Chapter Text
Gerri should’ve known it was a bad idea to go to a bar with Roman, of all people, especially outside of normal working hours. But to be fair, it was supposed to be a meeting with a Japanese investor, who she now realizes is nowhere to be seen.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic,” she tells Roman as she slides into the booth at the back of the bar. “Where’s Aoki?”
“Oh, did you not see his email?” Roman asks, and nibbles on the cherry in his cocktail. Gerri came straight from a networking event so she hasn’t had time to check. “Flight got delayed til tomorrow. Commercial air travel is for suckers and fuckers,” he explains. “Hey, Ger, you ever been a Mile High Club member? Or has kissing corporate ass on jetplanes ruined you for airborne fornication?”
Gerri narrows her eyes at him. “How many drinks have you had?”
“Oh, you know.” He waves away the question with one hand. “Enough to pass the time.”
A waiter passes by and Gerri considers ordering a martini, but thinks better of it. “If Aoki’s not coming, shouldn’t we call it a night?” she suggests, glancing at her watch. “I mean, I enjoy your company, Rome, but I see you nearly every day.”
He takes a swig of the sticky whiskey concoction in his glass. “Yeah, but how often do you see me at night? Alone?” he asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. “What if this is a sign from the universe that we’re overdue for some good ol’-fashioned Roman-Gerri flirty-dirty time? C’mon, get a little sloshed with me, stay awhile.”
She pulls out her phone to check her calendar for tomorrow, runs some Google Maps calculations on the distance between the bar and her place, and casts a glance over toward the backbar, where they’ve got a bottle of her favorite gin in stock. “Fine,” she says at last. “If you behave yourself.”
Once Gerri’s got her drink in hand, Roman gently kicks her stockinged ankle under the table and says, “So! Been on any hot dates lately? Or is poor old Laurie too decrepit to keep up with your cosmopolitan party-girl lifestyle?”
Gerri rolls her eyes. “I’m… between beaux at the moment, actually. Not that it’s any of your business,” she says softly.
He drops his jaw in a mock-shocked expression. “Oooh, Gerri Kellman is single and ready to tingle!” he exclaims. “If you’re, y’know, frustrated, and your no doubt well-stocked nightstand drawer isn’t cutting it, you know who to call.” He winks, and she laughs in spite of herself.
“You’re not exactly the poster child for easing frustrations,” she points out. “In fact, I think you frustrate me more than almost anyone.”
She means it in the non-sexual sense, but realizes too late that of course he’s not going to take it that way. He grins impishly. “Oh yeah? Hot. Well, all the more reason to let me into those granny panties one of these days.”
The gin leaves a cool burn down Gerri’s throat that’s invigorating. She’s just tipsy enough now, and it’s just dark enough in the room, that this conversation merely seems like a bad idea, rather than an atrocious, unacceptable, absolutely off-limits one. “Rumor is your sexual skills aren’t much to write home about, so I’m not sure that’d be worth my time,” she ventures to say.
He frowns. “And who, pray tell, is spreading these rumors? Follow-up question: whoever it is, would it be better to eat them out, or have them killed? Strategy-wise, I mean. Reputationally speaking. In your professional opinion.”
Gerri shrugs. “Came up in the oppo research,” she says. “Your exes speak highly of your wit, but not of your dick.” It’s a mean thing to say, in exactly the way she secretly relishes being mean to Roman, but her blood alcohol level is just high enough to make it feel fine. Fun, even.
Roman scoffs, but doesn’t argue. “Sounds about right,” he says. “But you like freaky shit, yeah? And it’s definitely freaky how bad I am at sex, so maybe we could work something out. You know, like symbiosis, or whatever the fuck.”
She’s struck, as ever, by his relentless determination to flirt with her even when it actively works against his own interests. It’s one of the dumbest things about him and also one of the things that keeps her answering his calls and texts even when she’d otherwise rather not.
Gerri laughs. “Calling you names through a bathroom door is one thing, but when it comes to actual sex, my standards are high,” she says, tone intentionally icy in a way that makes Roman’s eyes light up.
“How high?” he asks, too eagerly. “Are we talking Olympian level? Do you only fuck gold-medal cunnilinguists? Or do you stoop to the occasional bronze when you’re slumming it?” He smiles at her and it makes her belly feel warm and fluttery, although that could be the martini.
She knows she should’ve shut this down several minutes ago – probably shouldn’t have even stayed once she found out Aoki wasn’t coming. But it’s been a long day, and Roman’s gravitational pull is too warm and rich and heady for her to resist, especially after half a martini. “Have you ever read She Comes First?” she leans in to murmur. “I’ve gifted a copy to a few men I’ve been with. Their performance always improved dramatically after reading it.”
Roman’s eyes go wide. “Your pussy has a required reading list? Like a fucking… existential philosophy class? Jesus.” He sips his drink. “If I decide to read it, should I write you a book report, or is it more of an oral examination kind of thing?” Even he knows he’s going too far now; his ears have gone pink and he won’t meet her eye, despite the reckless bravado of his question.
Gerri snorts. “Reading the books on a Harvard syllabus doesn’t guarantee you’ll get in, Roman,” she says. “It just means you’ve read the books.”
He gives her shoulder a playful little shove. “You think I couldn’t get into Harvard with Roy money? I fuckin’ did,” he claims. “My personal essay on my application was titled ‘How Does a Brand-New Lecture Hall Sound, You Greedy Ivy Fucks?’”
Gerri chuckles. “Money and influence aren’t the only prerequisites for getting into my pants, Roman,” she says, and tries really fucking hard not to think about the way this conversation is making her cunt feel warm and alive.
“What are the prereqs, fuckin’ Econ 101 and Intro to Fingerbanging?” Roman asks. “Sign me up, professor.”
Gerri signals the waiter to bring the check. She counts her answers off on her fingers: “Charm, kindness, intelligence, sex appeal, and sexual skill,” she says. “All equally important.”
Roman thinks this over. “Three out of five ain’t bad,” he says. “You really think I should read that book? What’s it called again? She Comes All Over My Face?” If he’s trying to make her visualize explicit imagery with him in a starring role, unfortunately it’s working.
“She Comes First,” she corrects him. “It’s by Ian Kerner.”
“And if I read it, you’ll let me test out what I learn?”
She smirks, and shakes her head disbelievingly. “If you read it, your life will be enriched, and I may take you slightly more seriously as a contender next time I’m feeling, as you say, frustrated,” she concedes.
He nods and throws down his gold card when the check arrives. As the waiter is running his card, Roman leans close to Gerri and whispers into her ear, “I’m a visual learner, so maybe you could text me a photo of the relevant areas so I can study up,” and she can’t help but laugh.
“Absolutely not, Roman,” she says with a smile. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”
He signs the check with a flourish. “I know. But you like it, and that’s the important thing. Right, professor?”