Page 14 of A Deal with the Devil

If there’s a clog in that hot tub, I bet it’s something that rhymes with…fizz.

Marta hasn’t come in yet, so his room still looks like a crime scene. There are clothes on the floor, chairs overturned, and a bright red stiletto is wedged dead in the center of the massive mirror. Like, how does that even happen? Was it a strip tease run amuck? Were they trying to break the mirror? Either seems a possibility with Hayes and his, uh, friends.

I move past it to the deck off Hayes’s bedroom, where I find the water in the sunken hot tub alarmingly discolored and full of champagne bottles, one of which appears to be stuck in the filter. I could probably “fix” the issue simply by reaching in and plucking the bottle out, but fuck that. There’s not enough chlorine in the world for me to brave immersing my hand in that much bacteria.

I call repair guys for both, and while I wait for them, my mind returns to the book and what Hayes said this morning. What happens when I admit to the publisher I can’t finish it and have spent the advance? Even with what I earn at this job, I won’t have enough to repay it in full. My credit cards are nearly maxed out and Charlotte’s still got three months of treatment at Fairfield to pay for.

Maybe I’ve just gone off course and need a second opinion, but who can I ask for advice? Not my editor, as it would mean admitting the book is only half finished. Not my professors at NYU, nor my former classmates—I can just imagine all the snickering about a fantasy romance while they wield quietly brilliant prose about the mundane.

I’m in the middle of grocery shopping for Hayes—a list which mostly involves alcohol, mixers, and garnishes—when it comes to me: Sam. My old buddy from undergrad, who remained at Kansas State to get his PhD in English. He loved fantasy novels, but he was also a sharp and brutally honest critic.

And brutally honest is what I need, even if it kills me.

I get home that night and dial his number. Sam answers on the first ring. “Tali?” he asks. “Is it really you?”

I guess his surprise makes sense. Aside from the occasional email, I mostly fell out of touch when we graduated. Matt was always bothered by our friendship. It seemed best, when we left Kansas, to let it fade.

“It’s really me,” I reply, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. “How’s school?” He must be nearly done, which just makes me feel worse. I’d have my graduate degree by now if I’d stayed.

“Good. Working on my dissertation. What about you? I saw...online,” he says haltingly. “About you and Matt.”

Ugh. The one thing worse than breaking up with someone you’ve dated for most of your life is having his exploits broadcast nationwide. Everyone assumes I was the one who got dumped, and that I’m sitting back in my squalid apartment weeping over what I’ve lost. Which wouldn’t be entirely false, I guess, though not for the reasons they’d think.

I give him the barest details about the breakup, we discuss his dissertation and summer plans and my visit back home at the end of August.

“How’s the book coming?” he asks at last. Sam’s so easy to talk to, I’d almost forgotten the whole reason I called.

“I’m glad you brought it up,” I reply, flopping onto my mattress and arranging the pillows under my head. “I’m completely stuck at the midpoint and was hoping you could take a look at it. As I recall, you were always a voracious reader of fantasy novels.”

“So hot, isn’t it? The ladies love a guy who can discuss George RR Martin in detail. If I knew how to play Dungeons and Dragons, the package would be complete.”

Sam has never understood his appeal, no matter how many women throw themselves at him. “Stop. You seemed to find plenty of girls willing to ignore your nerd side.”

“I was kind of holding out for a girl who wouldn’t need to ignore it,” he replies.

Matt always claimed the girl Sam was holding out for was me, and the truth is if I hadn’t already had a boyfriend, I’d have been interested. He’s cute, and we probably had far more in common than I ever did with Matt.

“I’m sure there are plenty of those too,” I reply. It’s only after the words are out that I hear how potentially flirtatious they sound. Am I flirting? I don’t even know.

He tells me he’d be happy to read what I’ve got and we make tentative plans to meet up when I’m home at the end of August.

“Hey, Tali?” he says, catching me before I hang up. “It’ll be good to see you again. And I’m so glad you finally dumped Matt.”

The call ends, and I sit staring at the phone in my hand. I’ve told myself Sam is only a friend for so long that it’s a little surreal to consider any other possibility. And while the idea of dating again terrifies me, he’d be a little less terrifying than anyone else.

I’m still holding the phone when it chimes with an incoming text…this time from my boss. I’m less irritated than I should be that Hayes is now texting at midnight.

Hayes: Are you awake?

Me: Let me guess…unresponsive female in your home and you need me to come dig a shallow grave.

Hayes: No, that’s more of a 3 AM text. The bartender here is a twat. What’s the most irritating drink we can order?

Me: It’s called The Hayes. At least that’s what irritates me personally.

Hayes: Always so sharp-tongued.

Me: Yes. Like a snake. And you’re Satan, so it’s perfect for you.