by Penny Reid
Instead I heard her press, “Why did you drop out of school? You didn’t even try to contact her. That was kind of an asshole thing to do.”
Then I heard Martin, who was by now, very close to the door, ask, “You want the truth?”
“No, Martin. Lie to me. I love it when boys do that.” Sam’s tone was flat and would have made me laugh if I hadn’t been caught in the closet by her coats.
He did laugh, but it sounded forced. “Sure, fine, here’s the truth. I left because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away from her.”
“So you dropped out of school, out of college, abandoned your teammates, because you couldn’t stay away from Kaitlyn?”
“Sure.”
“And now? What are you really doing here?”
He didn’t answer immediately and, stupid me, I was holding my breath, eavesdropping like a freak.
At last he said, “That’s not really any of your business.”
“But she is my business. If you have malicious intentions then that’s my business. She’s my BFF, do you know what that means? It means: Boy I will fuck up your face if you mess with my girl.”
“Wouldn’t that be BIWFUYFIYM…WMG?”
“No, nothing counts toward the BFF acronym except Boy, Fuck, and Face. It’s a TLA.”
“TLA?”
“A three letter acronym.”
“Of course.”
“Back to my original question, what are your intentions?”
“Sam…”
“Are you still in love with her?”
Silence.
“You are!” She sounded excited, like he’d answered, but I knew he hadn’t. “You’re in love with her! Of course you are. But is this some kind of revenge plot?”
Silence.
“It’s not!” It sounded like she was jumping up and down. “Oh my God, you’re in love with her and you…want her back?”
Silence.
“Hmm…you don’t want her back. That’s odd.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Ah ha!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I can read it all over your love-sick face.”
“Shouldn’t she be back by now?” His voice was tight, impatient.
“So, you’re still in love with her, you want her back, but…what? Why haven’t you just told her?”
Silence.
“Hmm…you’re afraid.”
Silence.
“No, no. That’s not it. You’re not afraid.”
He sighed.
“You’re with someone else. You’ve got another girl and—I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud—you’re too honorable to call things off with Emma.”
“Emma? Did Kaitlyn mention Emma?”
I clenched my hands into fists, my heart jumping around my chest. I was going to kill Sam. She was going to die.
“Yes. She told me about adorable Emma. Kaitlyn thinks she’s pretty and you two make a pretty couple.”
“I’m not interested in Emma.”
I covered my mouth with my hand to keep my gasp from being audible. I wasn’t going to kill Sam. I was going to buy her a car.
“So you broke up?” Sam asked.
“No. We were never together.”
“But you let Kaitlyn think you were together.”
“No.” He paused, then I heard his footsteps move away. When he spoke next he sounded frustrated. “I’m not discussing this with you, Sam. I need to make a phone call.”
“Sure, sure. You can use Kaitlyn’s room to make your call, it’s at the end of the hall.”
I heard his footsteps move farther away followed by the sound of my door closing. I stood, again frozen, for several seconds, making sure the coast was clear. I was about to turn back to the two coats still holding me hostage when Sam flung open the door to the closet.
“Oh my God!” she whispered, with feeling. “Did you get all that? He loves you! He’s not with Emma!”
“Sam,” I whispered back, scowling fiercely. “You knew I was in here the whole time.”
“Yes. Of course, I didn’t hear you leave so I figured you were hiding.”
“No. I’m caught in the web of your superfluous coats and I was trapped.”
She grinned, glancing down at where I was tangled in the cuff buttons of her garments.
“Ha-ha, that’s funny. Here, let me help.” She slipped in and quickly untangled me, then pushed me out of the closet.
Like a clothes ninja, she immediately found my formal black coat and yanked it off the hanger. She tossed it to me then pulled the string to turn off the light. As I frantically tugged on my jacket, she tiptoed to the front door.
She opened it.
She closed it.
She said loudly, “Oh. You’re back.”
I gave her a panicked look, untucking my hair from my collar, and whispered, “What are you doing?!”
“Were they already closed? You don’t have your dry cleaning.”
“Stop it,” I whispered frantically. All my hope for bravado and planned bravery was scattered.
Meanwhile Sam smiled like a harpy.
The door to my room opened and I stiffened, my eyes closing briefly. I inhaled a steadying breath, repeating to myself, Even though you don’t feel calm, doesn’t mean you can’t be calm.
Feeling only slightly more centered, I turned toward the hall and affixed a welcoming smile to my face. Martin’s eyes collided with mine as he stalked toward me, making me take an instinctive half step back. It was the force of it, the force of him.
He was devastating, dressed in a black tailored suit, a slim black tie, a slate-blue shirt that hardened his eyes into steely blades. His heavy coat was folded over his arm. He must’ve just taken it off. I tried to get my heart to stop jumping on the bed of my lungs before I fell down and broke my head, but it wouldn’t. It took a kamikaze leap in his direction, sending spreading warmth from my toes to my temples, making my knees weak.
Stupid kamikaze heart.
