Ryan felt her brow crinkle. “Why doesn’t he have a chance? I mean, he’s nuts, but he seems like a good guy.”
Camille looked up over the top of her phone. “He’s not really my type.”
Ryan couldn’t really imagine Gabe not being anyone’s type—at least physically. He was no Ben, but he was still incredibly attractive. “What is your type?” Ryan asked. It felt weird; for as close as she and Camille had gotten, she knew nothing about Camille’s love life. She suddenly felt bad that her romantic situation had been such a time suck on their conversations that she hadn’t bothered to ask her friend about her own.
Camille lowered her phone. “Decidedly more . . . feminine,” she said.
Ryan felt her jaw drop. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Camille was biting her lip as if she were nervous, which let Ryan know how important her reaction was to Camille. She’d never seen Camille even remotely worried before.
“I’m sorry,” was what came out and Ryan immediately wanted to punch herself when she saw Camille’s face drop and then harden in a matter of seconds. “No, no, wait. I didn’t mean I’m sorry you’re a lesbian. I meant, sorry that you didn’t think you could tell me before now.”
Camille relaxed back into the couch. “It wasn’t that I didn’t think I could tell you. I just don’t talk about my dating life as a rule. Mostly because I don’t have one,” she added with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Tell me if you don’t want to talk about it, but can I ask why you don’t have one?”
Camille leaned her head against the couch and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before looking back at Ryan. “Does it make me an asshole if I say I don’t want to talk about it?”
“No,” Ryan replied immediately.
“Good,” Camille sighed. After another beat, she continued, “It’s not because I don’t trust you or anything. If I was going to talk about it, it would definitely be with you. I’d just . . . rather not.”
Ryan gave her a small smile. “It’s because you’re in love with me, isn’t it?”
Camille laughed raucously and threw a couch pillow at her. “No offense, but you’re not really my type either.”
Ryan titled her head. “That’s . . . kind of a hit to my ego.” They both shared another laugh before Ryan grew more serious. “I don’t want you to feel like you ever need to explain yourself to me. You’ve always been there for me, so I’ll return the favor—even if being there means keeping my mouth shut.”
Returning the smile, Camille let out a soft “Thanks.”
Ryan continued cleaning up and Camille went back to her phone. It was a little bizarre that she talked to Gabe—that they were friends. It gave Ryan an irrational urge to have Camille to ask him about Ben, but she knew she couldn’t do that. She was barely holding onto her sanity as it was. The last thing she needed was an update on how Ben had gone back to his normal life and was doing fine without her. But she couldn’t resist a small question. “So what’s up with that Mike guy?”
Camille looked up from her phone again. “He died. It sounded like they were all kind of close. Gabe’s really upset about it.”
Ryan felt her posture sag. “Oh no. That’s awful.”
“Yeah, I guess it was really sudden.”
Camille went back to texting Gabe, and Ryan found herself jealous of her for it. Not because Ryan wanted to text Gabe, but because Camille could be there for him, comfort him when he needed it. Despite all the things Ben had done for Ryan, Ryan knew she’d been there for him too. And she missed it—probably missed it most of all. Because while being there for someone didn’t cost anything, it was the purest way to show how much you cared. Despite what she tried to tell herself, Ryan still cared. And she was terrified to realize that she probably always would.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ben spent the drive home from David’s the next morning in a whirlpool of emotions. He’d been estranged from his brother for years, the two of them so far removed from each other’s lives that neither one gave the other any intentional thought until their paths were forced to cross for one reason or another. But finally, they’d managed to come together in a way that Ben knew would be the foundation for not only a brotherhood, but a friendship as well. And that realization made him feel lighter than he’d felt in years. Like somehow the world was set back on its axis again and things were as they should be.
Well, almost as they should be. The news about Mike had devastated Ben, and he’d been surprised by his reaction. He had never been especially close to Mike, but Mike’s death had hit him hard. And it had hit Gabe—who’d become pretty close to Mike—even harder.
The guys hadn’t even had much time to process the loss before they were standing by Mike’s grave watching his close friends and family shovel in scoops of dirt. Since Mike was Jewish—a fact that Ben had learned only after Mike’s death—his funeral was the day after Ben got home. Burying someone when they were alive less than two days earlier seemed surreal, like whatever was in that coffin couldn’t have been Mike.
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Jace said as they walked back to Gabe’s car.
“Why do people always say stuff like that?” Ben asked. “It’s a funeral. There’s nothing good about it.”
Jace shrugged. “I thought it was nice. It wasn’t extravagant or showy. Just a simple celebration of Mike’s life with the people who really cared about him. You don’t always see that with celebrities.”
“It’s because it was a Jewish service,” Gabe said. “They’re always simplistic. No flowers or fancy casket. That’s typical in Judaism. They believe in letting the deceased return to the earth the way they came into it. It’s why the service is always held so soon after the death. No embalming or makeup or anything.”
“Is that why the casket’s closed too?” Jace asked, buckling his seat belt.
