The guy Frances had "ghosted" was brother of the bride Allan, and they met him at dinner that night.
Sebastian's mood was already decidedly gloomy so maybe it was a tougher blow that Allan seemed like a decent guy. The way
Frances reacted to him, with that smile of hers, and how things between them were clearly not hostile.
She would probably date this dude. And even if she didn't, he didn't seem angry at her, she didn't seem put off by him, and there might have been no awkwardness after all.
He didn't need to be here.
Still, he had a role to play and he wasn't going to be caught faking it. He did all the things he was meant to do. He held her hand, sat beside her at the assigned dinner table. He might have excused himself to get her a new drink from the bar himself, more times than usual, because the candles and lights hanging from the trees and the breeze against her hair were all conspiring to make her look lovelier than she had ever been, and also infinitely more inaccessible.
The mango-watermelon cooler order was taking a long time, so he asked for two of those at the bar, and waited.
"Oh God, the way you look at her." It was Frances's friend Rachel, the bride. They'd met earlier that day. She was looking at him now, sort of amused and curious, and Sebastian figured he'd need to keep this short so he didn't screw anything up.
"She's beautiful," he said. Truth.
"I know you've been friends for a long time," she said. "It's wonderful that you're together now. What happened, Sebastian?"
"She didn't tell you?"
"No, she didn't. I wasn't sure who she'd be bringing to this wedding. When she RSVP'd your name, I jumped a little."
"So what did she say about me then? If my being here surprised you."
Rachel laughed. "That you're the hottest guy she knows. It's probably true. But also that it was 'Never Gonna Happen' between the two of you."
"Why...why would she say that?"
"Girl knows what she's doing. If she said you were a mess when you first met, and a mess when you started working together, I believe her. If she kept her distance there was a good reason."
"We're together all the time," he heard himself saying. "Every day at work. At lunch. She was never distant."
"Hmm. There's thirst, and she lets herself take little sips. Lets herself like you a little while still protecting herself. You get it? Because too much is too much."
Because he was a mess.
What he was hearing was stinging him, but also it was true. Fran had every right to describe him as that, based on how he was. He was not very good in those relationships. He was not the best at adapting to being single, either. That conversation about staying single, that stuck with him. It made it very clear that she was not just waiting for him to break up with anyone to hook up. She really meant to keep him this close and no closer. For a long time.
So when she agreed to date, that was all that it was? Sips?
"So what did you do, Sebastian? How'd you finally get her?"
Well damn if that hadn't been exactly the thing he was asking himself. Since Christmas. Since kissing her. Since telling her he loved her and watching her process it and dismiss it as part of the act. What else did he have to do?
Maybe there was nothing else because this was the end of the line.
Sebastian forced his smile. "I just asked her. And she said yes."
***
Wait a freaking second. He couldn't be mad at her, could he? Sebastian Saldua, hottest coolest guy she knew. One time she had lost her shit when materials they'd sent over to a conference had gotten wet in transit, and she was yelling about incompetent people who weren't even there, but he didn't lose his cool the entire time, and in fact talked her through it until she felt so much better.
Was this his style of angry? If yes then it was quiet angry. He was holding her hand but in the most lifeless way possible, like a Ken doll had slotted its cold stuck-together fingers into hers. The weather was perfect. It was a great night. They were planning to have sex at some point. At this beautiful beach resort.
Not if he was being distant and cold and couldn't wait to get back home.
They still acted like boyfriend and girlfriend at the dinner, but with the air of boyfriend being quietly secretly angry. This was not effective at all.
After dinner, the walk back to their cabana was short; theirs was one of the closest to the beach itself. It wasn't even that late, but Frances wanted to give him the chance to explain himself...and maybe go back out to the party by herself if he was going to be that much of a jerk.
She went right for the bathroom, brushed her teeth. When she stepped back into the room, he was looking at her. Unbuttoning his shirt. Still looking like a boy right before a tantrum.
"So I wanted to ask how you want it," Sebastian said.
"Sex?"
"Yeah."
"Like, now?"
"Now is a good time."
"Not if you're being obnoxious."
"I'm not—" Oh but he was, and even Sebastian had to stop and take a breath and assess his position on the jerk scale. "I just don't appreciate being brought all the way here just to get fucked."
"What are you talking about?"
"Or be fucked. What exactly is this weekend you have planned for me, Fran?"
Oh my God. This really was a tantrum. "What are you talking about? This is exactly what it is. It's the beach. It's a wedding. It's two nights in this lovely room. It can be whatever we want it to be. And the people here think you and I are together and already do it, so what does it matter if we do? Or not—if you don't want to. Oh my God."
"And then what happens after?"
"After? After, I don't know. Did you want to go diving? Or sightseeing?"
"I meant me. What happens to me, after this?"
Frances really truly did not understand what he was talking about. Did she promise him something in her sleep? What was it that she'd done that was so horrible?
"It's our third date." He nearly spit the words out. "The one that you're so proud to say is always the last one, when you date people. This is all-out, Fran. The best third date we could ever come up with. You seem to be making it count. What do you do with me after this?"
