Day 14: Harlequin Week by Lenore (Part 1/2)
Title: 101 Ways To Get Lucky (In Love)
Fandom: SGA
Author: scribblinlenore
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 18,000-ish
Prompt: Tyler Watts is rich, gorgeous and at the top of his game-except someone just moved the goalposts! Now Tyler realizes he is sorely lacking the one status symbol that everybody seems to have…the perfect wife and family. Tyler needs help, so he hires a relationship coach. Single-mom Mary is out of her depth with Tyler… She may be an expert, but not when it comes to her own relationships! And every day she spends with Tyler makes her wish that she could be the one to fill his vacancy for wife…
Notes: Big thanks to my science consultant mecurtin and lots of love to barely_bean for beta reading and encouragement all along the way. Also, I want to thank my prompt for being so fabulous! Never have I loved a prompt more! :)
101 Ways To Get Lucky (In Love)
by Lenore
#27: Winning isn't everything. This is love we're talking about, not Fight Club. If it's so important to always be right, smug self-congratulations may be all you end up with.
Rodney McKay sprawled in his leather executive's chair the way a king might occupy his throne, with an expansive sense of his own worth, secure in the knowledge of his dominion over everything he touched. Newspapers covered his desk, and he held one unfurled in his hands, savoring his moment of triumph.
"I won," he declared to his empty office. "I won, I won, I won, I won. And Kavanaugh lost."
This last point in particular widened the smile he'd been wearing since the news broke that McKay International (and not Kavanaugh Unlimited) had been awarded the 12.7 billion dollar U.S. government contract to oversee the nation's conversion to hydrogen-based fuel.
"Is it safe to come in? Or will the smugness overpower me like a cloud of toxic gas?" Laura Cadman, his often fired, always rehired, director of public relations popped her head around the door.
He waved her in. "Come join the celebration of the glory that is my genius."
Cadman's blonde ponytail bobbed in its usual perky and annoying fashion as she sauntered over to his desk. "Glad to see it hasn't gone to your head, McKay."
"Did you catch what Bill Foley wrote about me in The Wall Street Journal?" He snapped the paper open and started to read, "The driving force behind McKay International is the company's namesake, an irascible genius and limitlessly energetic businessman who has nearly singled-handedly propelled the revolution in renewable, environmentally responsible fuels."
Cadman gave Rodney an appraising look. "Well, he got the irascible part right."
Rodney had good reason to be generous today, so he spared the usual firing, and merely demanded, "Do you want something?"
"As a matter of fact I do." She made herself at home on the corner of his desk, although he'd told her time and again he'd rather not have her posterior all over his important papers. "First, I want to make sure you're not wearing that to the press conference." She made a rude gesture at his tie.
He clutched his exploding kiwis protectively. "What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing," she said sweetly, "if you're trying to blind the press."
"Hey!"
She breezed on, "Second, I don't want you caught off guard when some reporter brings up Kavanaugh's passive-aggressive McRanty pants comments. Apparently, he never got the memo that the loser should offer a pithy 'congratulations to my worthy opponent' or better yet stay out of the public eye entirely."
Rodney frowned. "What could Kavanaugh possibly have to say? I won." His glee returned in a giddy hiccup. "I won, I won, I won, I won, I won." He took a breath. "And he lost."
Cadman rolled her eyes. "You've been doing that all morning, haven't you?" She flipped open a copy of Energy Industry Daily. "Here. Let me read it to you. Rodney McKay is a perfectly competent scientist--"
"Competent!" Rodney huffed. "He only wishes he had a spark of my genius. A glimmer of a hint of a spark, even."
"--he probably won't mess up the conversion to hydrogen fuel too badly. He'll certainly give it all his attention. Days, nights, weekends, national holidays. It's not like he has anyone to go home to, now is it?."
Rodney scowled. "What is that supposed to mean? I have a cat."
"Some people put stock in human relationships. Go figure."
"I'll have you know that I'm not lacking for female companionship." Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, daring her to contradict him.
"I don't want to hear about your commercial transactions, McKay."
Rodney made a face, but then a truly appalling possibility occurred to him. "Wait. Are you trying to tell me that Kavanaugh can one-up me just because he has a family?"
"In some circles, having loved ones is considered important. And by 'some circles,' of course, I mean humanity."
"That's ridiculous!" Rodney insisted hotly. "He doesn't even like his wife. And one of his brats is wall-eyed."
Cadman made a chastising sound that reminded him disturbingly of his mother.
"Well, the kid is!" Rodney insisted. He slumped sideways in his chair, some of the shine rubbed off his crown, but then the solution to the problem handily popped into his head, as it always did. He snapped his fingers. "Fine. Two can play that game. Cadman, I need to acquire a family."
She reared back in mock terror. "Don't look at me."
"Oh, trust me. I wasn't. That does beg the question, though. Where am I going to find a woman worthy of bearing my offspring?"
"No, McKay. The question is, with that charming personality of yours, what woman is going to give you the time of day." She laughed and slid off his desk. "Got to go. Loads to do. I'm booking you on every news program known to man. Good luck with the wife shopping." Her ponytail bobbed all the way across his office and out the door.
It was rare that Rodney needed advice of a personal nature. He did his best to merge so completely with his work that nothing else existed. But when the other arenas of life refused to be beaten back with a whip and a chair, there was only one person he turned to.
He buzzed his assistant. "Come here, Mildred. I want you."
A moment later, she trudged into his office. "That Alexander Graham Bell joke never gets old, Dr. M."
"I'm glad you appreciate my sense of humor." He waved her to a chair. "Mildred, I have a matter of a somewhat delicate nature--"
"You want a wife." Rodney stared in amazement, and Mildred added, "Laura mentioned something about it."
"Oh, yeah? Well, someone should mention to her," he shouted in the direction of the door, "that she's fired!" He took a breath. "So, any ideas?"
"Dr. M, you just happen to be in luck. There's this new relationship book out that's 'by a man for men'." She made air quotes. "'Everyone's talking about it. Helped my Dudley find his Gwendolyn." Rodney must have looked blank, because she added. "Dudley's my son."
"I knew that," he insisted.
"Uh-huh," Mildred was noncommittal. "Anyways, maybe that's a place to start."
"Order me a copy from Amazon." Rodney cheerfully resumed his kingly sprawling, pleased that the problem-solving was already underway.
"I can do you one better, Dr. M. This Mr. Sheppard that wrote it? He lives out in Pasadena. Word is he gives private consultations if the case is dire enough." She said in a more confidential tone, "I saw that on Oprah."
"Call him, call him now!" Rodney waved his hands wildly. "Tell him what an absolute emergency this is. If I'm going to be married before the stockholder's mid-year meeting, I'm going to need professional help."
"You don't say," Mildred said under her breath.
"I heard that!"
He was tempted to fire her, but he didn’t have complete confidence she'd agree to be rehired.
***
#79: If you always do the same things, go the same places, work and home and work and home, you're going to be single for a long, long time. Seriously. Who are you going to meet sitting on the couch? No one. Unless you're lucky enough to have a really cute Fed-ex delivery person on your route.
In a purely geographical sense, Pasadena was not far from downtown Los Angeles, but factoring in traffic, it could conceivably take less time to drive to Calcutta. Rodney darted from lane to lane, trying to find some glimpse of daylight on the 110, to no avail. Cars stuttered along, stop-and-go, stop-and-go, and Rodney blamed John Sheppard for each and every point his blood pressure rose along the way. What sensible person lived this far inland? By the time Rodney finally had the city limits in sight, he'd convinced himself that Sheppard's taste in real estate was nothing less than a conspiracy to waste his valuable time.
His car's GPS system guided him past the Rose Bowl, into a quiet residential neighborhood, onto a tree-lined street. He pulled up outside a white hacienda style house. Mildred's instructions said to walk about the side to the back garden gate. Rodney rang the bell, and a voice asked, "Mr. McKay?"
"Dr. McKay." After the drive he'd endured, he was in no mood to be short-changed on his academic credentials.
"My bad," the man sounded amused. "Come on in."
There was a buzz, and the lock clicked open. Inside, a man came forward to shake hands. He was tall with dark messy hair and the kind of made-for-TV good looks that Southern California was practically drowning in. "John Sheppard. Good to meet you. Let's talk in my office." He led the way. "Make yourself at home. Can I get you a latte? Mineral water?"
He smiled, all casual surfer charm, and Rodney had the sinking feeling that the office reflected his personality, a mix of fraternity house ambience and the décor of an eight-year-old boy's bedroom, primary colors and beanbag chairs and model airplanes sitting on the ping pong table that served as a desk. He reached the obvious conclusion that pretty much anyone could get a book published nowadays.
"Do you have any actual qualifications?" he gave voice to his skepticism.
Sheppard stopped in the middle of pouring his Perrier, obviously not used to being questioned, or at least not so abruptly. He broke into a smile, a genuine one this time. "You get right to the point, don't you? Well, Dr. McKay, everything I write about, all the advice I give, comes from practical experience, from trying things and observing, seeing what works and what doesn't."
"Huh." It was hardly impressive, but Rodney had a matrimonial schedule to keep, and no time to waste shopping around for relationship coaches.
"Would it make you feel better if I had a degree in psychology?"
Rodney plunked down onto a non-beanbag chair. "Not in the least. So my assistant explained the situation, right? I need to get married and have kids. As soon as possible."
"Need?" Sheppard asked politely, eyebrow raised, as he took a seat behind his desk.
"It's come to my attention recently that a man in my position doesn't have everything until he has a family. Being mostly successful has never been a goal of mine."
"Plus," John said slowly, "you probably want to get married."
Rodney shrugged. He wasn't sure he understood the relevance.
"Huh." John tapped his finger against his chin. "Let me ask you some questions, Dr. McKay. To help me get a sense of where we need to start."
He waved his hand. "Rodney. If you're going to grill me about the nitty-gritty of my personal life, I think I'd be more comfortable if you didn't sound like one of my employees."
Sheppard grinned. "Okay, Rodney. So, how many dates have you had during the last two months?"
He snorted. "Please. I was in the corporate dogfight of my life. Don't you read the papers? I've been on every front page for the past week."
"O-kay. Then tell me about a woman you've found attractive lately."
"The only women I know are my assistant, who's my mother's age and wears orthopedic shoes, and Cadman, who's the most insufferable person on Earth."
This last bit caught Sheppard's interest. "Maybe there's something in that--"
"Please." Rodney made a face.
Sheppard let out his breath. "All right. So, think about a woman you've noticed on the street recently. Tell me about her."
Rodney sniffed dismissively. "I never pay attention to people. It's a distraction."
"When exactly was the last time you asked someone out?" Sheppard was frowning.
Rodney did the calculations. He wasn't sure commercial transactions counted, so he left those out. "Two-- no, three years ago. Katie Brown, a botanist, to my sister's wedding. She and Jeannie still keep in touch, I've heard."
"So…you have virtually no contact with available women?"
"Yes. Well," Rodney said stiffly, "I suppose you could put it that way."
"I'd say we have our starting point then." Sheppard grinned and reached behind him into a filing cabinet. "Here's the first step to meeting the future Mrs. Dr. Rodney McKay." He pushed a flyer across the table.
Rodney squinted at it. "Internet dating? That's the advice I'm paying you obscene gobs of money for?"
Sheppard sprawled back in his chair. "Didn't think of it yourself, did you?"
Rodney crossed his arms over his chest.
"That's a no, right?" Sheppard was insufferably sure of himself. "Look, Rodney. Internet dating is just a tool. The point is: you need to meet women if you're ever going to marry one. It sounds like you spend all your time at the office. You'll need to shake things up a little if you're going to have someone in your life." John held up his hand before Rodney could protest. "I said a little. And don't tell me how busy you are. You're the one who wants a wife."
