by Eliza Freer
I hear my dad come upstairs from his man cave. “So?”
“So? Dad…he took me bowling. BOWLING!” I sigh, kick off my shoes, and go sit at the kitchen island.
Dad walks over and kisses the top of my head. “Bowling? Really? Wow. That boy doesn’t know you at all.” He pours me a glass of water and slides it in front of me.
“Am I right to assume there will be no repeat performance there?” He smiles. He knows how much I hate bowling.
“Um, no. But he’s nice so maybe the friend thing will work. But, bowling. Jesus. I even let him win a couple games so someone who liked the game would walk out with the W.” I grab my glass of water and head towards the stairs.
“Well, kiddo that was very neighborly of you. I’m sure he appreciated it, since we both know there’s no way he didn’t notice. But I am sorry you didn’t have a good time.”
I pause on the second step. “Oh, I had a nice time getting to know him, but. It’s definitely not a love connection.” I keep walking up the stairs. Once I reach the top I let out one last yell. “Jesus, Dad. Bowling for god’s sake.”
He laughs and I hear him walk up the stairs behind me, shutting off the lights on the way up.
Chapter 8
The next morning I regale Izzy with the details of my date with her brother. She apologizes profusely for the bowling, she swears if only he would’ve asked her she would’ve advised against it. Which, of course, I brush off. I made sure to let her know I had a nice time, and he’s a lovely guy, but there’s just no love connection. She didn’t seem surprised. Especially after the bowling information.
I’m leaned over grabbing a pastry out of our cabinet when I hear a familiar voice reading our daily question.
“Which type of existential crisis would you prefer? Realizing your college degree is likely unnecessary for your future, therefore rendering everything you've been told inside the educational system a lie? Or acknowledging that matching your socks is an unnecessary waste of time that proves the shallowness of society, where even something unseen needs to be matched with it's pair for one to feel whole and accomplished.”
I look up, knowing it’s Wilder, with his trademark oh so sexy half smile. I smile back because I just can’t help it.
He whistles, “Wow, East. How is it that your questions manage to be three times longer than all of your co-workers?”
I smile and shrug. “Talented like that. We have smaller pens, just for me. What are you doing here?”
Wilder pulls a full smile, and I know I’m in trouble. “Taking care of business. Back to your questions, that’s a heavy one today, but I’m up for the challenge.” He leans against the side of the counter and faces the line of customers behind him. I get a wary feeling immediately.
“You going to order something?” I smack his shoulder, so he looks over my way.
“Oh, Easton, Easton. You should’ve seen this coming, really. You didn’t leave me with a lot of options.”
When I look at him quizzically, he flashes me a brilliant smile and leans toward me conspiratorially. “Listen up, beautiful. I’m done waiting for you to agree to go out with me, since now apparently you’re dating girl. I know you can’t back down from a challenge, so that’s why I’m here. If you’re going to be dating anyone, it’s going to be me, and I’m here to ensure that happens.”
I lean back and stare at him, nervous for what this challenge he speaks of is. “Wy, I never said I wouldn’t go out with you, I just haven’t agreed to yet.”
He faces the line again and says too loudly, “Yeah, well time’s up.”
Wilder pulls over a barstool and stands on top of it, projecting his voice to reach everyone in the shop. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen. As all of you fine patrons are aware, the hard working baristas here take the time to write a daily question for you every day. I want to play a game with the beautiful Easton today. The stakes, in my opinion, are quite high.”
He winks at me. “Wilder, what are you doing?” I demand.
“So here’s how it’s going to work. Right now, me and your girl here, are each taking one of the given answers and will try to convince you of the merit of our side. If I am more convincing, you put your tip in my section, and if she is, you give her side the money. At the end of her shift,” he turns and looks at me, saying this just to me, “for which I will be here for the entirety, we will count the votes and if I win, she has to finally agree to go out with me. Date of my choice. If she wins, we’ll keep doing this ridiculous, albeit charming, dance where she keeps pretending she’s not into me.”