“It’s part of the reason. But Jews believe in honoring the deceased to the fullest extent possible. They believe that a closed casket allows the mourners to focus on the memories and life of the deceased. When you look at a dead body, it causes the living to think about their own emotions and reactions instead of giving all their attention to the person they’re there to honor.”
Ben had already turned toward Gabe in awe, but it was Jace who said what Ben was thinking. “How does a Catholic know so much about the Jewish religion?”
Jace’s question made Ben smile, but he felt a little guilty about his reaction after just having come from their friend’s funeral.
“Remember that girl I dated in college? Rachel?”
“The one you were obsessed with?” Ben asked.
“The one I was madly in love with, yes, that’s her.”
“You didn’t date her,” Jace said.
“What are you talking about? We definitely dated.”
“You asked her out so many times you eventually wore her down and she agreed to let you take her out for coffee.”
“Right. We went out a few times after that too.”
“Where?” Jace looked skeptical.
“It doesn’t matter where. We went out. Okay?” Gabe pulled out of the cemetery onto the street. “Anyway, Rachel was Jewish.”
“Don’t tell me you secretly converted for this girl who barely wanted anything to do with you,” Jace teased.
“No, I didn’t convert, jackass. Her father died a few weeks after we started talking, and I wanted to show my support for her, so I researched Jewish death traditions. I talked to a rabbi and everything.”
The guys remained silent. That seemed extreme even for Gabe.
“Turns out the family doesn’t like it if some random guy tries to sit Shiva with them, but Rachel did appreciate the gesture.”
Ben had to hold back a laugh. “I can’t believe you did all that to get a girl who barely acknowledged your existence.”
“Of course you can’t.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed at his friend. “What do you mean?”
“Oh
, come on,” Gabe said. “Other than calling her once or twice, you won’t even make the slightest attempt to get back the girl you love—and who loves you too, by the way. So it’s no wonder you can’t relate to my methods.”
Ben turned around to look at Jace, hoping his friend would back him up, but Jace shrugged. “He’s got a point.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “That’s not the same.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” Gabe said. “It only matters that you’re both miserable without the other.”
“You don’t know she’s miserable.”
“I do,” Gabe said simply. “Camille told me.”
“Camille?”
“Yeah, we’ve been texting since we met that time at your place.”
“Is Ryan okay?” It was all Ben cared about.
“Yeah, I guess. Camille said Ryan’s back living with her and she got her old job back at Daisy’s, so I guess she’s got some money coming in.”
Ben hated to think of Ryan having to work at that shithole of a strip club, even if she wasn’t the one taking off her clothes. She deserved better than Daisy’s. And she deserved better than Ben. “That’s good, I guess.”
“Yeah, sounds awesome,” Gabe replied dryly.
“What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I want her to have to work there, but I don’t really have much of a say in her life anymore. Because while she may be sad, I doubt she’s sad because she wants me back. She’s probably sad because I was a complete dick and I ruined something good.” And what they had was good. It broke Ben’s heart to think how easily he’d lost everything.
“Well, that too,” Gabe said.
“There’s no ‘too.’ That’s the reason she’s upset.” At least he thought so. But it killed him to know that there might be some truth to what Gabe said. What if he did still have a chance to make things right with Ryan eventually? How long should he wait when eventually might never arrive? Mike’s passing was a reminder that no one is promised any amount of time. Time is a luxury, a gift that isn’t always given. And the ones who get it often waste it, assuming there will be more.
“Text Camille and ask her where Ryan is,” Ben said suddenly.
Gabe stole a glance at Ben in the seat next to him and smiled. “A ‘please’ would help.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ryan finished applying her lipstick—a deep crimson that she’d never be caught dead in outside of Daisy’s—and touched up her eye shadow. For someone who didn’t ordinarily wear this much makeup, she’d gotten pretty skilled at putting it on. Her eyeliner came to a point outside of the corner of her eye, and the dark gray along the crease created a smoky look that she supposed some people liked. Just not her.
And that was the very reason she didn’t mind putting it on. Because she wasn’t only putting on a “face” in the literal sense. She was putting on a face that she only wore when she was here.
When she was at Daisy’s, she was somebody else entirely. And it had to be that way. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hours there, and she needed to last much longer than that. She finished getting ready and tossed her bag into her locker, shutting it with a loud clang. Then she tied her little black apron around her waist and headed out toward her section.
Ever since she’d returned to Daisy’s, Paul had made it a point to give her the tables closest to the stage. The son-of-a-bitch probably got a kick out of watching her carry trays filled with drinks as far from the bar as possible. She couldn’t walk for shit in stilettos anyway, and the extra distance took a toll on her feet after a long shift.
“I’m glad you’re here early,” Chrissy said when she saw Ryan approaching to relieve her. Chrissy had always been one of the servers that Ryan connected with. She didn’t take herself too seriously, and she was as sharp as she was stubborn. Ryan had loved her from the moment they’d met. “My daughter has a birthday party to go to tonight, and I wanna drive her so I can make sure this girl’s parents’ll actually be there. I know nothing about this Becca person, and the last thing I need is for my fifteen-year-old to wind up passed out and pregnant.”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll wake up before she’d technically be pregnant.”