Rodney let out a sigh and grudgingly scrutinized the step-by-step instructions. "What if all the women I meet are English majors? Or believe neo-con politics makes good sense?"
"You'll tailor your profile to attract the kind of woman you're interested in. Plus, the Internet dating service I recommend has a sophisticated matching system. You should meet only well-educated, professional women."
"Sounds elitist."
Sheppard shifted in his chair. "Well--"
"I didn't mean that as a criticism." Rodney folded the paper and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "So…is that it for the advice?"
Sheppard nodded. "For now. Sign up. Post your profile. Exchange some emails. Go on some dates. Call me afterwards, so we can do a post-mortem. See where the trouble spots are."
Rodney stood. "Gathering data and analyzing it. At least that's an approach I can relate to."
"I had a feeling." Sheppard bounded to his feet, grinning. "You're gonna knock 'em dead.
Rodney pushed his shoulders back and lifted his chin and let Sheppard walk him out to the hall, newly confident that he was God's gift to women. Only when the door closed behind him did it occur to him that he'd gone from reasonable skepticism to cheerfully drinking the Internet dating Kool-aid in a span of twenty minutes. Clearly, the art of persuasion came as naturally to Sheppard as it did to the proverbial used car salesman, and Rodney was suddenly not at all certain why he was taking dating advice from a man who could probably charm women out of their panties with a careless compliment and one of those lazy smiles of his.
While mulling this over, Rodney managed to turn the wrong way and ended up not at the back door, but in the kitchen, under the suspicious gaze of a kid sitting at the table doing her homework. She had a wild shock of dark hair that fell in her face, wide green eyes, a certain impudence in the way she stared at Rodney. There was absolutely no doubting her parentage. She had "Sheppard Junior" written all over her.
"I'm Carly," she said, idly twirling her pen, "and you're not supposed to be here."
"Dr. Rodney McKay. Uh-- Rodney. And no, no, I'm not."
"Stethoscope doctor?" she asked.
He shook his head. "The other kind."
"Oh." She didn't sound especially impressed.
"Well, I should probably--" But then he caught sight of her work, a three-dimensional model of a glucose molecule, or at least what had been a glucose molecule before she'd twisted it into a lopsided figure eight, wrong, wrong, so wrong he didn't even know how to quantify its wrongness, and he scowled at her. "What are they teaching you in school? Clearly not chemistry."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, you just paid for relationship advice from my dad. So who's the one who doesn't know anything?"
Rodney opened his mouth, but no cutting remark conveniently came out. The most annoying part was that the kid was probably right.
Sheppard Junior took pity on him. "Just kidding. Anyway, I know how it's supposed to work. I was just seeing how bad I could mess it up." She quickly put the molecule back together again, in its correct chair-like form this time, and Rodney could breathe easier. "See, it's for extra credit, and we're supposed to work in pairs, and Jimmy Newly expects me to do everything. Because he's a stupid jerk like that. Only I don't need extra credit, and he does." She met Rodney's gaze head on and flipped her hair back over her shoulder, as if daring him to disapprove.
Rodney stared. "That's--"
"Mean? Spiteful? Vindictive? Malicious? Lacking an appropriate spirit of generosity?" She seemed honestly interested in his choice of adjective.
He smiled broadly. "Ingenious."
She tilted her head, giving him a second look. "Maybe you're not as lame as I thought."
"Thank you," he said dryly.
"No, really," she insisted. "You're actually pretty cool." She smiled, and it was just like her father's.
Rodney had never imagined that an eleven-year-old's approval could be so gratifying, and yet there it was. He said goodbye and went out to the car thinking, "Definitely Sheppard Junior."
***
#13: Not everything is meant to be. A date that doesn't take isn't necessarily a failure. Think of it as spring training, a chance to brush up on your skills.
It probably should have come as some sort of warning sign that the most (one might even go so far as to say the only) satisfying part of Rodney's dating experience was talking to Sheppard after each futile travesty.
"Her name was Lola," he griped after the first date.
"You knew that going in."
"But I didn't know she used to be a showgirl! Besides, she hates cats."
"Hmm. Okay."
"Okay? That's it? That's all you have to say?"
"I always think there's something wrong with people who don't like animals."
"Me, too. So, you have pets?"
"Fruit Loop. A bull terrier. My daughter named him."
"I had a dog when I was a kid. He ran away."
"I'm sure it wasn't anything personal, Rodney."
Rodney was tight-lipped about the next encounter, "We didn't hit it off."
"You don't want to, maybe, fill in a few more details?"
"No."
"No?"
"No!" Rodney took a breath and mumbled, "Fine. She said she was looking for a man who was attractive as well as successful."
There was a pause. "So the problem was that she was stupid and had bad taste." John sounded genuinely angry.
Then came the one who asked about Rodney's childhood. After he went into some painful detail about how he and his sister had to compete for their father's affection through their intellectual achievements, mentioning the drill sergeant routine of prime/not prime that had been a staple of the McKay family dinner table since Rodney was old enough to talk, his date promptly prodded him into playing a round.
"She didn't get any right! Not even when I gave up hope and threw out single digits. She practically went cross-eyed when I started with 127,923."
"Not prime," John said off-handedly.
That took a moment to sink in. "Oh, my God. You're smart! You've just been hiding it under all that hair."
"Give me your dating site password. I want to beef up your profile, so you get more Mensa members and fewer human Barbie dolls."
Rodney gave him the code. "Since you brought up Mensa--"
"I passed the test, but never got around to actually joining."
"Because you were too busy with your important intellectual work teaching men how to bag babes?"
John laughed. "Don't ever change, Rodney. Seriously."
Rodney didn't realize he'd developed a tendency to start sentences with "John says..." or "John thinks..." or "Even though John was too focused on writing his bubble-gum advice books to actually join Mensa..." until Cadman started making fun of him for it. Rodney's genius did not, as a rule, extend to introspection, and truth be told, he hadn't even really noticed when Sheppard stopped being Sheppard and became John.
A bad case of transference, Cadman called it, right before Rodney fired her.
The next time Rodney got the urge to talk to John, he felt oddly self-conscious about it, and after due consideration, settled on calling Sheppard Junior instead. This seemed like a perfectly reasonable compromise until the phone started ringing and it occurred to him to wonder if he could end up registering as a sex offender for using somewhat dubious methods to acquire an eleven-year-old's cell phone number.
"Um, hello." He cleared his throat. "This is Dr.-- Uh-- Rodney."
There was a significant pause. "You know I'm too young for you, right?"
"No! I mean, yes! I wasn't-- I just wanted to see how your extra credit project went."
"Wait. Are you calling because you're pathetically mooning over my father?" Sheppard Junior's voice sharpened with suspicion.
"No! Of course not."
"Because that happens."
"I'll have you know I'm a man of science."
Not that this made much sense as a defense against having a crush, but Sheppard Junior seemed mollified by it.
"The project went great! At least, from a getting back at Jimmy Newly standpoint. You really should have been there, Rodney. We had to present our stuff to the class, and I told Jimmy Newly that since I'd done all the work he had to do the talking. And I gave him 'talking points," about how the formation of molecules was kind of like sex, and I convinced him that chemistry used the same vocabulary that we learned in health class. And he started rattling off all this stuff, and it got kind of raunchy there at a certain point, and Mrs. Darcy got all red in the face and made him stop."
Her mirth dampened a little at the next part of the story.
"Then, of course, Jimmy Newly ratted me out, and Mrs. Darcy got kind of mad. I have to stay after school for a week and help her sort through all the boxes of decorations for her bulletin boards. She knows how much I hate that. But it was still totally worth it. Jimmy Newly thinks he's God's gift because he has floppy hair, and I'm supposed to ignore the fact that he's a jerk and be all giggly about him and stuff." She snorted. "He so had it coming."
"Well, it's good that you can't be taken in by things like...floppy hair."
"Yeah. My dad warned me about stuff."
"Yes, yes. That was very...forward-looking of him."
Rodney was beginning to think it was too bad no one had ever warned him.
His phone beeped, another call, and he told Sheppard Junior goodbye. He picked up the other line and had John's voice in his ear, "Hey, Rodney, what are you doing--"
"Nothing! I swear. I was just--"
Pathetically mooning over you to your daughter.
"--tomorrow evening?" John sounded amused.
"Um. What?"
"I have a meeting downtown with my publisher. I thought we could grab a bite and try to work out why you keep sabotaging yourself on dates. Why do you sound all furtive and guilty?"
"I do not-- Wait. Did you just ask me out to dinner?"
John laughed. "You can't put anything past a genius. Cana Rose at seven. Don't be late."
***
#45: Forget what you think your type is. Men who love blondes end up marrying brunettes every day of the week. If you're convinced you can only be happy with someone who loves sumo wrestling and taxidermy, that's a great way to stay single. Put the checklist away, and you may be surprised to see who's been right there in front of you the whole time.
The fact that Rodney's most successful date so far was with Sheppard probably should have clued him in to something. Of course, it helped that John chose a place that served actual meat and not the god-awful bean sprout patties he'd endured his last time out, with Celia the macrobiotic dietician. It also didn't hurt that John was wearing jeans, comfortably worn, snug-fitting through his well-muscled thighs, making Rodney all too happily aware that John was a dedicated runner.
Over sirloins and Cabernet, Rodney grew downright expansive, telling stories about his scientific triumphs, and unlike most of his dates, John's face didn't glaze over at the first mention of thermal loading.
"The real breakthrough, of course, was finding a more efficient way to extract hydrogen." Rodney gestured with his fork. "Traditional electrolysis wastes up to three quarters of the potential energy. We had to do better than that if we were ever going to make it widely available as an alternative to oil."
Sheppard toyed with the olive in his martini glass, looking interested. "Really? Don't internal combustion engines convert only…what? Thirty percent?"
Rodney stared, he couldn't help himself, and Sheppard grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You have to know a thing or two about physics to fly helicopters, Rodney."
Rodney's eyebrows shot up. "You were a pilot?" Although he wasn't sure why he was surprised. Sheppard was a walking advertisement for flyboy rakishness.
"Ten years in the Air Force. So, your breakthrough?"
"Yes, yes. I was heading up a government lab at the time, top secret stuff." Rodney waved his hand. "I can't go into details, but suffice to say, there were at least a dozen other researchers all working on a new extraction process, including a hot blonde who wouldn't admit her attraction to me, although I always suspected that she was protesting too much… Anyway, it's not overstating the case to say that we would not be on the verge of bidding fossil fuels goodbye if not for yours truly."
Sheppard smiled. "Let me guess. You saved the day and got the hot blonde too?"
"Well…no." Rodney's shoulders slumped a little remembering his last conversation with Sam Carter. "Actually, she mentioned something about if I were the last man on earth and the extinction of the human race. But," he hurriedly added, "I still win at science. So, the Air Force led to a career as a relationship coach? Is shock and awe an advanced romantic tactic I just haven't got to yet?"
John laughed. "I had to do something after I left the military, and," he ducked his head, a modesty that didn't entirely suit him, "meeting women was something I knew about."
"You don't say," Rodney deadpanned. "So why'd you give up flying?"
John shook his head. "I keep a plane out at Burbank, take it up every weekend I get a chance. But I couldn't stay in the service once I had Carly and my wife," his voice got tighter, "was gone."
"Your wife-- " It was a little startling that Rodney had never even considered the possibility of a Mrs. Sheppard. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize--"
"It's okay. That was a long time ago." The grim set of his mouth belied his assurance.
"So--" Rodney fumbled for a new topic.