“Hey.” My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat as he approached. “Sorry about that,” I said, sounding a little more steady. I tossed my thumb over my shoulder. “My, uh, uniform is at the cleaners and I need it for tomorrow.”
He didn’t stop walking until he was almost on top of me, then he bent down and placed a soft kiss on my cheek, one of his hands coming to my upper arm to hold me in place. It was an echo of the kiss he’d given me earlier in the week, and again I was assaulted by his smell and closeness and warmth.
I thought I might swoon.
Once again, it was over before I completely comprehended what had happened. He took a step back, but didn’t release my arm for two more seconds.
Once his hand fell to his side his gaze swept over my face then down to my closed coat. Then it traveled back to my eyes. They pierced me. “No problem, I just got here. You ready to go?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.” Even though I wasn’t ready, because all my courage was still in the closet with Sam’s jackets.
His mouth tugged slowly to the side as he looked at me and pulled on his coat.
Sam chimed in, “Well, have fun, you crazy kids. She has no curfew, Martin. But it would be nice if you bring her back all in one piece, if you catch my meaning.”
His eyes slid to Sam and his expression darkened. “Goodbye, Sam,” he said as he reached for the front door and held it open for me.
“Goodbye, Martin.” She smiled at him, like a harpy.
***
I was wrong.
The place he took me for dinner definitely needed reservations.
Despite my shaky start to the evening, once we got to his car things felt a bit more natural, easy. He asked me about work. Instead of talking about the band or The Bluesy Bean, I told him I’d abandoned my twenty or so venture capitalist projects in favor of investing heavily in science cabinet futures.
He laughed and the tension was mostly cut.
We ta
lked on the way over about his Spotify playlist and what books we were reading. His handsomeness and brilliance felt less like a death ray aimed at my heart and more like Oh…look, it’s Martin. I half convinced myself I could still move forward with my plan to settle things between us.
But now that we’d arrived at our destination and the restaurant was actually super swanky, I felt a renewed spike of discomfort. I was sure the dinner was going to cost more than half my paycheck. I couldn’t afford it because I’d just spent my whole paycheck on the awesome dress I was wearing.
Distractedly, I let Martin take off my coat as my eyes moved over the setting. It was intimate. There were maybe six tables visible and all of them were mostly hidden behind privacy screens. The lighting was dim but not dark, cozy but not complacent. Everything screamed elegant boudoir—the plush red walls, the dark furniture, the heavy, striped, crimson velvet drapes. It was romantic.
Scratch that.
It wasn’t romantic.
It was sexy.
And it looked very exclusive, like you needed a membership card to gain entrance. I swallowed thickly, pressing my lips together, and gripping my clutch.
Completely preoccupied by my distress, I surmised—based on the overt sensuality of the restaurant—that Martin had brought me here tonight in order to try the place before he took her here. Last week he’d said that tonight would be an experiment. Of course, he would want to test the restaurant before he brought his real date.
Dejectedly, I realized there was no way I would be able to confront Martin during our dinner. I couldn’t be brave in a place like this, especially not when I was a stand-in for the girl he hoped to win. I suddenly wished he’d taken me bowling instead.
So distracted by my dismay, I almost didn’t hear Martin’s whispered, “Fuck me…”
I turned to look at him and found his eyes moving in a slow, stunned sweep up and down my dress—or rather, my body in my dress—and I cocked my head to the side. “That means you’re surprised, yes?”
“Jesus Christ, Kaitlyn.” His eyes lifted and searched mine, then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “This dress makes you look like you’re naked under that black lace.”
I shook my head and whispered back, wanting to defend myself, “I’m not naked, though. It’s just skin-colored silk. Here, stick your finger through one of the holes.”
“Oh God,” he groaned and leaned away, shaking his head and gritting his teeth, his eyes on the floor as the maître d' approached.
I grimaced, wondering if my dress was obscene. I tried to stop my blush before it started and took a step back, letting Martin deal with the man while I dealt with my embarrassment. I wished I’d changed, but it was too late now.
Hell, I wished I’d stayed in the closet.
Soon we were being led to a very private table, completely hidden from view by several cleverly placed screens. Martin’s hand was on my back and I felt stiff and unsteady. The maître d' moved to pull out my chair but Martin frowned at him, then stared him down until he backed away. Martin moved to pull out my chair; as he did, he looked fierce and a tad frustrated.
I took my seat hurriedly then accepted the offered menu, only half paying attention as the maître d' recited the chef’s specials. I was too busy looking for prices. There were none. My stomach sunk.
Then we were alone.
I glanced up at Martin and found him concentrating on his menu. He was frowning and his eyes were darting over it too fast to be reading.
“Are you upset?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
He moved just his eyes to mine, his jaw set.
I continued, explaining, “I honestly thought the dress was fine. Sam told me it was fine. You know I’m not so good with dresses. This is the fourth dress I’ve owned in my entire life. The first time you saw me in a dress it was borrowed and—”
Martin lifted his hand and waved away my explanation. “Kaitlyn, it’s…it’s not the dress. I mean, it is the dress, but it’s not the dress. Everything is fine. You look beautiful.”