“What about when new people come in? These lovely folks will go on about their day and new people will come into the cafe you know?” I blush and look out at the patrons who are all smiling. Even Izzy seems into this uncomfortable game we’re going to be playing for the next few hours. I take a deep breath and smile.
“Then we do it all over again. Come on, Collins. Get your head in the game.” Wilder pushes his hair back off his forehead and I swoon inside. I hate him.
“Game on, Sullivan. We need some basic rules first.” I stare at him so he knows I’m serious.
He growls. “Woman, I am tired of your rules, but fine, go ahead.” He crosses his arms.
I laugh “Rule one, you CANNOT add money to your own side. You, Money bags, are not able to further your goal on your own. This is a battle of wits, that your money cannot win. Rule two, you can only push your own narrative, not put down the other side’s. Based solely on your own powers of persuasion.” I lean my hip against the counter and think. “That’s all I got for now.”
Wilder rubs his hands together preparing for the game. He and I share a big smile, preparing for battle.
Wilder starts. “Well, a true existential crisis would change your big picture of the world. What is more overarching than understanding where we fit inside the currently set forth societal rules mandated by years of cultural stereotypes, the likes of which, one can’t even trace the origins to. Who decided it was necessary to match socks? I, myself, find it a representation of my individuality to not do so, but do feel slighted whenever I’m judged for my decision to not adhere to what is expected of me. It is a waste of time in the sense that it should be everyone’s choice whether they decide to match their socks or not, and not mandated but cultural presumptions.”
Wilder gazes over to me, my mouth hanging open. This is actually a pretty sound argument, and not what I was expecting. I thought he’d turn it into a charming game so people would side with him because he’s charm personified. That paired with his unnatural good looks would win him more than a few votes. I will definitely need to kick this up a notch.
Wilder clears his throat, keeping his gaze on me. “However, I do not think it is a waste of time to search for a true match, to find something that makes you feel whole.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Are we still talking about socks?”
Wilder smiles. “I don’t know, are we?” He steps off the barstool and offers it to me. “Your turn.”
I clear my throat. “You could say that we really only start thinking about what a degree can get us once we’re inside these doors, but that’s discounting all the years we’re striving to get into our chosen university to study what we think will give us the best future. For most of our adolescence, we’re working towards being good enough to fit into the mold we believe we want to belong inside. If once we find out that conforming to these stereotypes and joining these clubs and being involved and studious was in the long run for nothing, that might’ve shaded who we are up until this moment and we might have made different choices. You could look at what having a college degree meant to each of us, and what we thought it’d get us and trace decisions made for our future back over half of our lives. If we were to realize that it’s not as necessary as we were told, we might be different people than we are today. I might be a dolphin trainer.” I sneak a glance over at Wilder. “My date last night might’ve be
en a pirate, and Wilder here might be a circus clown. But instead, we subscribed to the greatest con of our generation.”
I smile at Wilder, proud of my mention of Grant, and my response, even if it was a bit cyclical.
I look at the first customer to see a friendly face. “Foamy! How fitting you’re the first. Usual, I’m assuming?” He nods.
“Hi, I’m Wilder. What’s your name?”
“Arthur. However, I’m partial to Foamy, so we’ll go with that.” Foamy smiles at me, so I know I have it in the bag. However I gasp when I see him toss his dollar into Wilder’s side of the jar. Wilder grins.
“FOAMY! How dare you?”
Foamy laughs “Look, East. You know I think you’re brilliant. But I also think you need to get some, and get out more. This insures that happens more quickly. Please, don’t ask Izzy to spit in my coffee.” He moves out of line and the next customer steps up.
After about five customers have gone through after Foamy, Wilder and I are tied. I’ll have to use more of my feminine wiles next time since Wilder oozes charm.
The next voice I hear lets me know Wilder will have another vote coming his way. I smile, “Kyle! Iced coffee?”
Kyle laughs knowing I’m trying to butter him up. He looks to Wilder, places his hand on his shoulder, and drops his money into my side of the jar. I whoop too loudly.