"Maybe we should talk about your progress on the matrimonial front?" John helpfully supplied.
"There is none. Now it's my turn to the change the subject. Favorite movie?"
"Back to the Future. Why do you think your dates haven't worked out?"
Rodney shrugged. "I haven't met a woman who's appropriately sarcastic about flux capacitors?"
John gave him an innocent look. "You mean that wasn't how you solved the hydrogen extraction problem?" Rodney scowled, and John laughed. "I am serious about trying to figure out what's getting in your way with women."
Rodney sighed. "There's an outside chance that my personality may be a bit of hindrance. At least, that's what Sam Carter, the hot blonde, used to tell me."
"One person's opinion."
"Actually, there's a fairly widely held consensus on that."
John leaned in, close enough to make Rodney's breath hitch a little, his expression so sincere it made Rodney squirm. "You say what you think. Nobody ever has to guess where they stand with you. That's a good thing, a very good thing even, and sooner or later, you'll meet someone who appreciates it."
"A glutton for punishment?" Rodney quipped, without any real humor.
John looked away. "Someone who's trusted the wrong person in the past and doesn't want to make the same mistake again." Rodney had the distinct impression this was more than canned relationship advice, but before he could ask, Sheppard had fallen back into his easy smile. "Now, what do you say about dessert? And you can tell me your stance on Star Trek."
After tiramisu and coffee and a spirited debate about Kirk as slut, yea or nay, they wound down the evening. Rodney wasn't even aware that he was walking John to his car, the way he did with his dates, until he was standing at the driver's side of the black Land Rover.
"So, this was fun," John said, his hand casually brushing Rodney's arm.
Actual physical contact, and Rodney's voice cracked, "Yes, we'll have to do it again the next time I totally strike out."
"If you show your dates this side of you, the way you were tonight, I'm going to be shopping for a wedding gift in no time." He clapped Rodney on the shoulder and got into his car.
Rodney walked to his own parking space on autopilot, nodding distractedly as Sheppard tooted the horn and drove off. He was too ridiculously pleased for his own good.
***
#31: Your first impulse is usually right. The more you second guess yourself the farther you get from what you really want.
Rodney's pleased feeling soon segued into all-out mooning over John, which ultimately led to the predictable brooding.
It was so obvious that Cadman accosted him, "Why so glum, McKay?" She plunked down onto his desk, the threat perfectly clear. She was going to stay right there, driving him crazy, until he spilled everything.
"Fine. You want to know? I'll tell you. I've developed a bad habit of jerking off to fantasies about my relationship coach. Happy now?"
"Ewwwwww!" She wrinkled her nose. "Way too much information."
"You asked!"
"My mistake." Then her forehead creased, the way it did when she was dreaming up some new hair-brained publicity scheme. "Wait, isn't your relationship coach a man?"
"Wait," Rodney shot back, "haven't I fired you yet today?"
"He's got a kid too, if I remember correctly from Oprah," Cadman continued on undeterred. "Do you have any idea how much PR value there is in a ready-made alternative family? I could get you all over the business pages and on the cover of People. We'd get even more play from this than the contract decision."
"Thank you for reducing my love life to circulation figures," he told her sourly.
"Love life, huh?" She leaned close, giving him a frog-eyed look of scrutiny.
"It's a general term!"
Rodney's cell phone rang conveniently, and he shooed Cadman away.
She left his office laughing. "Oh, McKay. You've got it bad."
Rodney answered, and it was Sheppard Junior, who cut right to the chase, "How do you spell the name of the guy who discovered the periodic table?" Since she'd gotten his phone number, she'd taken to treating him as her own personal Google.
"If I keep spoon feeding you answers, you're going to be too stupid to get into a decent physics program. Do you really want to wind up a liberal arts major?"
"Come on, Rodney. The time you save me looking up stuff is more time I have to work on my science fair project."
He sighed and spelled "Mendeleev" for her. "So, I was talking to your father the other night, he, uh…told me about your mother."
"Yeah?" Sheppard Jr. said distractedly. "The densest element is osmium, right?"
"Right. Do you-- what was she like?"
He could almost hear her shrug. "I was just a baby. All Dad ever says is that she was pretty and laughed a lot." Her tone grew more confidential, "For a relationship coach, he's not much of a talker."
"That's your father's type then?" Rodney fished for information. "Attractive and-- enjoys a good joke?"
"I guess," Sheppard Jr. said uncertainly. "Honestly? He doesn't really date. Which is kind of weird, again, for someone in his line of work, but good for me at least, no risk of ending up with an evil stepmonster. When Cassie Winegold's dad got remarried, she got packed off to boarding school. Do you know what element has the highest melting point? I always forget this."
"Look, I just thought I should say...it's possible that I am pathetically mooning over your father," he confessed. "Also, tungsten. You know-- about the other thing."
"I kind of figured, Rodney," Sheppard Jr. told him. "About the pathetic mooning thing." She stage whispered into the phone, "I think he likes you, too."
Rodney sat up straighter. "Really? How do you know? Did he say something?"
He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Why didn't he just slip John a note before gym class? Do you like me? Check yes or no. That had to be about as dignified as pumping his daughter for information. Not that he wasn't holding his breath waiting for Sheppard Junior's answer.
"He brings you up sometimes, at dinner and stuff. Like he'll say, 'I don't know why Rodney hasn't found somebody, he's a really good guy,' and things like that. Dad never mentions his clients."
Rodney swallowed hard. Now that this was something like an actual possibility, he was practically paralyzed at the prospect. "I haven't-- I'm not--"
"A veteran of the man love? Don't worry. Neither is Dad." John's voice called out in the background, and Sheppard Junior whispered, "Gotta go. I'm not supposed to be on the phone until I finish my homework. Talk to you later, Rodney."
"But--" The line went dead. "I know even less about men than I do about women."
At last the recording came on, Please hang up and try your number again. Rodney snapped his phone closed and pulled up the dating website on his computer and took the mechanical voice's advice.
***
#96: If you meet someone and you're really smitten and you totally freak out, congratulations. You're officially a man. The panic will pass eventually. You just have hang in there and try not to do anything too stupid in the meantime.
Friday found Rodney back at Cana Rose, this time in the company of Helen Schmidt, self-made woman, chief executive of her own software company, the 2005 Entrepreneur of the Year. Maybe five feet tall, a hundred pounds, she had the appetite of a dozen longshoremen and ordered the 64-ounce T-bone, known affectionately on the menu as the "Elephant Choker." Rodney heartily approved and ordered the same for himself, and they spent the entire dinner conversation one-upping each other with stories of their corporate menace.
"I made my entire executive team cry once," Rodney remembered fondly. "And the best part was, they ended up apologizing to me, because they'd been wrong, wrong," he chuckled, "so very wrong."
Helen leaned in, a spark of challenge in her eyes. "Do you think you've turned any of them into secret cutters? Because I'm pretty sure I have. I always plan a pool party in the summer to see who shows up in a button down, just to test the theory."
Needless to say, the date was going swimmingly.
Helen commandeered the check when it came. "The 21st century and all that." She plunked down her Am Ex and smiled. "So, shall we head over to my place? I'd like to have sex. What do you say?"
Rodney was beginning to see how forthrightness really could be a quality to prize.
Helen lived in the Hollywood hills in a tribute to minimalism, a house like a pile of children's blocks precariously clinging to the slope. She breezed him inside and onto the couch, brought back two glasses of Merlot from the kitchen, sat them down on the glass rectangle that served as a coffee table, hiked up her skirt and climbed him like the Matterhorn.
"Unless you want your wine first?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Uh." He shifted positions, trying to move the sensitive parts of him away from the bony parts of her. "No. This is--"
"Good." She made quick work of her tiny pearl buttons and flung off her blouse, and then Rodney had lipstick in his mouth and breasts in his hands.
"Mmmm," he murmured around her tongue.
She bit him and laughed. "Can I make you cry, Rodney?"
"Um--"
Apparently, it was mostly a rhetorical question. She worked her hands under his shirt and scratched at his nipples and rocked her body against his cock. "Come on, Rodney, come on."
He brought his hands up to the back of her neck, fingers curling into the tendrils that had worked free from her French twist. He summoned up all his laser-edged focus to channel into the kiss. Only…his thoughts kept sliding away to John, trying to picture what he might be doing, watering the lawn or finishing up paperwork at that ridiculous desk of his, and then he started to wonder if Sheppard Junior was keeping up her part of the bargain and working on her science fair project, and he dearly hoped she hadn't chosen some fluffy faux science that was a complete waste of time, like playing Mozart to a bunch of houseplants to see if it made them suddenly telekinetic or capable of advanced calculus...
Helen pulled back, a crease between her eyebrows. "You didn't have too much wine at dinner, did you?"
"No!" His face turned hot. "I'm just--"
She hefted herself up from his lap. "Not feeling it." She sighed. "Why can't men multitask like women do? You might have some passion left for something other than work."
"I'll have you know that I have plenty of--"
"Be a dear huh?" She collected her shoes and blouse. "Show yourself out?"
"I'm just going through a sort of transference thing--"
Her bedroom door banged closed.
"Fine," he muttered.
He seethed all the way back to the city, and before he'd come to any conscious decision, had already started making the turns to Pasadena. Eventually it occurred to him that maybe he should call first, "She said I don't have passion for anything but work! I'll have you know that I am lousy with ardor. I can barely stand myself sometimes I'm so ruled by my animal nature."
"Rodney?" John sounded either sleepy or confused. It was hard to tell the difference.
"Yes," Rodney said impatiently. "I'm coming over. I'll be there in," he glanced around for a landmark, "oh, sometime tonight. I can't narrow it down more than that."
"I wasn't really planning on any appointments this evening--"
"You’re my relationship coach, right? So, I need some emergency advice from the sidelines. And I need it now!"
John sighed. "Avoid the 101. There was an accident earlier. And Rodney? Try not to have an aneurysm before you get here."
Sensible advice, although hard to follow when Rodney's lust for life had been called into question. He was practically frothing at the mouth when Sheppard opened the door for him.
"How could she say that to me? Just because I didn't throw off my pants and start boning away five minutes after we got to her place." He looked John up and down, taking in the sweatpants and ratty T-shirt. "Did I drag you off the Bowflex?"
John slung an arm across his shoulders. "Come on, champ. Let's go into the office, and you can give me the disgruntled play-by-play."
Rodney dumped himself onto the couch, and John pulled two beers out of the mini fridge.
"You didn't offer me one of those the last time," Rodney said in a vaguely accusatory way.
John settled beside him. "I save the booze for special occasions, to celebrate an engagement, or keep someone from going on a killing spree."
"Can you believe her?"
"Maybe she just wasn't feeling very comfortable, and that was her way of--"
"The woman practically had her clothes off before the door closed! No," Rodney shook his head, "she meant what she said, that I'm inadequate. Me! And this was after we'd kissed. I'll have you know I'm a really good kisser."
John was nodding. "I'm sure that's true."
"I can provide references-- Oh, forget it. Tell me you don't feel this all the way down to your toes." He grabbed John and pushed their mouths together, and about a second into it, which was basically a second too late, the adrenaline from the fury wore off, and he was left with a deep, panicky sense of, "oh, shit!"
He was desperately sorting through possible excuses, or alternately trying to calculate how quickly he could run from the room, when the tension in John's arms disappeared and the grabbing became suddenly reciprocal. John licked at Rodney's mouth, and the kissing ratcheted up several notches, past torrid, closing in on frantic, and there was panting and sweating and some rather juvenile pawing at one another that Rodney thought might possibly be the best thing ever.