“You’re not helping,” Chrissy joked.
“Sure I am. You’re getting out fifteen minutes early.” She offered Chrissy a warm smile. “You’re a good mom,” she said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Chrissy rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Don’t jinx it. She’s still got most of her teenage years ahead of her. I definitely have time to fuck things up.”
“Yeah, but you won’t,” Ryan said.
Chrissy smiled in appreciation. Ryan knew the single mom didn’t have much help at home, and she was doing her best to raise her two girls to be independent, self-assured young women.
Before she left, Chrissy gave Ryan a rundown of what was happening with all her tables: There was a sixteen-person joint bachelor and bachelorette party at one of the tables, which was why she only had two other small tables to worry about. “The party table got pretty rowdy earlier, but they seemed to have calmed down the last half hour or so.”
“Jesus, who has their parties on a Tuesday afternoon? And why would the bride-to-be want hers to be at a strip club?” Ryan tried to stop her mind from remembering Natasha’s party, but her thoughts wandered there anyway. The night had been one she’d likely always remember, even if the thought of it caused other memories to resurface that she was trying to avoid.
“Who knows,” Chrissy said. “They were drunk when they got here an hour ago. They said something about extending their long weekend. Guess they aren’t from around here.” She shrugged. “Hopefully they’ll at least stay a while and you’ll get a good tip.”
“You mean we,” Ryan corrected her. “I’ll text you later and let you know what they left. Now get out of here so you can make sure Hannah stays pure.”
Chrissy laughed before heading to the back room to get her things and clock out.
The next half hour or so passed by more quickly than usual. Running drinks and appetizer after appetizer out to the party table kept her busy. Every time she’d return to the table to bring out more drinks or food, someone would order something else. Ryan hoped Chrissy was right about the tip.
Finally there was a lull in their orders, and she was able to make it over to the table of two that was sitting near her large party. She knew she’d been neglecting them more than she should, so she put on a wide smile as she approached. “Can I get you fellas anything?” she asked, clearing their empty glasses.
“A waitress would be good,” one of them said.
Smart-ass. “Sorry about that,” Ryan said in the sweetest voice she could offer. “I’m working this section alone, and there’s a big party over there.”
The other man sighed in what Ryan recognized as annoyance, but when he gave her a small smile, it eased her nerves somewhat. “We’ll take two—”
“Hey, hey!” one of the women yelled from the other table. “Can we get some more pitchers?”
Ryan held up a finger toward them to let them know she was busy. “I’m sorry. What was it you’d like?” she asked the man who’d just been speaking.
But he didn’t get a chance to answer before the woman spoke again. “Did that waitress hold her finger up at me?”
The way she said “waitress” made Ryan’s muscles tense. Like somehow sitting at a table in a strip club instead of serving one made her a better person than Ryan. Slowly, Ryan turned to see the soon-to-be bride glaring at her. “I’ll be there in a moment,” Ryan said, trying to remain calm. She would not let these people get to her. They weren’t worth it, and she knew that.
The woman let out a sharp laugh and peered over her girlfriends toward the bar. “Where’s the other girl?” she asked, and Ryan assumed she was asking about Chrissy.
“She went home for the night. I told you that when I introduced myself and said I’d be taking over your table.” Ryan heard the edge to her
voice, but she was careful not to be rude.
“Oh yeah. What’d you say your name was again?”
“Ryan.” When she’d originally introduced herself, she’d told everyone her name was Paige, like she always had. But right now she couldn’t bring herself to cover up who she was. She couldn’t suppress her identity in order to adhere to some set of standards she didn’t give a shit about. She’d nearly suffocated under the weight of it.
And somehow the proclamation lightened her, as if revealing her real name let a part of her escape that she’d always been so careful to keep concealed when she was here. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she simply couldn’t be someone she wasn’t any longer.
“Oh. Well, Ryan,” she said. “Just so you know, that bitch who was here before you is a thousand times better.”
Ryan’s only reaction was to glare at her, and she found herself wishing she had some sort of superpower that allowed her to sear this woman’s skin with her stare. Because she would not say any of the expletives that were swirling inside her mind like a storm. She would not jump over that fucking table and punch this chick in her smug little face. Because that would be stooping to her level. And if there was one thing Ryan knew for sure, it was that this woman and Ryan were not on the same level. Not even fucking close.
“Yeah, well just so you know,” Ryan said, “you should be ashamed of yourself.”
A slow smile grew across the bride’s face as she seemed to contemplate what Ryan had said and was gearing up for her verbal retaliation. “Really? I should be the one who’s ashamed? I’m not the one waiting tables next to poles and pussy.”
Ryan almost had to laugh. If this chick thought she was going to get under her skin by criticizing what Ryan considered to be hard work, she was dumber than she looked. Ryan couldn’t give a fuck less what other people thought of her or her job. She stared at the woman for a moment longer, before she felt a hand on her shoulder blade. Shit, she thought, catching the scent of Paul’s spicy cologne.
“What’s going on?” he asked. He didn’t sound mad necessarily, more like annoyed.
The Proposition Page 25