“What the hell, man? You’re my best friend!” Wilder pushes Kyle’s hand off his shoulder.
“Look, Wy. When you screw this up and lose, and she gets to take her time with you, I think I have a chance. So this is a vote for me, not against you per say.” Kyle winks at me. I’ll take it.
I flash Kyle a huge smile, put both of my hands on the counter, and push my top half over the register to reach his face. I give him a kiss on the cheek and lower myself back to my side. “Anything’s possible.”
Kyle laughs and Wilder glares at me and growls. “When I win this, you will pay for that.”
I smirk, “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.”
Izzy walks up behind me and hands Wilder an iced coffee. I glare at her. “No outfitting the enemy with refreshments!”
Izzy puts her hands up and walks backwards. “Hey, he looked like he needed refreshments. I’m sure that’s in the Geneva Convention or something. You really like quoting the Geneva Convention, by the way Femme, so I pay attention to that being a war document of some kind. Battle on.” She smiles and turns back towards the espresso machine.
A woman steps up to the register and regards both me and Wilder with interest. I don’t know her actual name, of course, but she always orders a London Fog. I smile at her.
“Mrs. Fog, how are you this morning? I appreciate your participating in our little game we have going on today. Usual?”
She looks at Wilder and then focuses on me. “Yes, dear, thank you. Now, I don't know why you haven’t snatched this young man up already, but I do think it was a cheat for him to pick first, so you get my vote. I do hope you’re happier in college than it seems.”
I put in her order and grin at her. “Well, I’m sure he’s loving that you think I should snatch him up, but like you said, he’s a bit of a scoundrel, so I want to make him work as hard as possible. And, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll love college. Just, realities vs. perceptions, ya know.”
Wilder smiles, “Mrs. Fog, which I’m assuming isn’t your real name, but people seem okay with nicknames here, I just want to let you know that I think Easton is an even larger catch than I am, and would do my utmost to make her happy and taken care of. If that changes your vote at all regarding my intentions here.”
I point at Wilder, “Hey! No! You can’t make yourself seem super charming and all “I want to make Easton happy” and try and get my regulars to pick your side. No! Rule three. Set those charm phasers to off.”
Wilder’s eyes widen, “You know Star Trek? Holy shit, girl you’ve got layers.”
I roll my eyes, “See, Mrs. Fog. He’s all flash. Thank you for your vote.”
She tosses her dollar in my side and pats Wilder’s hand as she walks away. “Don’t screw this up young man.”
I glance at the clock. Two hours left in my shift. I don’t know the exact amount of money in the jar at this point, but it still seems like a pretty fair race. I call to the next customer and a guy about Wilder’s age with floppy brown hair and green eyes steps up with two of his friends. He smiles at me broader than he probably should if he knows what’s good for him.
“Hey, sexy.” The stranger says and looks me up and down. Ew.
“No.” Wilder crosses his arms and shakes his head.
“Can I get you something?” Whether I think this guy is a creep or not doesn’t change the fact that I’m at work.
“So, my friends and I heard a rumor. Which makes today’s display so interesting.” He looks back to his friends.
I glance over to Wilder, confused. He seems as bewildered as me. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
The stranger smiles. “I’m Evan. You don’t know me, but I know about you. Let me ask you, how does Blake Wilson feel about his girlfriend flirting with another guy? So I guess you don’t just date football players then?”
I grit my teeth at Evan, “I’m sorry. One, my life is none of your goddamn business. You know nothing about me, or from what I can gather, Blake. Two, if you or your friends leer at me like that again, I happen to have my own posse who would love nothing more than to rearrange your faces. Third, get the hell out of my coffee shop.”
Kyle walks up behind Wilder, and Izzy steps towards the counter. Kyle puts his hand on the guy’s shoulder while Wilder squares off with his buddies. Izzy looks to Kyle, “Make sure they get out. Now.”
The guys lead Evan and his crew of douchebags towards the door. They walk out but not before yelling over their shoulder, “If you’re not a one man kinda woman, look me up sometime.”