Maybe it was too much to hope that it wouldn't stop as abruptly as it had started, but Rodney had never been a poster boy for reasonable expectations, and he let out a wordless sound of "hey, where are you going" when John leaped up from the couch like he'd just remembered he was being scalded.
"So," John swiped a hand through his hair, looking agitated, "kissing technique not a problem. Maybe that woman just wasn't the right person for you."
"Duh," Rodney thought, but from the determined look of nothing just happened here on John's face, there was no point in saying it.
***
#4: A setback is just a setback is just a setback.
"Now what's wrong with you?" was Cadman's way of greeting him bright and early Monday morning.
"Can't you say hello like a normal person?" He scowled at her.
"Yes," she said cheerfully, "to normal people." She plopped down onto his desk.
"Seriously not in the mood," he warned her.
She lifted an eyebrow. "Wet dream go bad?"
He could feel himself turning red like an infatuated adolescent. All he was missing were the pimples and the split second refractory period. His bitterness deepened.
"Oh, my God, McKay. Did something happen in actual reality?"
Her disbelief pissed him off--Cadman always had been able to push his buttons--and he blurted out, "He kissed me!" And immediately regretted having such a big mouth.
Cadman got bright-eyed and interested, the same expression she probably had when gossiping with her girlfriends, and Rodney could only look to the heavens and wonder how his life had devolved into this.
"Wasn't it any good?" she wanted to know. "Is that why you've gone all glum on me again?"
"The kiss wasn't bad," Rodney understated the case, "but we're two straight men. How well is that ever going to work out?"
"News flash, McKay. Straight guys don't, as a rule, spend much time kissing one another."
Rodney sighed. "Afterwards he acted like it hadn't happened."
"So? Obviously he's freaking out. What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know!" Rodney leaped to his feet and started pacing. "Any tactical knowledge I have in this area came from him. I'm pretty sure he's immune to his own material."
"Let me think, let me think." Cadman tapped her index finger against her chin.
Rodney paced to the other side of his office and whirled around. "Can't you do that any faster?"
At the same moment, Cadman went scarily glinty-eyed. "I've got it! You need to make him jealous!"
Rodney cradled his head in his hands. "I can't believe I actually pay you."
"No, no, listen, McKay." Her cheeks were pink with excitement. "Here's what we do. We throw a party, to celebrate getting the contract. You invite your coach--"
"John," he supplied.
"Tell John there's this woman who's interested in you, and you're thinking about getting involved with her, but you want his professional opinion first."
"But there's no--"
She waved him off. "Leave that to me. I'll invite Simone Rivier--"
"Oh, my God!" Rodney shuddered. "You really do hate me. Simone River is--"
"The tackiest, most cold-blooded gold digger in the Western hemisphere?' She broke into a huge smile. "Don't you see how perfect it is? If the kiss was just a fluke and coach's only interested in you professionally, then he'll pull you aside for some friendly advice. But if it's more than that--"
"What? What?" Rodney demanded.
Cadman winked. "Somebody gets laid."
The heat rushed to Rodney's face. "That's, that's--" He broke into a huge smile. "Surprisingly brilliant given the source."
Cadman smirked. "Just remember that when you're planning your big, fat, gay wedding. I want to be a bridesmaid, and I get to pick the dress."
***
#82: Men tend to think that sex solves everything, but doesn't necessarily mean anything. Hey, we all have our contradictions. Some are just more likely than others to leave you sleeping on the couch.
The party took place in a Malibu beach house, rented just for the occasion. There was a swing band, a champagne fountain, three ice sculptures, lobsters flown in from Maine, Beluga caviar fresh from Russia, and Rodney pulled Cadman aside with a hissed, "How much is this costing me exactly?"
She smiled sweetly. "If it bags you Mr. HotPants Relationship Coach, do you really care?"
On rare occasions, it was hard to argue with Cadman's logic.
John arrived, dressed in the specified black tie, a look so good on him it made Rodney's mouth go dry. He just was about to break for the door when Cadman pulled him back. "Try to play at least a little hard to get, McKay."
John scanned the crowd, and when he caught sight of Rodney, smiled and came to say hello. "So I finally get to see you in your natural element." He glanced at Cadman and then back at Rodney, and when Rodney made no move to introduce them, did the honors himself, "John Sheppard."
"Laura Cadman." She shook hands, holding on a little longer than Rodney cared for. "I've heard a lot about you." Rodney elbowed her, and she quickly added, "If you'll excuse me, I have to go ply some stockholders with alcohol."
She swished away, and John fixed Rodney with a puzzled smile.
"She's," he waved his hand, "fired." A waiter happened past with a tray of champagne, and Rodney snagged two glasses. "Here. I'm sure this is costing me a fortune, so please enjoy it as much as humanly possible."
John laughed and took a sip. "Not bad. Now, where's this contender you want me to check out?"
"Oh, I'm sure she'll be along any moment."
Simone Rivier was well known for her ability to track the wealthiest man in any room, a sort of gold-digger's radar, and Rodney and John were not even halfway through their champagne when she came plowing through the crowd, a cloud of citrus-scented perfume billowing around her, making Rodney sneeze.
"There you are." She attached herself to Rodney's arm like a bleached blonde barnacle. "What a lovely party. And aren't you looking handsome in your tuxedo. One of my admirers bought me this old thing I have one." She angled closer, as if her sequined evening gown couldn't be spotted from space, pressing her boobs against his chest. "But, of course, you have nothing to be jealous of, Roddie. He couldn't hold a candle to you." She blew a kiss at him.
John's forehead creased with consternation.
Simone must have smelled interference, because she tightened her grip on Rodney's arm. "Why don't you introduce me to your business acquaintances, Roddie? I'd love to meet them. Oh, and you know what this pretty view of the beach makes me think? We should plan a weekend away, go up to Carmel or Santa Barbara. Wouldn't that be fun?"
She spirited Rodney away, and they flitted butterfly fashion from group to group, and Rodney was forced to endure far too much of her nattering, most of which involved hinting at things she'd like him to buy for her. Every time Rodney glanced around, John was watching them, apparently eavesdropping too, his expression growing darker by the moment.
When he finally came to the rescue, Simone was still running off at the mouth, "It's not really true that diamonds are a girl's best friend. Now, emeralds on the other hand--"
"Excuse me," John pulled Rodney out of her grasp. "I need a word."
"Oh," the corners of her mouth turned down in exaggerated disappointment. "Hurry back, Roddie."
John dragged Rodney to the nearest private place, which happened to be the bedroom where the guests had piled their coats.
"Tell me that wasn't her. The woman you're interested in." John's jaw was clenched.
"That's Simone," Rodney said as blithely as he could manage. "So, what do you think?"
John stared at him. "Are you kidding me?"
"You don't like her?"
"Rodney, she's a man-eating bitch!"
"Don't you think maybe you're being a little harsh?"
"No!" Anger flashed in his eyes. "Watching her go after you was like watching some show on Animal Planet. The World's Deadliest Predators. Only with cleavage. She's obviously after your money. Hell, money is all she talks about. You deserve so much better. At the very least, somebody who actually wants you for you."
"Yes, well," Rodney said with a sigh, "I don't have someone like that. I have Simone. Sometimes you just have to play the cards you're dealt. So if you'll excuse me, I should get back--"
John caught him by the arm. "No. I'm not just going to stand back and let you do something this stupid."
"That's easy for you to say," Rodney was starting to get pissed, despite the pretense; he never appreciated having his intelligence questioned. "We're not all like you, God's gift to women."
"Shut up, Rodney," John said, voice tight.
"No, I will not--"
So John did it for him, mouth on his mouth, kissing away his sputtered indignation. It was precisely what Rodney had been hoping for, and yet that didn't mean he'd honestly expected it. He was just getting past the initial surprise, curling his fingers into John's jacket and pressing closer when John broke it off, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide and startled. "This is crazy."
Rodney sighed. This was seriously getting old.
But John was full of contradictions, because crazy or not, he was back again a second later, staking his claim to Rodney's personal space, kisses flying everywhere, hands pulling at Rodney's clothes, at his own, heat rising between them. They stumbled back a few steps, and Rodney landed with a soft "oof" on the bed, John on top of him, all angles and hard muscles, nothing like being in bed with a woman, and possibly the most arousing thing Rodney had ever experienced.
They got their shirts open, and Rodney traced patterns in the thick hair across John's chest. John fingered Rodney's nipples and pressed his face hotly to Rodney's throat.
He muttered against Rodney's skin, "Tell me you didn't really--"
"Just you. I only want you."
The reaction was instantaneous and physical, John's body jerking hard, his breath stuttering. He pushed his hand down the front of Rodney's pants, and then Rodney was the one flying apart.
"Fuck!" He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, momentarily, against the sensation of John palming and stroking his erection.
When he'd crested the dizzying wave of "oh, God, please don't let me come in my pants," he scrabbled at John's zipper, and then John's dick was in his hand, hot and straining and wet at the tip. Rodney's fantasies had been strangely circumspect in the anatomical sense, and the secret fear he'd pushed to the back of his mind was that he'd buckle pitifully when confronted with the realities of the sex he was so desperate for, but here it was now, and no pitiful buckling in sight. Rodney moved his fingers experimentally, and he felt the rush of John's breath, could almost taste John moaning his name, and it was all suddenly clear. John's dick was just like the rest of him: gorgeous, and Rodney couldn't get enough.
John shoved his pants and underwear down his legs, and Rodney thrashed desperately until his were out of the way too. John settled between his thighs, and Rodney got the picture and opened his legs wider. John started to thrust against him, and Rodney pushed up into his weight, their cocks sliding together. They kissed frantically, wet, sucking sounds echoing off the empty walls, and there was nothing graceful about any of it, not their desperate lunging bodies or their greedy hands tangled up in each other's hair.
Some practical streak in John was all that stood between their clothes and certain ruin. At the last possible moment, he thought to push their shirttails out of the way, so they came all over each other's skin instead of fine-gauge cotton. Rodney felt warm and satisfied afterwards, his mind strangely, comfortably blank, all the thoughts sexed right out of him. The only thing that registered, that had any weight in his awareness, was John's body pressed next to his, John's smell that he had all over him, like some kind of prize.
John brushed a quick kiss to his temple and got up and came back with a washcloth. The nubby sweep of it made Rodney's belly dip and his skin buzz, and the desire for more, well before his body could deliver it, was already building steam. John was less careful with himself, a quick swipe over his belly and chest, and downright careless with the bedside table, where he plopped the wet cloth when he was finished with it.
"Rodney--" There was longing in the word, spiked with regret.
Rodney sat up, the pleasant daze of sex instantly gone. "Oh, for God's sakes. What now?"
"We shouldn't have done this."
Rodney glared at him. "Says the one of us who's not going to have to pay the dry cleaning bill for this mink coat we came all over." He shifted his body and looked and frowned. "Or possibly just have to replace it."
John mulishly soldiered on with his freakout, "Leaving aside for a moment the fact that neither of us is gay--"
"Because that certainly didn't stop us from having sex," Rodney said snidely.
"You're my client, and sometimes that creates a sense of intimacy that's--"
"Oh, my God. Are you giving me a speech about transference? Because you're not my shrink, you know."
John looked no less tormented or stubborn. "There's still a line, and I shouldn't have crossed it."
He gathered up his clothes and shut himself in the bathroom and came back a few minutes later, mostly put back together.
"I'm sorry, Rodney," he said softly. "I really am."
When the door closed behind him, Rodney flopped back onto the bed, arm crooked over his eyes. In the hall, he could hear the muted throb of voices, Simone asking where Rodney was, John harder to make out, but Rodney thought he heard the word "beach," and then Simone's babbling was mercifully moving away.
Rodney stared up at the ceiling and wondered what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to call, when it was his relationship coach who was driving him insane.
