by Lane Hart
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure her. “But when can I see you again? There’s plenty more fast food joints we could hit up.”
“How about Friday?” she offers, which fucking sucks since I have to work.
“Um, I can’t this weekend. How about Monday?”
“I can probably clear my schedule for Monday night,” she replies, making me grin.
“Good. I’ll see you then,” I tell her. “Good night.”
“Night,” she echoes before ending the call, and just in time since my minutes are running low. Thankfully, I have enough money to add some more time to it. And now I have five days to figure out where to take Whitney on our date.
Chapter Seventeen
Whitney
Walking out of the salon, I run my fingers through my much shorter hair and try not to cringe. As soon as I climb in my car, I pull the visor down to check the mirror.
“Oh, God. I look like a twelve-year-old,” I say to myself as I shake my head back and forth, watching the ends of my hair brush over my shoulders.
Needing someone’s honest opinion about how it looks, I decide to head to Abby’s shop. She’ll tell me the truth without sparing my feelings, which is both a blessing and a curse since my sister is sometimes too blunt.
The door chimes when I walk through Happily Ever After a few minutes later.
“Hi, can I help…holy shit! What did you do to your hair?” Abby asks as she approaches.
“Is it that bad?” I ask, my eyes tearing up.
“No, it’s not bad, just…unexpected,” my sister says as she runs her fingers through the ends. “I didn’t know you were even thinking about cutting it.”
“I wasn’t, but I had to!” I admit.
“Mom made you cut it?” she exclaims indignantly on my behalf.
“No, and she’s probably gonna freak when she sees it.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I love it,” Abby declares, always preferring to go against our mother’s opinions.
“Honestly, though, how bad is it?” I ask again.
“It’s cute, and makes you look younger.”
“That’s not exactly the look I was going for,” I mutter.
“So why did you cut it off?”
“There was an accident,” I admit.
“An accident? What sort of accident?”
“Well, I had a date with Alex last night…”
“And he cut it off?” she exclaims.
“Oh, my God, no. But he did kind of set it on fire.”
“Holy shit! How?”
“We just got too close to the stove. It was an accident, but the back of my hair was singed up several inches, so I cut the rest to match.”
“Wow. Between the fire and the stitches last week, maybe fate is telling you to stay away from him,” Abby opines.
“I’m not going to stay away from him just because of two bizarre, freak accidents,” I tell her. “I like him.”
“You like him?” Abby repeats while her similar brown eyes like mine open wide in shock. “Even though he can’t afford a car and he shares an apartment with Luke?”
“Yes!”
“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” she asks with her hands on her hips.
“Ha-ha. You’re hilarious,” I deadpan. “Alex is a nice, funny guy. And have you seen him? He’s so freaking hot.”
“Hot enough that you could give up shopping?”
“Why would I have to give up shopping?” I ask in confusion.
“Well, if you two were to, say, get married one day, you don’t think Dad would keep putting money in your bank account, do you?”
Pouting at the thought, I say, “Why wouldn’t he?”
“Because at some point you have to grow up, Whit! And, you know, getting a job wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.”
“Yes, it would! How could I stay home with our kids if I have to work all the time?” I ask.
“Because juggling being married, working, and having kids is real life, crazy. This isn’t the fifties! Women want to work and be successful in their own career.”
“Not all of them. Plenty of moms stay home with their kids.”
“And then what will you do once they go off to school?” she questions.
“I dunno,” I answer with a shrug. “Have more babies?”
“Good luck finding a man who will let you sit on your ass while he slaves away at the office all day,” Abby replies snidely.
“I wouldn’t be sitting on my ass. It’s not about being too lazy to work; it’s about living out my dream of actually taking care of my own damn kids instead of leaving them with a stranger all day!” I yell back at her.
“Low. Blow,” Abby says, her puppy dog eyes filling with moisture, which is when I realize what I’ve just said. “You have no idea how hard it is for me and Senn to leave the house every morning when all we want to do is stay there with Eden. But we’re doing what we have to do to provide for our family, and I’m trying my best to be a positive role model for my daughter! God forbid she grows up thinking that women aren’t capable of being successful without having to depend on a man.”
“You’re right; I don’t know how hard that is for you. And I’m proud of you for starting your own business and being independent,” I concede. “But personally, I think I could be happy and fulfilled with just being a mother.”
“That’s your decision,” Abby tells me. “But there’s one little problem with that plan of yours. You can’t do it on your own. It takes a man to make that a reality, and what happens if one day that man decides to up and leave you and the kids? Then what? How will you support them? Because it’s not just you who will suffer.”
“All of that is hypothetical,” I remark. “It would suck, but I don’t want to dwell on what could happen. I wouldn’t have kids with a man I didn’t trust to stick around.”
“Sometimes we don’t get to make that choice,” Abby points out since getting pregnant with Eden was purely a happy accident, one that saved her life.
“That won’t be a problem for me,” I mutter.
“You never know. Senn and I were careful, and I still got knocked up.”
“Believe me; I don’t have to worry about any happy accidents,” I assure my sister.