Oh my God. Exactly the words that formed in her head, and right when their entire friendship flashed before her eyes. He was wrong, so wrong, about this being anything close to the last. She'd fake-date him everywhere, every time, if he'd let her.
Fran, that would be real dating.
Fran, that would be an actual relationship.
"Sebastian," she said.
"I understand why I'm not an easy choice for you," he said. At some point he had started buttoning his shirt back up. "We've been friends through my biggest mistakes. I know you've seen me make them and you know that you could do better than me. And you would be right. And you already have. I mean all this time, you've stayed just far enough and that's probably the best thing to do. I apologize then if I've overstepped, when I kissed you. When I said I love you. This is not your fault, okay?" Sebastian stuck his feet back into the tsinelas he'd been wearing at the beach, and headed for the door.
***
He was allergic to wine. He didn't like light beer. He said no to the tequila, because he'd need to go back to their room and the only thing that would make this situation worse was if he overdid it, started vomiting, and made it Frances's job to take care of him.
So Sebastian took the apple-flavored not-exactly-beer the bartender offered as the only other alternative, and took that to the beach.
It was too late to find another room at the resort. Maybe he could just sleep on a chair by the pool, and arrange a rental car to take her back to Manila whenever she wanted. Frances would enjoy the rest of her vacation at this gorgeous place, and fuck some other guy if she wanted to, and reset to date number one with that guy. Streak not broken.
He asked himself if it was his pride that was more hurt than anything else. Was this the first time someone deliberately didn't want a relationship with him? No it was not. It was not his first and only rejection.
Yeah, but this was rejection from her.
They could remain friends, if that was what she wanted. He thought of what needed to be done at work and how the stress from their new circumstances could be mitigated. He could turn it off, maybe, the feeling of needing her. He'd have to, if she really didn't want him. Never Gonna Happen, what the fuck does that mean.
"Sebastian."
"Frances."
"Come back to the room, please?"
"It's early. Your friends are probably partying or drinking somewhere. You might want to find them instead."
"Sebastian."
He'd wandered over to where the sand was still wet. No other place to go but further out into the dark beach, or back inside to a party where he knew no one else.
"When did you stop faking it?" she asked.
Sebastian could barely see his own beer bottle and yet her face was clear as day. Love was the only explanation. "I don't even know."
"When you kissed me?"
"Seems like it." He remembered the kiss. Of course; it was seared into his memory. "But I'm sure it happened way before."
Frances stepped closer. She was still in her dress from the dinner party, but barefoot. Wet sand clung to her toes. "Did you love me when you asked me to that silly Halloween party?"
Did he? All he knew was he loved her now, and it was strange to try and remember when he didn't.
"Because I love you, Sebastian. I think I've known that for a while. What I didn't know was if we could really be together."
"Because I'm 'a mess.'"
"Where'd you get that from? Oh God, you talked to Rachel." She was shaking her head. "You don't think a girl you never showed any interest in will put up some defenses over time? So people don't pity her and think she's hanging on and desperate?"
"You're not desperate."
"Fucking right I'm not. Are you saying you want us together?"
"I'm saying if you want me you can have me. Whatever that means to you." Sebastian remembered his drink and took a sip. Remembered where they were, and pointed to the party. "Look, this weekend is for you and your friends. You can still go and find them and have fun, if you want."
"There's time for that. I want to have the best time at this wedding, and I want you. I want the best time with you. I love you, but we shouldn't do anything if we're not ready."
"I think I am."
She squinted. "Are you sure?"
"I did all the things you said I should do while single. Did some of it alone. Did some of it with you. I know what I want."
"Will you tell me what that is?"
It was the easiest question. He had his answer ready. "Yes."
***
You know what they say about the third date. Fran had forgotten that other people thought about sex when they said that, because she did not apply that to her life at all. Sometimes, it happened on the first or second date. Sometimes it was never going to be an option with a guy, no matter how many times he paid for dinner. But well, joke was on her—third date with this guy and she was right there taking his clothes off. Not the easiest thing to do while he was kissing one of her breasts, his hands desperately reaching for the hem of her skirt. His hand found her thigh. Her fingers found his erection. The sound of pleasure/pain that came out of him was so satisfying, too satisfying.
"Condom now?" She asked him.
"Please," he replied, with a stifled laugh. "Destroy me now."
It was nice, by the way, to know what he meant by that. To have a shared vocabulary that she could never ever have with someone else, over only three dates or less. Sometimes the shared memories were a burden—as he said, she'd seen him through his mistakes. Not that he himself was a mistake.
She saw him, period.
Their rhythm was off; they'd need to get better at this. But it was fine, they gave themselves time, switched positions a bit, finally figured out how she could come and she did. And it was early. They had another night at this luxurious beach getaway to go.
And more nights and days after that.
Sebastian kissed her hard as he came. And Frances found herself giggling into his kiss, feeling something make complete sense to her for the first time.
They made sense, together.
This was a good third date.
The End
Thank you for reading!