***
Continue to Part Two.
Fandom: SGA
Author: scribblinlenore
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 18,000-ish
Prompt: Tyler Watts is rich, gorgeous and at the top of his game-except someone just moved the goalposts! Now Tyler realizes he is sorely lacking the one status symbol that everybody seems to have…the perfect wife and family. Tyler needs help, so he hires a relationship coach. Single-mom Mary is out of her depth with Tyler… She may be an expert, but not when it comes to her own relationships! And every day she spends with Tyler makes her wish that she could be the one to fill his vacancy for wife…
Notes: Big thanks to my science consultant mecurtin and lots of love to barely_bean for beta reading and encouragement all along the way. Also, I want to thank my prompt for being so fabulous! Never have I loved a prompt more! :)
101 Ways To Get Lucky (In Love)
by Lenore
#27: Winning isn't everything. This is love we're talking about, not Fight Club. If it's so important to always be right, smug self-congratulations may be all you end up with.
Rodney McKay sprawled in his leather executive's chair the way a king might occupy his throne, with an expansive sense of his own worth, secure in the knowledge of his dominion over everything he touched. Newspapers covered his desk, and he held one unfurled in his hands, savoring his moment of triumph.
"I won," he declared to his empty office. "I won, I won, I won, I won. And Kavanaugh lost."
This last point in particular widened the smile he'd been wearing since the news broke that McKay International (and not Kavanaugh Unlimited) had been awarded the 12.7 billion dollar U.S. government contract to oversee the nation's conversion to hydrogen-based fuel.
"Is it safe to come in? Or will the smugness overpower me like a cloud of toxic gas?" Laura Cadman, his often fired, always rehired, director of public relations popped her head around the door.
He waved her in. "Come join the celebration of the glory that is my genius."
Cadman's blonde ponytail bobbed in its usual perky and annoying fashion as she sauntered over to his desk. "Glad to see it hasn't gone to your head, McKay."
"Did you catch what Bill Foley wrote about me in The Wall Street Journal?" He snapped the paper open and started to read, "The driving force behind McKay International is the company's namesake, an irascible genius and limitlessly energetic businessman who has nearly singled-handedly propelled the revolution in renewable, environmentally responsible fuels."
Cadman gave Rodney an appraising look. "Well, he got the irascible part right."
Rodney had good reason to be generous today, so he spared the usual firing, and merely demanded, "Do you want something?"
"As a matter of fact I do." She made herself at home on the corner of his desk, although he'd told her time and again he'd rather not have her posterior all over his important papers. "First, I want to make sure you're not wearing that to the press conference." She made a rude gesture at his tie.
He clutched his exploding kiwis protectively. "What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing," she said sweetly, "if you're trying to blind the press."
"Hey!"
She breezed on, "Second, I don't want you caught off guard when some reporter brings up Kavanaugh's passive-aggressive McRanty pants comments. Apparently, he never got the memo that the loser should offer a pithy 'congratulations to my worthy opponent' or better yet stay out of the public eye entirely."
Rodney frowned. "What could Kavanaugh possibly have to say? I won." His glee returned in a giddy hiccup. "I won, I won, I won, I won, I won." He took a breath. "And he lost."
Cadman rolled her eyes. "You've been doing that all morning, haven't you?" She flipped open a copy of Energy Industry Daily. "Here. Let me read it to you. Rodney McKay is a perfectly competent scientist--"
"Competent!" Rodney huffed. "He only wishes he had a spark of my genius. A glimmer of a hint of a spark, even."
"--he probably won't mess up the conversion to hydrogen fuel too badly. He'll certainly give it all his attention. Days, nights, weekends, national holidays. It's not like he has anyone to go home to, now is it?."
Rodney scowled. "What is that supposed to mean? I have a cat."
"Some people put stock in human relationships. Go figure."
"I'll have you know that I'm not lacking for female companionship." Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, daring her to contradict him.
"I don't want to hear about your commercial transactions, McKay."
Rodney made a face, but then a truly appalling possibility occurred to him. "Wait. Are you trying to tell me that Kavanaugh can one-up me just because he has a family?"
"In some circles, having loved ones is considered important. And by 'some circles,' of course, I mean humanity."
"That's ridiculous!" Rodney insisted hotly. "He doesn't even like his wife. And one of his brats is wall-eyed."
Cadman made a chastising sound that reminded him disturbingly of his mother.
"Well, the kid is!" Rodney insisted. He slumped sideways in his chair, some of the shine rubbed off his crown, but then the solution to the problem handily popped into his head, as it always did. He snapped his fingers. "Fine. Two can play that game. Cadman, I need to acquire a family."
She reared back in mock terror. "Don't look at me."
"Oh, trust me. I wasn't. That does beg the question, though. Where am I going to find a woman worthy of bearing my offspring?"
"No, McKay. The question is, with that charming personality of yours, what woman is going to give you the time of day." She laughed and slid off his desk. "Got to go. Loads to do. I'm booking you on every news program known to man. Good luck with the wife shopping." Her ponytail bobbed all the way across his office and out the door.
It was rare that Rodney needed advice of a personal nature. He did his best to merge so completely with his work that nothing else existed. But when the other arenas of life refused to be beaten back with a whip and a chair, there was only one person he turned to.
He buzzed his assistant. "Come here, Mildred. I want you."
A moment later, she trudged into his office. "That Alexander Graham Bell joke never gets old, Dr. M."
"I'm glad you appreciate my sense of humor." He waved her to a chair. "Mildred, I have a matter of a somewhat delicate nature--"
"You want a wife." Rodney stared in amazement, and Mildred added, "Laura mentioned something about it."
"Oh, yeah? Well, someone should mention to her," he shouted in the direction of the door, "that she's fired!" He took a breath. "So, any ideas?"
"Dr. M, you just happen to be in luck. There's this new relationship book out that's 'by a man for men'." She made air quotes. "'Everyone's talking about it. Helped my Dudley find his Gwendolyn." Rodney must have looked blank, because she added. "Dudley's my son."
"I knew that," he insisted.
"Uh-huh," Mildred was noncommittal. "Anyways, maybe that's a place to start."
"Order me a copy from Amazon." Rodney cheerfully resumed his kingly sprawling, pleased that the problem-solving was already underway.
"I can do you one better, Dr. M. This Mr. Sheppard that wrote it? He lives out in Pasadena. Word is he gives private consultations if the case is dire enough." She said in a more confidential tone, "I saw that on Oprah."
"Call him, call him now!" Rodney waved his hands wildly. "Tell him what an absolute emergency this is. If I'm going to be married before the stockholder's mid-year meeting, I'm going to need professional help."
"You don't say," Mildred said under her breath.
"I heard that!"
He was tempted to fire her, but he didn’t have complete confidence she'd agree to be rehired.
***
#79: If you always do the same things, go the same places, work and home and work and home, you're going to be single for a long, long time. Seriously. Who are you going to meet sitting on the couch? No one. Unless you're lucky enough to have a really cute Fed-ex delivery person on your route.
In a purely geographical sense, Pasadena was not far from downtown Los Angeles, but factoring in traffic, it could conceivably take less time to drive to Calcutta. Rodney darted from lane to lane, trying to find some glimpse of daylight on the 110, to no avail. Cars stuttered along, stop-and-go, stop-and-go, and Rodney blamed John Sheppard for each and every point his blood pressure rose along the way. What sensible person lived this far inland? By the time Rodney finally had the city limits in sight, he'd convinced himself that Sheppard's taste in real estate was nothing less than a conspiracy to waste his valuable time.
His car's GPS system guided him past the Rose Bowl, into a quiet residential neighborhood, onto a tree-lined street. He pulled up outside a white hacienda style house. Mildred's instructions said to walk about the side to the back garden gate. Rodney rang the bell, and a voice asked, "Mr. McKay?"
"Dr. McKay." After the drive he'd endured, he was in no mood to be short-changed on his academic credentials.
"My bad," the man sounded amused. "Come on in."
There was a buzz, and the lock clicked open. Inside, a man came forward to shake hands. He was tall with dark messy hair and the kind of made-for-TV good looks that Southern California was practically drowning in. "John Sheppard. Good to meet you. Let's talk in my office." He led the way. "Make yourself at home. Can I get you a latte? Mineral water?"
He smiled, all casual surfer charm, and Rodney had the sinking feeling that the office reflected his personality, a mix of fraternity house ambience and the décor of an eight-year-old boy's bedroom, primary colors and beanbag chairs and model airplanes sitting on the ping pong table that served as a desk. He reached the obvious conclusion that pretty much anyone could get a book published nowadays.
"Do you have any actual qualifications?" he gave voice to his skepticism.
Sheppard stopped in the middle of pouring his Perrier, obviously not used to being questioned, or at least not so abruptly. He broke into a smile, a genuine one this time. "You get right to the point, don't you? Well, Dr. McKay, everything I write about, all the advice I give, comes from practical experience, from trying things and observing, seeing what works and what doesn't."
"Huh." It was hardly impressive, but Rodney had a matrimonial schedule to keep, and no time to waste shopping around for relationship coaches.
"Would it make you feel better if I had a degree in psychology?"
Rodney plunked down onto a non-beanbag chair. "Not in the least. So my assistant explained the situation, right? I need to get married and have kids. As soon as possible."
"Need?" Sheppard asked politely, eyebrow raised, as he took a seat behind his desk.
"It's come to my attention recently that a man in my position doesn't have everything until he has a family. Being mostly successful has never been a goal of mine."
"Plus," John said slowly, "you probably want to get married."
Rodney shrugged. He wasn't sure he understood the relevance.
"Huh." John tapped his finger against his chin. "Let me ask you some questions, Dr. McKay. To help me get a sense of where we need to start."
He waved his hand. "Rodney. If you're going to grill me about the nitty-gritty of my personal life, I think I'd be more comfortable if you didn't sound like one of my employees."
Sheppard grinned. "Okay, Rodney. So, how many dates have you had during the last two months?"
He snorted. "Please. I was in the corporate dogfight of my life. Don't you read the papers? I've been on every front page for the past week."
"O-kay. Then tell me about a woman you've found attractive lately."
"The only women I know are my assistant, who's my mother's age and wears orthopedic shoes, and Cadman, who's the most insufferable person on Earth."
This last bit caught Sheppard's interest. "Maybe there's something in that--"
"Please." Rodney made a face.
Sheppard let out his breath. "All right. So, think about a woman you've noticed on the street recently. Tell me about her."
Rodney sniffed dismissively. "I never pay attention to people. It's a distraction."
"When exactly was the last time you asked someone out?" Sheppard was frowning.
Rodney did the calculations. He wasn't sure commercial transactions counted, so he left those out. "Two-- no, three years ago. Katie Brown, a botanist, to my sister's wedding. She and Jeannie still keep in touch, I've heard."
"So…you have virtually no contact with available women?"
"Yes. Well," Rodney said stiffly, "I suppose you could put it that way."
"I'd say we have our starting point then." Sheppard grinned and reached behind him into a filing cabinet. "Here's the first step to meeting the future Mrs. Dr. Rodney McKay." He pushed a flyer across the table.
Rodney squinted at it. "Internet dating? That's the advice I'm paying you obscene gobs of money for?"
Sheppard sprawled back in his chair. "Didn't think of it yourself, did you?"
Rodney crossed his arms over his chest.
"That's a no, right?" Sheppard was insufferably sure of himself. "Look, Rodney. Internet dating is just a tool. The point is: you need to meet women if you're ever going to marry one. It sounds like you spend all your time at the office. You'll need to shake things up a little if you're going to have someone in your life." John held up his hand before Rodney could protest. "I said a little. And don't tell me how busy you are. You're the one who wants a wife."