“Condoms aren’t one hundred percent, and neither are birth control pills. A lot of shit can happen, so you still need to be careful…”
“I can’t have kids, okay!” I exclaim, so she’ll stop with the lecturing.
“What?” she asks softly.
“My ovaries are broken. My period was like two months late; and instead of finding out I was pregnant, I found out I’m infertile!”
“When did you…why didn’t you tell me?” Abby asks.
“A few weeks ago,” I answer. “That’s the real reason Ryan broke up with me.”
“He broke up with you? But I thought you ended things.”
“After the pregnancy scare, he said he realized he wasn’t ready for anything serious with me,” I admit.
“Aww, Whit. I’m so sorry,” she says, wrapping me in her arms. “I can’t imagine how hard that is…”
“It really sucks and is apparently pretty fucking rare,” I tell her. “But there’s always adoption or egg surrogates. Those things aren’t cheap, I know, but hopefully, whoever I marry understands.”
“God, I’ve been such a bitch,” Abby says before she lets me go. “I’m sorry. But I can sympathize slightly with you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Is everything okay with you and Senn?”
“Our life isn’t picture perfect one hundred percent of the time. And right now, we’re kind of arguing about having another baby.”
“Really?” I ask excitedly, wanting to have another niece or a nephew.
“It’s not gonna happen,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Not unless I milk his dick while he’s sleeping and squirt it up there –”
“Ew!” I say, barely refraining from gagging.
<
br /> “Senn doesn’t want me to try to get pregnant until I’ve been in remission for five years.”
“Well, that’s probably the prudent thing to do,” I point out since Abby nearly died because of her leukemia while she was pregnant with Eden.
“I know, but in five years it may be too late!” she remarks.
“You’ll be in your early thirties. That’s still plenty of time,” I assure her, jealous that my situation won’t change at all during that time. At least she has the possibility…
“Now I feel horrible about being upset he refused instead of being thankful for the beautiful, healthy baby we have,” she says. “Marriage is hard.”
“It has to be better than being alone, right?”
“Yeah, it is,” Abby concedes. “Just promise me that you won’t rush into anything with the first guy you like, thinking it will all work out perfectly.”
“I won’t,” I assure her before I turn around and walk out with my shoulders slumped.
I feel even shittier than I did when I came here, my haircut forgotten. Abby’s words and our argument follow me home, only drowned out by my mother’s disapproving remarks, worried about what Kenneth will think when he sees me tomorrow night.
Chapter Eighteen
Alex
My palms grow sweaty as I pace around the living room, waiting on Whitney to arrive Monday afternoon. It feels like it’s been weeks since I last saw her. Finally, after surviving a weekend of torture at the restaurant, I now have three wonderful days off. I spent the morning at Havoc with the conditioning coach, which was brutal after the time off, and spent the afternoon making plans for tonight.
Hearing her soft knock at the door, I jog over to answer it.
Whitney looks as beautiful as ever, just slightly younger than before…
“Hey, you got a haircut?” I ask, noticing her now straight, shoulder-length hair.
Her silent shrug tells me she’s not very happy with it.
“I like it. It makes you look sweet and innocent,” I tell her.
“And I wasn’t sweet and innocent before?” she asks, her smile telling me she’s teasing.
“I don’t know, were you?” I ask with my own grin.
Without answering that questions, Whitney looks over my shoulder and says, “I take it from the lack of smoke that you didn’t try and cook tonight?”
“Nope. We have reservations,” I tell her proudly.
“Aw, I didn’t know Wendy’s was taking those now,” she says, making me laugh.
“This place is just a little bit nicer and doesn’t have a drive-thru window,” I assure her. “If you’re ready, I can lock up?”
“Sure,” she agrees.
Stepping back into the apartment, I grab Luke’s blazer that he’s letting me borrow tonight, and slip it on over my blue button down. A tie would also be appropriate, but I hate those fuckers, so I’m not fooling with wearing one.
Whitney waits for me by the door. After I lock up and we start down the sidewalk, she says, “Wow, am I underdressed?”
For the first time since I got distracted by her hair, I take in her outfit underneath her knee-length brown leather jacket. It looks like she’s wearing a navy-blue dress that hugs her curves with tall boots that match her coat.
“You look…perfect,” I assure her. Honestly, I have no idea what most of the female customers wear to Anton’s since I’ve been too busy running back and forth to the kitchen to notice. Even if Whitney is concerned about being dressed too casual when we get there, our table will give us plenty of privacy away from the other guests.
I call out the simple driving directions to Whitney, and it only takes a few minutes for us to make it to the restaurant just a few blocks away.
“Wow, this place looks really nice. Are you sure…?” she turns in her seat to ask me without taking off her seatbelt or killing the engine.
She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. I know exactly what she means. She’s worried that I can’t afford a meal here. Which is probably the truth, but luckily, I get a half-price discount.
“I’m sure,” I tell her. “Come on.”