I twisted my lips to the side. “Is it obscene?”
He gave me a half smile, it was shaded with regret. “No. It’s great. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I was just…surprised. You look very different tonight.” His eyes swept down then darted back up.
I tried to return his smile. “You expected jeans and a concert T-shirt? Or my tuxedo?”
His half smile turned into a full smile, though it was small. “I was hoping for the red pants.”
I sighed my relief and laughed, feeling better, seeing he was being sincere and wasn’t upset.
The grin disappeared from his face when I laughed and he stared at me. I felt my smile wane as I stared back. All sound was replaced by the rushing of my blood through my heart.
Martin opened his mouth, was about to say something, but then the waiter appeared and broke the odd moment.
Our server repeated the specials and asked for our drink orders. I indicated that the tap water in my glass was perfectly fine. Martin frowned at me then ordered a bottle of wine for the table. It had a lot of consonants and sounded really expensive. I was surprised when I wasn’t carded.
When the man left, Martin considered me for a beat, then said, “Dinner is on me tonight.”
I was sipping my water when he made this proclamation, so I swallowed quickly and shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. We’re splitting it right down the middle.”
“I’m not asking, Parker.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re f-friends. Friends split checks.” I stumbled over the word friends because it felt deceitful. I didn’t want to be his friend. I tried not to wince at the uncomfortable pang in my chest caused by my dishonesty.
He huffed. “Then who doesn’t split checks?”
“I don’t know. Everyone should split checks. I’ve never not split my check.”
“Even on dates?” His tone was aloof as he asked the question, but I noted his eyes narrowed slightly.
I considered how to respond, because I hadn’t been on a date. I didn’t consider the dates my gay high school boyfriend and I had gone on to be dates; besides Carter and I had always split the check.
Martin and I had never gone on a date, and I’d turned down all offers from others since. I thought about being evasive and saying, Yes, even on dates, because that wasn’t technically lying.
But it was stupid and childish and I didn’t want to play games, even though I’d just spent ten minutes inadvertently eavesdropping while hiding in the front closet of my apartment during which my roommate drilled him with twenty inappropriate questions.
Distressed by this thought, I revealed, “I’ve never been on a date.”
He was staring at me again. I stared back and gave him a tight smile.
“You haven’t....? Since we broke up?”
I shook my head. “No. There’s been no one.”
“What about that guy in your band? Adam?”
“Abram. And no. We’re not dating. We haven’t dated.”
He nodded thoughtfully and he shifted in his seat. “I think he’s interested in you.”
I shrugged, getting a weird premonition I was about to say something monumentally stupid in an effort to be honest, but without the wherewithal to stop myself. I was still caught in the tailwind of my earlier evening calamities.
Calamities paired with my abandoned confrontation plans meant that there was no telling what would erupt from my mouth.
“Oh?” I said, reaching for my water again.
I could feel it coming; it was like the shark in Jaws…circling…circling.
“Yeah. If you gave him even a small sign, I bet he’d ask you out.”
I replaced my glass. “Well, I can’t date anyone right now.”
“Why not?”
Oh God, I was going to say it. Oh God.
“Because I’m still in love with you.”
There it is!
Time slowed, then screeched to a halt.
I’d surprised him.
Hell, I’d surprised myself.
Of course I wanted to tell him, but not like this.
Not like this.
Not. Like. This.
NOT LIKE THIS!!!
Then all at once, time lurched forward.
His mouth parted slightly and his eyes widened; they moved over my shoulder and searched the screen behind me. I’d caught him completely off guard. I could see he was shocked, stunned speechless.
Meanwhile I was feeling the aftereffects of handing him my heart. I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. I was so definitely and definitively NOT PREPARED!
I felt immediately bruised and dirty. As well, I was experiencing honesty and courage remorse. The words hung out there, like underwear with skid marks on a clothesline.
The waiter returned at just that moment and asked if we were ready to order. Martin blinked furiously then turned his attention to the man and I saw he’d mostly recovered. He cleared his throat before gesturing to the menu to ask a question.
I stared at him while he ordered an appetizer, my stomach falling further with every calm syllable from his mouth. Meanwhile the single word running around my brain was: escape. Escape. ESCAPE!
Martin’s eyes lifted, connected with mine, and in that split second I could read nothing of his thoughts—probably because mine were in such turmoil.
The waiter turned, poised to ask me if I wanted anything. Instead I stood abruptly, my chair almost falling backward.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Martin first, then turned to the waiter. “I’m sorry, where is the ladies’ room?” My voice was higher pitched than I would have liked, but I wasn’t going to complain because the fact I could speak at all was a miracle.
The waiter smiled politely and had just finished his instructions when Martin stood as well, drawing my attention to him.
His eyes were narrowed, like he suspected foul play, and he said, “Kaitlyn…” His tone held a warning, and he paired this with an almost imperceptible head shake.
I gave him a tight smile, not quite making eye contact because…devastation.
I nodded noncommittally as I darted out of the privacy screens. “I’ll be right back.”