Rodney let out a sigh and grudgingly scrutinized the step-by-step instructions. "What if all the women I meet are English majors? Or believe neo-con politics makes good sense?"
"You'll tailor your profile to attract the kind of woman you're interested in. Plus, the Internet dating service I recommend has a sophisticated matching system. You should meet only well-educated, professional women."
"Sounds elitist."
Sheppard shifted in his chair. "Well--"
"I didn't mean that as a criticism." Rodney folded the paper and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "So…is that it for the advice?"
Sheppard nodded. "For now. Sign up. Post your profile. Exchange some emails. Go on some dates. Call me afterwards, so we can do a post-mortem. See where the trouble spots are."
Rodney stood. "Gathering data and analyzing it. At least that's an approach I can relate to."
"I had a feeling." Sheppard bounded to his feet, grinning. "You're gonna knock 'em dead.
Rodney pushed his shoulders back and lifted his chin and let Sheppard walk him out to the hall, newly confident that he was God's gift to women. Only when the door closed behind him did it occur to him that he'd gone from reasonable skepticism to cheerfully drinking the Internet dating Kool-aid in a span of twenty minutes. Clearly, the art of persuasion came as naturally to Sheppard as it did to the proverbial used car salesman, and Rodney was suddenly not at all certain why he was taking dating advice from a man who could probably charm women out of their panties with a careless compliment and one of those lazy smiles of his.
While mulling this over, Rodney managed to turn the wrong way and ended up not at the back door, but in the kitchen, under the suspicious gaze of a kid sitting at the table doing her homework. She had a wild shock of dark hair that fell in her face, wide green eyes, a certain impudence in the way she stared at Rodney. There was absolutely no doubting her parentage. She had "Sheppard Junior" written all over her.
"I'm Carly," she said, idly twirling her pen, "and you're not supposed to be here."
"Dr. Rodney McKay. Uh-- Rodney. And no, no, I'm not."
"Stethoscope doctor?" she asked.
He shook his head. "The other kind."
"Oh." She didn't sound especially impressed.
"Well, I should probably--" But then he caught sight of her work, a three-dimensional model of a glucose molecule, or at least what had been a glucose molecule before she'd twisted it into a lopsided figure eight, wrong, wrong, so wrong he didn't even know how to quantify its wrongness, and he scowled at her. "What are they teaching you in school? Clearly not chemistry."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, you just paid for relationship advice from my dad. So who's the one who doesn't know anything?"
Rodney opened his mouth, but no cutting remark conveniently came out. The most annoying part was that the kid was probably right.
Sheppard Junior took pity on him. "Just kidding. Anyway, I know how it's supposed to work. I was just seeing how bad I could mess it up." She quickly put the molecule back together again, in its correct chair-like form this time, and Rodney could breathe easier. "See, it's for extra credit, and we're supposed to work in pairs, and Jimmy Newly expects me to do everything. Because he's a stupid jerk like that. Only I don't need extra credit, and he does." She met Rodney's gaze head on and flipped her hair back over her shoulder, as if daring him to disapprove.
Rodney stared. "That's--"
"Mean? Spiteful? Vindictive? Malicious? Lacking an appropriate spirit of generosity?" She seemed honestly interested in his choice of adjective.
He smiled broadly. "Ingenious."
She tilted her head, giving him a second look. "Maybe you're not as lame as I thought."
"Thank you," he said dryly.
"No, really," she insisted. "You're actually pretty cool." She smiled, and it was just like her father's.
Rodney had never imagined that an eleven-year-old's approval could be so gratifying, and yet there it was. He said goodbye and went out to the car thinking, "Definitely Sheppard Junior."
***
#13: Not everything is meant to be. A date that doesn't take isn't necessarily a failure. Think of it as spring training, a chance to brush up on your skills.
It probably should have come as some sort of warning sign that the most (one might even go so far as to say the only) satisfying part of Rodney's dating experience was talking to Sheppard after each futile travesty.
"Her name was Lola," he griped after the first date.
"You knew that going in."
"But I didn't know she used to be a showgirl! Besides, she hates cats."
"Hmm. Okay."
"Okay? That's it? That's all you have to say?"
"I always think there's something wrong with people who don't like animals."
"Me, too. So, you have pets?"
"Fruit Loop. A bull terrier. My daughter named him."
"I had a dog when I was a kid. He ran away."
"I'm sure it wasn't anything personal, Rodney."
Rodney was tight-lipped about the next encounter, "We didn't hit it off."
"You don't want to, maybe, fill in a few more details?"
"No."
"No?"
"No!" Rodney took a breath and mumbled, "Fine. She said she was looking for a man who was attractive as well as successful."
There was a pause. "So the problem was that she was stupid and had bad taste." John sounded genuinely angry.
Then came the one who asked about Rodney's childhood. After he went into some painful detail about how he and his sister had to compete for their father's affection through their intellectual achievements, mentioning the drill sergeant routine of prime/not prime that had been a staple of the McKay family dinner table since Rodney was old enough to talk, his date promptly prodded him into playing a round.
"She didn't get any right! Not even when I gave up hope and threw out single digits. She practically went cross-eyed when I started with 127,923."
"Not prime," John said off-handedly.
That took a moment to sink in. "Oh, my God. You're smart! You've just been hiding it under all that hair."
"Give me your dating site password. I want to beef up your profile, so you get more Mensa members and fewer human Barbie dolls."
Rodney gave him the code. "Since you brought up Mensa--"
"I passed the test, but never got around to actually joining."
"Because you were too busy with your important intellectual work teaching men how to bag babes?"
John laughed. "Don't ever change, Rodney. Seriously."
Rodney didn't realize he'd developed a tendency to start sentences with "John says..." or "John thinks..." or "Even though John was too focused on writing his bubble-gum advice books to actually join Mensa..." until Cadman started making fun of him for it. Rodney's genius did not, as a rule, extend to introspection, and truth be told, he hadn't even really noticed when Sheppard stopped being Sheppard and became John.
A bad case of transference, Cadman called it, right before Rodney fired her.
The next time Rodney got the urge to talk to John, he felt oddly self-conscious about it, and after due consideration, settled on calling Sheppard Junior instead. This seemed like a perfectly reasonable compromise until the phone started ringing and it occurred to him to wonder if he could end up registering as a sex offender for using somewhat dubious methods to acquire an eleven-year-old's cell phone number.
"Um, hello." He cleared his throat. "This is Dr.-- Uh-- Rodney."
There was a significant pause. "You know I'm too young for you, right?"
"No! I mean, yes! I wasn't-- I just wanted to see how your extra credit project went."
"Wait. Are you calling because you're pathetically mooning over my father?" Sheppard Junior's voice sharpened with suspicion.
"No! Of course not."
"Because that happens."
"I'll have you know I'm a man of science."
Not that this made much sense as a defense against having a crush, but Sheppard Junior seemed mollified by it.
"The project went great! At least, from a getting back at Jimmy Newly standpoint. You really should have been there, Rodney. We had to present our stuff to the class, and I told Jimmy Newly that since I'd done all the work he had to do the talking. And I gave him 'talking points," about how the formation of molecules was kind of like sex, and I convinced him that chemistry used the same vocabulary that we learned in health class. And he started rattling off all this stuff, and it got kind of raunchy there at a certain point, and Mrs. Darcy got all red in the face and made him stop."
Her mirth dampened a little at the next part of the story.
"Then, of course, Jimmy Newly ratted me out, and Mrs. Darcy got kind of mad. I have to stay after school for a week and help her sort through all the boxes of decorations for her bulletin boards. She knows how much I hate that. But it was still totally worth it. Jimmy Newly thinks he's God's gift because he has floppy hair, and I'm supposed to ignore the fact that he's a jerk and be all giggly about him and stuff." She snorted. "He so had it coming."
"Well, it's good that you can't be taken in by things like...floppy hair."
"Yeah. My dad warned me about stuff."
"Yes, yes. That was very...forward-looking of him."
Rodney was beginning to think it was too bad no one had ever warned him.
His phone beeped, another call, and he told Sheppard Junior goodbye. He picked up the other line and had John's voice in his ear, "Hey, Rodney, what are you doing--"
"Nothing! I swear. I was just--"
Pathetically mooning over you to your daughter.
"--tomorrow evening?" John sounded amused.
"Um. What?"
"I have a meeting downtown with my publisher. I thought we could grab a bite and try to work out why you keep sabotaging yourself on dates. Why do you sound all furtive and guilty?"
"I do not-- Wait. Did you just ask me out to dinner?"
John laughed. "You can't put anything past a genius. Cana Rose at seven. Don't be late."
***
#45: Forget what you think your type is. Men who love blondes end up marrying brunettes every day of the week. If you're convinced you can only be happy with someone who loves sumo wrestling and taxidermy, that's a great way to stay single. Put the checklist away, and you may be surprised to see who's been right there in front of you the whole time.
The fact that Rodney's most successful date so far was with Sheppard probably should have clued him in to something. Of course, it helped that John chose a place that served actual meat and not the god-awful bean sprout patties he'd endured his last time out, with Celia the macrobiotic dietician. It also didn't hurt that John was wearing jeans, comfortably worn, snug-fitting through his well-muscled thighs, making Rodney all too happily aware that John was a dedicated runner.
Over sirloins and Cabernet, Rodney grew downright expansive, telling stories about his scientific triumphs, and unlike most of his dates, John's face didn't glaze over at the first mention of thermal loading.
"The real breakthrough, of course, was finding a more efficient way to extract hydrogen." Rodney gestured with his fork. "Traditional electrolysis wastes up to three quarters of the potential energy. We had to do better than that if we were ever going to make it widely available as an alternative to oil."
Sheppard toyed with the olive in his martini glass, looking interested. "Really? Don't internal combustion engines convert only…what? Thirty percent?"
Rodney stared, he couldn't help himself, and Sheppard grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You have to know a thing or two about physics to fly helicopters, Rodney."
Rodney's eyebrows shot up. "You were a pilot?" Although he wasn't sure why he was surprised. Sheppard was a walking advertisement for flyboy rakishness.
"Ten years in the Air Force. So, your breakthrough?"
"Yes, yes. I was heading up a government lab at the time, top secret stuff." Rodney waved his hand. "I can't go into details, but suffice to say, there were at least a dozen other researchers all working on a new extraction process, including a hot blonde who wouldn't admit her attraction to me, although I always suspected that she was protesting too much… Anyway, it's not overstating the case to say that we would not be on the verge of bidding fossil fuels goodbye if not for yours truly."
Sheppard smiled. "Let me guess. You saved the day and got the hot blonde too?"
"Well…no." Rodney's shoulders slumped a little remembering his last conversation with Sam Carter. "Actually, she mentioned something about if I were the last man on earth and the extinction of the human race. But," he hurriedly added, "I still win at science. So, the Air Force led to a career as a relationship coach? Is shock and awe an advanced romantic tactic I just haven't got to yet?"
John laughed. "I had to do something after I left the military, and," he ducked his head, a modesty that didn't entirely suit him, "meeting women was something I knew about."
"You don't say," Rodney deadpanned. "So why'd you give up flying?"
John shook his head. "I keep a plane out at Burbank, take it up every weekend I get a chance. But I couldn't stay in the service once I had Carly and my wife," his voice got tighter, "was gone."
"Your wife-- " It was a little startling that Rodney had never even considered the possibility of a Mrs. Sheppard. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize--"
"It's okay. That was a long time ago." The grim set of his mouth belied his assurance.
"So--" Rodney fumbled for a new topic.
"Maybe we should talk about your progress on the matrimonial front?" John helpfully supplied.