Opening my car door, I get out and walk around to open Whitney’s for her. She still looks hesitant as she stares at the walls of glass that allow you to clearly see the elegance of the white linens and the formality of the patrons and staff.
Taking her hand in mine, I lead the way up to the front.
“Hey, Alex!” Shannon, one of our hostesses, says in recognition. “You’re all set. Menus are on the table.”
“Thanks,” I tell her with a smile before I start toward the alcove I begged Wade to let me reserve as soon as Whitney agreed to a date tonight. I picked this particular table because the walls on each side jut out, blocking it from the view of other guests and making it more private. There are sconces holding candles on both walls, a view of the garden from the massive window, and a leather half circle booth for us to share.
“Wow, this is…wow,” Whitney says from beside me. “Are you sure…”
“Just sit your ass down,” I tell her with a slap to her bottom.
Giggling, she removes her coat and lowers herself into the right side of the booth. I take the other, both of us sliding around until we meet in the middle.
After Marshall, one of the veteran waiters who trained me, comes to take our orders, I sip my water, and Whitney swirls her crimson cocktail around the glass in silence.
“So, do you come here a lot?” she finally asks, her brow furrowed in confusion as her eyes glance around the restaurant. “Everyone seems to know you.”
“I’ve been here a few times,” I reply honestly, leaving off the part about when I usually come here I’m expected to wait tables.
“You’re quite the contradiction, Alex Stiles.”
“How’s that?” I ask.
Pushing her glass away so that she can prop her chin on her knuckles, she says, “Well, you don’t have a car, your phone flips open, and you live in an apartment with barely any furnishings, yet you have this…look about you like you fit in here.” After considering me for a long moment, she asks, “Is your family wealthy?”
Damn, she’s perceptive. Rather than lie to her, I admit the truth. “Yes. My dad was one of the original programmers that started an internet search engine years ago, so he’s done well for himself.”
“Do you miss it?”
“What? The money?” I ask for clarification, and Whitney nods. “Of course I do,” I answer with a grin. “But I think I would rather be completely independent and broke than be forced to work at a boring desk job with him for the rest of my life.”
“It would be nice to make my own decisions for once,” she replies softly before sitting up straight. “Then I would just have to listen to my mother bitch about my choices and how they’re all wrong.”
“That’s just one person’s opinion,” I remind her. “Why do you care so much what she thinks?”
Giving a one shoulder shrug, Whitney says, “I don’t know. Because I have to live with her and can never escape the nagging?”
“You can escape it,” I assure her. “Have you tried standing up to her?”
“Ha! You’ve never met my mother. Standing up to her would be like battling Godzilla.”
“She can’t be that bad.”
“Yes, she is,” she replies sadly. “And now is not the best time to take a stand with my dad’s heart and all. He gets upset when we argue, so I don’t want to stress him out.”
“That’s understandable,” I tell her.
“I will stand up to her, one day,” Whitney says.
“I’m guessing she wouldn’t like me?” I ask.
Smiling, she shakes her head. “No, probably not. Being with you wouldn’t do much for her social standing.”
“What about the last guy you were with?” I ask curiously. “The one you broke up with the day you came to Havoc.”
“Right, Ryan,” she answers. And hearing another man’s name on h
er lips causes a knot of jealousy to form in my gut. “His father owns a chain of grocery stores, and his mother is a sweet lady who runs all these nationwide feed the homeless charities, so she knows celebrities or whatever. My mom was hoping to use me to get in good with them.”
“What about the boy?” I ask. “Why didn’t things work out with you two?”
“Ugh. Ryan was nice and all, but he was so boring he nearly put me to sleep when we were alone. Last summer we vacationed together up and down the east coast.”
“That sounds…fun,” I force through clenched teeth.
“Visiting only Civil War battleground sites!” she finishes in exasperation. “I’m sure they were pretty exciting during the wars, but now they’re just a bunch of grassy fields with a few statues.”
“Wow,” I mutter, followed by a laugh.
“If you’ve seen one, I’m pretty sure you’ve seen them all,” she jokes with a grin. Shaking her head, she says, “I should’ve broken up with him then.”
“Why didn’t you?” I ask.
“He was nice and…”
“And?” I prompt when she stops since there has to be more to him than that nice.
“The sex may have sucked, but I was more than just another piece of ass to him,” she finally answers in a rush.
“So, you’ve been with guys who treated you that way?” I ask in concern.
“Yeah, I mean, what woman hasn’t?” she replies. “In high school, I got screwed over by three different assholes before I figured it out. They could be so charming and caring, but they only wanted one thing; and after they got it, they moved on. I started to think they were right, that I didn’t have anything else to offer. That’s why I eventually agreed to let my mom set me up with guys in her social circle.”
In that moment, I realize that Whitney and I both know what it’s like to be used, only in slightly different ways. And I can admit that over the years, I may have treated a few girls the same. Not intentionally, but without thinking about their feelings, just getting lost in the moment. I’m actually glad that I haven’t slept with Whitney yet, and I make the decision then and there that even if she comes back to my apartment later, tonight won’t be our first time.
