. I figure it balances out.”

Tyler nodded. “Good point.”

The crowd around them suddenly roared and things turned ugly as people began booing the umpire. For a few minutes, J.D. and Tyler were distracted, swept up in the game. Then the fans quieted down, satisfied that their indignation had been properly expressed, and everyone went back to their beers, hot dogs, and peanuts. They were Cubs fans—they got over disappointment quickly.

Tyler and J.D. ordered another round of beers from a vendor passing by. After they shuffled their money down the row, and the beers made their way back, Tyler settled into his seat.

“You have to tell her, you know.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” J.D. said. “I don’t think she’ll care. You didn’t see the look on her face as she walked away.”

“But before that, she came after you to tell you she wanted to be with you. There’s hope in that.”

J.D. took a sip of his beer. “Even if she could forgive me for the thing I told Ben, I think she’s right. At the very least, it’s going to be awkward between us after the firm’s decision. And there will be tension, lots of it. Maybe even resentment.” He switched his beer back and forth between his hands. “I don’t want to start something with her that’s destined to fail. That would be worse than not being with her at all, I think.”

Tyler shifted in his seat. “Have you considered . . .” he trailed off, uncertain whether he should even suggest such an idea.

“Yes.” J.D. had already considered the possibility, even though he couldn’t say it out loud. He raked his fingers through his hair. “I, uh . . . whew.” He took a deep breath. “I really don’t know that I could do that. Maybe if I knew it would make a difference. Maybe.”

“There’s no way of knowing that, J.D.”