"There is none. Now it's my turn to the change the subject. Favorite movie?"
"Back to the Future. Why do you think your dates haven't worked out?"
Rodney shrugged. "I haven't met a woman who's appropriately sarcastic about flux capacitors?"
John gave him an innocent look. "You mean that wasn't how you solved the hydrogen extraction problem?" Rodney scowled, and John laughed. "I am serious about trying to figure out what's getting in your way with women."
Rodney sighed. "There's an outside chance that my personality may be a bit of hindrance. At least, that's what Sam Carter, the hot blonde, used to tell me."
"One person's opinion."
"Actually, there's a fairly widely held consensus on that."
John leaned in, close enough to make Rodney's breath hitch a little, his expression so sincere it made Rodney squirm. "You say what you think. Nobody ever has to guess where they stand with you. That's a good thing, a very good thing even, and sooner or later, you'll meet someone who appreciates it."
"A glutton for punishment?" Rodney quipped, without any real humor.
John looked away. "Someone who's trusted the wrong person in the past and doesn't want to make the same mistake again." Rodney had the distinct impression this was more than canned relationship advice, but before he could ask, Sheppard had fallen back into his easy smile. "Now, what do you say about dessert? And you can tell me your stance on Star Trek."
After tiramisu and coffee and a spirited debate about Kirk as slut, yea or nay, they wound down the evening. Rodney wasn't even aware that he was walking John to his car, the way he did with his dates, until he was standing at the driver's side of the black Land Rover.
"So, this was fun," John said, his hand casually brushing Rodney's arm.
Actual physical contact, and Rodney's voice cracked, "Yes, we'll have to do it again the next time I totally strike out."
"If you show your dates this side of you, the way you were tonight, I'm going to be shopping for a wedding gift in no time." He clapped Rodney on the shoulder and got into his car.
Rodney walked to his own parking space on autopilot, nodding distractedly as Sheppard tooted the horn and drove off. He was too ridiculously pleased for his own good.
***
#31: Your first impulse is usually right. The more you second guess yourself the farther you get from what you really want.
Rodney's pleased feeling soon segued into all-out mooning over John, which ultimately led to the predictable brooding.
It was so obvious that Cadman accosted him, "Why so glum, McKay?" She plunked down onto his desk, the threat perfectly clear. She was going to stay right there, driving him crazy, until he spilled everything.
"Fine. You want to know? I'll tell you. I've developed a bad habit of jerking off to fantasies about my relationship coach. Happy now?"
"Ewwwwww!" She wrinkled her nose. "Way too much information."
"You asked!"
"My mistake." Then her forehead creased, the way it did when she was dreaming up some new hair-brained publicity scheme. "Wait, isn't your relationship coach a man?"
"Wait," Rodney shot back, "haven't I fired you yet today?"
"He's got a kid too, if I remember correctly from Oprah," Cadman continued on undeterred. "Do you have any idea how much PR value there is in a ready-made alternative family? I could get you all over the business pages and on the cover of People. We'd get even more play from this than the contract decision."
"Thank you for reducing my love life to circulation figures," he told her sourly.
"Love life, huh?" She leaned close, giving him a frog-eyed look of scrutiny.
"It's a general term!"
Rodney's cell phone rang conveniently, and he shooed Cadman away.
She left his office laughing. "Oh, McKay. You've got it bad."
Rodney answered, and it was Sheppard Junior, who cut right to the chase, "How do you spell the name of the guy who discovered the periodic table?" Since she'd gotten his phone number, she'd taken to treating him as her own personal Google.
"If I keep spoon feeding you answers, you're going to be too stupid to get into a decent physics program. Do you really want to wind up a liberal arts major?"
"Come on, Rodney. The time you save me looking up stuff is more time I have to work on my science fair project."
He sighed and spelled "Mendeleev" for her. "So, I was talking to your father the other night, he, uh…told me about your mother."
"Yeah?" Sheppard Jr. said distractedly. "The densest element is osmium, right?"
"Right. Do you-- what was she like?"
He could almost hear her shrug. "I was just a baby. All Dad ever says is that she was pretty and laughed a lot." Her tone grew more confidential, "For a relationship coach, he's not much of a talker."
"That's your father's type then?" Rodney fished for information. "Attractive and-- enjoys a good joke?"
"I guess," Sheppard Jr. said uncertainly. "Honestly? He doesn't really date. Which is kind of weird, again, for someone in his line of work, but good for me at least, no risk of ending up with an evil stepmonster. When Cassie Winegold's dad got remarried, she got packed off to boarding school. Do you know what element has the highest melting point? I always forget this."
"Look, I just thought I should say...it's possible that I am pathetically mooning over your father," he confessed. "Also, tungsten. You know-- about the other thing."
"I kind of figured, Rodney," Sheppard Jr. told him. "About the pathetic mooning thing." She stage whispered into the phone, "I think he likes you, too."
Rodney sat up straighter. "Really? How do you know? Did he say something?"
He rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Why didn't he just slip John a note before gym class? Do you like me? Check yes or no. That had to be about as dignified as pumping his daughter for information. Not that he wasn't holding his breath waiting for Sheppard Junior's answer.
"He brings you up sometimes, at dinner and stuff. Like he'll say, 'I don't know why Rodney hasn't found somebody, he's a really good guy,' and things like that. Dad never mentions his clients."
Rodney swallowed hard. Now that this was something like an actual possibility, he was practically paralyzed at the prospect. "I haven't-- I'm not--"
"A veteran of the man love? Don't worry. Neither is Dad." John's voice called out in the background, and Sheppard Junior whispered, "Gotta go. I'm not supposed to be on the phone until I finish my homework. Talk to you later, Rodney."
"But--" The line went dead. "I know even less about men than I do about women."
At last the recording came on, Please hang up and try your number again. Rodney snapped his phone closed and pulled up the dating website on his computer and took the mechanical voice's advice.
***
#96: If you meet someone and you're really smitten and you totally freak out, congratulations. You're officially a man. The panic will pass eventually. You just have hang in there and try not to do anything too stupid in the meantime.
Friday found Rodney back at Cana Rose, this time in the company of Helen Schmidt, self-made woman, chief executive of her own software company, the 2005 Entrepreneur of the Year. Maybe five feet tall, a hundred pounds, she had the appetite of a dozen longshoremen and ordered the 64-ounce T-bone, known affectionately on the menu as the "Elephant Choker." Rodney heartily approved and ordered the same for himself, and they spent the entire dinner conversation one-upping each other with stories of their corporate menace.
"I made my entire executive team cry once," Rodney remembered fondly. "And the best part was, they ended up apologizing to me, because they'd been wrong, wrong," he chuckled, "so very wrong."
Helen leaned in, a spark of challenge in her eyes. "Do you think you've turned any of them into secret cutters? Because I'm pretty sure I have. I always plan a pool party in the summer to see who shows up in a button down, just to test the theory."
Needless to say, the date was going swimmingly.
Helen commandeered the check when it came. "The 21st century and all that." She plunked down her Am Ex and smiled. "So, shall we head over to my place? I'd like to have sex. What do you say?"
Rodney was beginning to see how forthrightness really could be a quality to prize.
Helen lived in the Hollywood hills in a tribute to minimalism, a house like a pile of children's blocks precariously clinging to the slope. She breezed him inside and onto the couch, brought back two glasses of Merlot from the kitchen, sat them down on the glass rectangle that served as a coffee table, hiked up her skirt and climbed him like the Matterhorn.
"Unless you want your wine first?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Uh." He shifted positions, trying to move the sensitive parts of him away from the bony parts of her. "No. This is--"
"Good." She made quick work of her tiny pearl buttons and flung off her blouse, and then Rodney had lipstick in his mouth and breasts in his hands.
"Mmmm," he murmured around her tongue.
She bit him and laughed. "Can I make you cry, Rodney?"
"Um--"
Apparently, it was mostly a rhetorical question. She worked her hands under his shirt and scratched at his nipples and rocked her body against his cock. "Come on, Rodney, come on."
He brought his hands up to the back of her neck, fingers curling into the tendrils that had worked free from her French twist. He summoned up all his laser-edged focus to channel into the kiss. Only…his thoughts kept sliding away to John, trying to picture what he might be doing, watering the lawn or finishing up paperwork at that ridiculous desk of his, and then he started to wonder if Sheppard Junior was keeping up her part of the bargain and working on her science fair project, and he dearly hoped she hadn't chosen some fluffy faux science that was a complete waste of time, like playing Mozart to a bunch of houseplants to see if it made them suddenly telekinetic or capable of advanced calculus...
Helen pulled back, a crease between her eyebrows. "You didn't have too much wine at dinner, did you?"
"No!" His face turned hot. "I'm just--"
She hefted herself up from his lap. "Not feeling it." She sighed. "Why can't men multitask like women do? You might have some passion left for something other than work."
"I'll have you know that I have plenty of--"
"Be a dear huh?" She collected her shoes and blouse. "Show yourself out?"
"I'm just going through a sort of transference thing--"
Her bedroom door banged closed.
"Fine," he muttered.
He seethed all the way back to the city, and before he'd come to any conscious decision, had already started making the turns to Pasadena. Eventually it occurred to him that maybe he should call first, "She said I don't have passion for anything but work! I'll have you know that I am lousy with ardor. I can barely stand myself sometimes I'm so ruled by my animal nature."
"Rodney?" John sounded either sleepy or confused. It was hard to tell the difference.
"Yes," Rodney said impatiently. "I'm coming over. I'll be there in," he glanced around for a landmark, "oh, sometime tonight. I can't narrow it down more than that."
"I wasn't really planning on any appointments this evening--"
"You’re my relationship coach, right? So, I need some emergency advice from the sidelines. And I need it now!"
John sighed. "Avoid the 101. There was an accident earlier. And Rodney? Try not to have an aneurysm before you get here."
Sensible advice, although hard to follow when Rodney's lust for life had been called into question. He was practically frothing at the mouth when Sheppard opened the door for him.
"How could she say that to me? Just because I didn't throw off my pants and start boning away five minutes after we got to her place." He looked John up and down, taking in the sweatpants and ratty T-shirt. "Did I drag you off the Bowflex?"
John slung an arm across his shoulders. "Come on, champ. Let's go into the office, and you can give me the disgruntled play-by-play."
Rodney dumped himself onto the couch, and John pulled two beers out of the mini fridge.
"You didn't offer me one of those the last time," Rodney said in a vaguely accusatory way.
John settled beside him. "I save the booze for special occasions, to celebrate an engagement, or keep someone from going on a killing spree."
"Can you believe her?"
"Maybe she just wasn't feeling very comfortable, and that was her way of--"
"The woman practically had her clothes off before the door closed! No," Rodney shook his head, "she meant what she said, that I'm inadequate. Me! And this was after we'd kissed. I'll have you know I'm a really good kisser."
John was nodding. "I'm sure that's true."
"I can provide references-- Oh, forget it. Tell me you don't feel this all the way down to your toes." He grabbed John and pushed their mouths together, and about a second into it, which was basically a second too late, the adrenaline from the fury wore off, and he was left with a deep, panicky sense of, "oh, shit!"
He was desperately sorting through possible excuses, or alternately trying to calculate how quickly he could run from the room, when the tension in John's arms disappeared and the grabbing became suddenly reciprocal. John licked at Rodney's mouth, and the kissing ratcheted up several notches, past torrid, closing in on frantic, and there was panting and sweating and some rather juvenile pawing at one another that Rodney thought might possibly be the best thing ever.
Maybe it was too much to hope that it wouldn't stop as abruptly as it had started, but Rodney had never been a poster boy for reasonable expectations, and he let out a wordless sound of "hey, where are you going" when John leaped up from the couch like he'd just remembered he was being scalded.
