Free Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin Page B

cute. But he was also all about image. He
    was the kind of guy who retires his college cool-boy uniform of
    filthy, intentionally broken-in baseball caps, fraternity party Tshirts,
    and woven leather belts, swapping it for his twentysomething
    urban cool-boy uniform of gripping, cotton-spandex Tshirts,
    tight black pants with a slight sheen, and loads of hair gel.
    He told too many "a guy walks into a bar" jokes (none funny) and
    "I'm a badass trader" war stories (none impressive).
    When he
    bought me a drink on that first night, he threw down a onehundred-dollar bill and told the bartender in a loud voice that he was sorry but he didn't have anything smaller. In a nutshell, he
    epitomized what Darcy and I call TTH for Trying Too Hard.
    But Alec was smart enough, fun enough, and nice enough. So
    when he asked for my number, I gave it to him. And when he
    called and asked me out to dinner, I went. And when he propositioned me, four dates later, ribbed condom in hand, I
    shrugged inside but said yes. He had a great body, but the sex was
    just average. My mind often wandered to work, and once when I
    heard SportsCenter in the background, I even pretended he was
    Pete Sampras. Many times I came close to breaking up with him,
    but Darcy kept telling me to give him another chance, that he was
    rich and cute. Way richer and cuter than Nate, she'd point out. As
    if that was what it was all about.
    Then one night, Claire spotted Alec kissing a petite, somewhat
    trashy-looking blonde at Merchants. When the girl went to the
    bathroom, Claire confronted Alec, warning him that if he didn't
    confess his infidelity, she would tell me herself. So the next day
    Alec called and sputtered an apology, saying he was getting back
    together with his ex, who I assume was the girl at Merchants. I
    almost told him that I had wanted to break up too it was the
    truth. But I cared so little that I didn't bother setting the record
    straight. I simply said okay, best of luck. And that was that.
    Every now and then I run into Alec at the New York Sports Club
    near work. We are very cordial to each other once I even used the
    StairMaster beside his, not caring that my face was broken out or
    that I was wearing my sloppiest gray sweats (Darcy says they
    should never be worn in public). On that occasion, we made small
    talk. I inquired about his girlfriend, letting him ramble on about
    their upcoming trip to Jamaica. It took no effort at all to be nice,
    another clear indication that I had nothing real invested in our
    relationship. In some ways, in fact, I shouldn't even put Alec in
    the serious-boyfriend category. But because I slept with him (and
    see myself as the sort of woman who would only sleep with
    someone in a legitimate relationship), I put him in that unfortunately exclusive club.
    I review my three boyfriends, the three men I slept with in my
    twenties, searching for a common thread. Nothing. No consistent
    features, coloring, stature, personality. But one theme does
    emerge: they all picked me. And then dumped me. I played the
    passive role. Waiting for Hunter and then settling for Joey.
    Waiting to feel more for Nate. Then waiting to feel less. Waiting
    for Alec to go away and leave me in peace.
    And now Dex. My number four. And I am still waiting.
    For all of this to blow over.
    For his September wedding.
    For someone who gives me that tingly feeling as I watch him
    sleeping in my bed early on a Sunday morning.
    Someone who isn't
    engaged to my best friend.

Chapter 6
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    On Saturday night, I cab down to
    Gotham Bar and Grill with an open mind and a positive attitude half the battle before any date thinking that maybe
    Marcus will be the someone I am looking for.
    I walk into the restaurant and spot him right away, sitting at the
    bar, wearing baggy jeans and a slightly wrinkled, green plaid shirt
    with the sleeves rolled up haphazardly the opposite of TTH.
    "Sorry I'm late," I say, as Marcus stands to greet me.
    "Had