Izzy turns around and looks at me. I’m shaking a little because this is a bit too close to home. A little too close to Ohio. Wilder and Kyle finish pushing them out the door, and I look at Izzy.
“Go home if you need. Femme, I don’t know what’s going on exactly but you look…paler than normal.”
I laugh and she reaches into the tip jar to count the tips on each side. Wilder and Kyle walk back over while she’s counting.
"Hey, your shift isn’t over yet. We’re still competing.” Wilder tries to lighten the mood.
Izzy finishes counting. “Femme’s shift is over, so we’re counting her out. The shop is nearly empty anyway, we haven’t had a new customer for awhile.” She looks up to Wilder and Kyle. “Thanks for taking care of them.”
Wilder looks to Izzy. “So, who won?”
Izzy lays each stack on the counter. “Actually, you’re tied. And by your rules, no one can put their own money in, Kyle has already voted, and there’s no one new left in the shop to give a new vote. So, that just leaves me.”
I look to Izzy with my mouth open. “What do you mean that leaves you? You can’t vote.”
“Oh, but Femme, I can. You didn’t say I couldn’t put in a vote, just like Kyle was able to vote I can too. And I’m giving my dollar to Wilder’s side.” She leans into my ear so only I can hear. “You need to give this a shot, Femme. If nothing else you’ll get to make out with a really hot guy, at least once.”
She kisses my cheek, hands me my stack of tips and smacks me on the butt. Her normal goodbye. I move around the counter so I’m standing beside Kyle and Wilder. I scoff at the group of them.
Wilder glances over to Kyle, “Guess you’ll just have to wait on your shot then.” He moves his glare to me “And you, gorgeous, are mine tomorrow. I already asked Izzy, and you have the day off. We’re having a day date. Clear your schedule. I’ll come get you at eleven. Be ready.”
I smile widely, “Make it good, Sullivan. You put in a lot of work for this moment. You sure it’s worth it?”
Wilder steps over to
me and leans down so his breath is on my neck. “I have no doubt it’s worth that and more.”
I blush and stare at my feet. “See you tomorrow then.”
The guys leave the shop together after I assured them I didn’t need anyone walking me home. I get Izzy to make me a coffee while I wait for Riley to show up. There’s still another hour and a half until my shift was supposed to be over. I need to have a conversation with him as it is.
Chapter 9
By the time Riley got to the coffee shop, my leg was bouncing up and down so hard I was nearly knocking my coffee cup off the table.
“Hey there, pretty lady," Riley paused and appraised me with a serious look, “What’s wrong. What happened, East?”
I take a deep breath and stand, grabbing my bag as I walk over to him. “Hey. I need to talk to you. I don’t really want to do it at home, so can we go somewhere? You guys are always hungry, so food?”
Riley nods his head and falls into step beside me. “Yeah, food. Pizza? Dimitri’s?”
I give him a half smile. “Sounds great.”
We walk the rest of the way to Dimitri’s in silence, with Riley sneaking glances at me every few seconds. If I weren’t so wrapped up in my own thoughts, it probably would be annoying the hell out of me.
We get to Dimitri’s and put in our order, which consists of an extra large meat lover’s pizza. Riley’s favorite, and I’m not in much of a caring mood, so whatever works for me. My stomach is already in knots with the knowledge that I have to fill him in on some of what happened in Ohio for this conversation to really make sense.
“East, come on. Spill, please. I don’t like quiet you.” Riley looks at me concerned.
“I thought you liked every version of me. Quiet me is offended.” I smirk at him, trying to lighten the mood at least a little.
Riley smiles, happy that I was smiling in one form or another. He smacks my hand sitting on the table, “But for real. What’s up?”
“Okay, so, I’m just gonna talk for awhile and I need you to just listen. I don’t talk about what I’m going to tell you because…because I just don’t. Group sharing has never really been my thing, which you know, so that’s not a surprise.” I keep my eyes trained on Riley, knowing if I start looking at my hands or the table, either the waterworks would start or I wouldn’t be able to look at him again while I tell this story. I need him to see my eyes. I need to know he gets it.