"So," John swiped a hand through his hair, looking agitated, "kissing technique not a problem. Maybe that woman just wasn't the right person for you."
"Duh," Rodney thought, but from the determined look of nothing just happened here on John's face, there was no point in saying it.
***
#4: A setback is just a setback is just a setback.
"Now what's wrong with you?" was Cadman's way of greeting him bright and early Monday morning.
"Can't you say hello like a normal person?" He scowled at her.
"Yes," she said cheerfully, "to normal people." She plopped down onto his desk.
"Seriously not in the mood," he warned her.
She lifted an eyebrow. "Wet dream go bad?"
He could feel himself turning red like an infatuated adolescent. All he was missing were the pimples and the split second refractory period. His bitterness deepened.
"Oh, my God, McKay. Did something happen in actual reality?"
Her disbelief pissed him off--Cadman always had been able to push his buttons--and he blurted out, "He kissed me!" And immediately regretted having such a big mouth.
Cadman got bright-eyed and interested, the same expression she probably had when gossiping with her girlfriends, and Rodney could only look to the heavens and wonder how his life had devolved into this.
"Wasn't it any good?" she wanted to know. "Is that why you've gone all glum on me again?"
"The kiss wasn't bad," Rodney understated the case, "but we're two straight men. How well is that ever going to work out?"
"News flash, McKay. Straight guys don't, as a rule, spend much time kissing one another."
Rodney sighed. "Afterwards he acted like it hadn't happened."
"So? Obviously he's freaking out. What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know!" Rodney leaped to his feet and started pacing. "Any tactical knowledge I have in this area came from him. I'm pretty sure he's immune to his own material."
"Let me think, let me think." Cadman tapped her index finger against her chin.
Rodney paced to the other side of his office and whirled around. "Can't you do that any faster?"
At the same moment, Cadman went scarily glinty-eyed. "I've got it! You need to make him jealous!"
Rodney cradled his head in his hands. "I can't believe I actually pay you."
"No, no, listen, McKay." Her cheeks were pink with excitement. "Here's what we do. We throw a party, to celebrate getting the contract. You invite your coach--"
"John," he supplied.
"Tell John there's this woman who's interested in you, and you're thinking about getting involved with her, but you want his professional opinion first."
"But there's no--"
She waved him off. "Leave that to me. I'll invite Simone Rivier--"
"Oh, my God!" Rodney shuddered. "You really do hate me. Simone River is--"
"The tackiest, most cold-blooded gold digger in the Western hemisphere?' She broke into a huge smile. "Don't you see how perfect it is? If the kiss was just a fluke and coach's only interested in you professionally, then he'll pull you aside for some friendly advice. But if it's more than that--"
"What? What?" Rodney demanded.
Cadman winked. "Somebody gets laid."
The heat rushed to Rodney's face. "That's, that's--" He broke into a huge smile. "Surprisingly brilliant given the source."
Cadman smirked. "Just remember that when you're planning your big, fat, gay wedding. I want to be a bridesmaid, and I get to pick the dress."
***
#82: Men tend to think that sex solves everything, but doesn't necessarily mean anything. Hey, we all have our contradictions. Some are just more likely than others to leave you sleeping on the couch.
The party took place in a Malibu beach house, rented just for the occasion. There was a swing band, a champagne fountain, three ice sculptures, lobsters flown in from Maine, Beluga caviar fresh from Russia, and Rodney pulled Cadman aside with a hissed, "How much is this costing me exactly?"
She smiled sweetly. "If it bags you Mr. HotPants Relationship Coach, do you really care?"
On rare occasions, it was hard to argue with Cadman's logic.
John arrived, dressed in the specified black tie, a look so good on him it made Rodney's mouth go dry. He just was about to break for the door when Cadman pulled him back. "Try to play at least a little hard to get, McKay."
John scanned the crowd, and when he caught sight of Rodney, smiled and came to say hello. "So I finally get to see you in your natural element." He glanced at Cadman and then back at Rodney, and when Rodney made no move to introduce them, did the honors himself, "John Sheppard."
"Laura Cadman." She shook hands, holding on a little longer than Rodney cared for. "I've heard a lot about you." Rodney elbowed her, and she quickly added, "If you'll excuse me, I have to go ply some stockholders with alcohol."
She swished away, and John fixed Rodney with a puzzled smile.
"She's," he waved his hand, "fired." A waiter happened past with a tray of champagne, and Rodney snagged two glasses. "Here. I'm sure this is costing me a fortune, so please enjoy it as much as humanly possible."
John laughed and took a sip. "Not bad. Now, where's this contender you want me to check out?"
"Oh, I'm sure she'll be along any moment."
Simone Rivier was well known for her ability to track the wealthiest man in any room, a sort of gold-digger's radar, and Rodney and John were not even halfway through their champagne when she came plowing through the crowd, a cloud of citrus-scented perfume billowing around her, making Rodney sneeze.
"There you are." She attached herself to Rodney's arm like a bleached blonde barnacle. "What a lovely party. And aren't you looking handsome in your tuxedo. One of my admirers bought me this old thing I have one." She angled closer, as if her sequined evening gown couldn't be spotted from space, pressing her boobs against his chest. "But, of course, you have nothing to be jealous of, Roddie. He couldn't hold a candle to you." She blew a kiss at him.
John's forehead creased with consternation.
Simone must have smelled interference, because she tightened her grip on Rodney's arm. "Why don't you introduce me to your business acquaintances, Roddie? I'd love to meet them. Oh, and you know what this pretty view of the beach makes me think? We should plan a weekend away, go up to Carmel or Santa Barbara. Wouldn't that be fun?"
She spirited Rodney away, and they flitted butterfly fashion from group to group, and Rodney was forced to endure far too much of her nattering, most of which involved hinting at things she'd like him to buy for her. Every time Rodney glanced around, John was watching them, apparently eavesdropping too, his expression growing darker by the moment.
When he finally came to the rescue, Simone was still running off at the mouth, "It's not really true that diamonds are a girl's best friend. Now, emeralds on the other hand--"
"Excuse me," John pulled Rodney out of her grasp. "I need a word."
"Oh," the corners of her mouth turned down in exaggerated disappointment. "Hurry back, Roddie."
John dragged Rodney to the nearest private place, which happened to be the bedroom where the guests had piled their coats.
"Tell me that wasn't her. The woman you're interested in." John's jaw was clenched.
"That's Simone," Rodney said as blithely as he could manage. "So, what do you think?"
John stared at him. "Are you kidding me?"
"You don't like her?"
"Rodney, she's a man-eating bitch!"
"Don't you think maybe you're being a little harsh?"
"No!" Anger flashed in his eyes. "Watching her go after you was like watching some show on Animal Planet. The World's Deadliest Predators. Only with cleavage. She's obviously after your money. Hell, money is all she talks about. You deserve so much better. At the very least, somebody who actually wants you for you."
"Yes, well," Rodney said with a sigh, "I don't have someone like that. I have Simone. Sometimes you just have to play the cards you're dealt. So if you'll excuse me, I should get back--"
John caught him by the arm. "No. I'm not just going to stand back and let you do something this stupid."
"That's easy for you to say," Rodney was starting to get pissed, despite the pretense; he never appreciated having his intelligence questioned. "We're not all like you, God's gift to women."
"Shut up, Rodney," John said, voice tight.
"No, I will not--"
So John did it for him, mouth on his mouth, kissing away his sputtered indignation. It was precisely what Rodney had been hoping for, and yet that didn't mean he'd honestly expected it. He was just getting past the initial surprise, curling his fingers into John's jacket and pressing closer when John broke it off, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide and startled. "This is crazy."
Rodney sighed. This was seriously getting old.
But John was full of contradictions, because crazy or not, he was back again a second later, staking his claim to Rodney's personal space, kisses flying everywhere, hands pulling at Rodney's clothes, at his own, heat rising between them. They stumbled back a few steps, and Rodney landed with a soft "oof" on the bed, John on top of him, all angles and hard muscles, nothing like being in bed with a woman, and possibly the most arousing thing Rodney had ever experienced.
They got their shirts open, and Rodney traced patterns in the thick hair across John's chest. John fingered Rodney's nipples and pressed his face hotly to Rodney's throat.
He muttered against Rodney's skin, "Tell me you didn't really--"
"Just you. I only want you."
The reaction was instantaneous and physical, John's body jerking hard, his breath stuttering. He pushed his hand down the front of Rodney's pants, and then Rodney was the one flying apart.
"Fuck!" He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, momentarily, against the sensation of John palming and stroking his erection.
When he'd crested the dizzying wave of "oh, God, please don't let me come in my pants," he scrabbled at John's zipper, and then John's dick was in his hand, hot and straining and wet at the tip. Rodney's fantasies had been strangely circumspect in the anatomical sense, and the secret fear he'd pushed to the back of his mind was that he'd buckle pitifully when confronted with the realities of the sex he was so desperate for, but here it was now, and no pitiful buckling in sight. Rodney moved his fingers experimentally, and he felt the rush of John's breath, could almost taste John moaning his name, and it was all suddenly clear. John's dick was just like the rest of him: gorgeous, and Rodney couldn't get enough.
John shoved his pants and underwear down his legs, and Rodney thrashed desperately until his were out of the way too. John settled between his thighs, and Rodney got the picture and opened his legs wider. John started to thrust against him, and Rodney pushed up into his weight, their cocks sliding together. They kissed frantically, wet, sucking sounds echoing off the empty walls, and there was nothing graceful about any of it, not their desperate lunging bodies or their greedy hands tangled up in each other's hair.
Some practical streak in John was all that stood between their clothes and certain ruin. At the last possible moment, he thought to push their shirttails out of the way, so they came all over each other's skin instead of fine-gauge cotton. Rodney felt warm and satisfied afterwards, his mind strangely, comfortably blank, all the thoughts sexed right out of him. The only thing that registered, that had any weight in his awareness, was John's body pressed next to his, John's smell that he had all over him, like some kind of prize.
John brushed a quick kiss to his temple and got up and came back with a washcloth. The nubby sweep of it made Rodney's belly dip and his skin buzz, and the desire for more, well before his body could deliver it, was already building steam. John was less careful with himself, a quick swipe over his belly and chest, and downright careless with the bedside table, where he plopped the wet cloth when he was finished with it.
"Rodney--" There was longing in the word, spiked with regret.
Rodney sat up, the pleasant daze of sex instantly gone. "Oh, for God's sakes. What now?"
"We shouldn't have done this."
Rodney glared at him. "Says the one of us who's not going to have to pay the dry cleaning bill for this mink coat we came all over." He shifted his body and looked and frowned. "Or possibly just have to replace it."
John mulishly soldiered on with his freakout, "Leaving aside for a moment the fact that neither of us is gay--"
"Because that certainly didn't stop us from having sex," Rodney said snidely.
"You're my client, and sometimes that creates a sense of intimacy that's--"
"Oh, my God. Are you giving me a speech about transference? Because you're not my shrink, you know."
John looked no less tormented or stubborn. "There's still a line, and I shouldn't have crossed it."
He gathered up his clothes and shut himself in the bathroom and came back a few minutes later, mostly put back together.
"I'm sorry, Rodney," he said softly. "I really am."
When the door closed behind him, Rodney flopped back onto the bed, arm crooked over his eyes. In the hall, he could hear the muted throb of voices, Simone asking where Rodney was, John harder to make out, but Rodney thought he heard the word "beach," and then Simone's babbling was mercifully moving away.
Rodney stared up at the ceiling and wondered what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to call, when it was his relationship coach who was driving him insane.
***
Continue to Part Two.