Me:I’m a “cute bird” now?
Xavier: You know you’re gorgeous. Especially in that skirt.
It was a game, obviously. He was toying with me little better than a cat playing with a mouse.
Even so, my heart thrilled a little at the compliment.
“You brat,” I murmured, trying to come up with something pithy in response.
“Everything all right?”
I startled, hastily stowed my phone in my purse, and pasted on a bright smile. “Fine, thanks. Just a text from one of my sisters.”
“Are they all as gorgeous as you?” Adam took his seat across from me and adjusted the driver’s cap he had not removed for the meal.
I wasn’t sure why that bothered me so much. Maybe because I grew up in a house where no one, not even my grandfather, was allowed to wear anything on their heads during mealtimes. Some things just stick with you.
“We look alike,” I conceded, frowning to myself.
How was it that the same essential compliment from Adam felt like a wet finger down the back of my neck? He was supposed to be the nice one in this situation.
He was nervous. I could see it in the way he kept pulling at his goatee while he talked and fidgeted with his glasses whenever he listened. I wanted to tell him to stop, that he had nothing to worry about. But I couldn’t, because honestly, it wasn’t true. I already knew the moment I walked into the restaurant that we wouldn’t be doing this again.
It didn’t have anything to do with the glower on Xavier’s face just before I’d closed my front door. Or the constant texts. Or even the fact that he would still be there when I got back.
Nothing at all.
“I really had no idea,” Adam continued. “Like, wow. At school, you’re always so—”
He cut himself off, like he had just realized he was about to say something that wasn’t particularly complimentary for once.
Well, at least it would be the truth.
“Dowdy?” I finished for him. “It’s okay. You can say it.”
He almost looked relieved.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I always thought you were cute, obviously. But the baggy clothes and T-shirts. And, oh my God, those black sneakers you always wear! I think my grandma has the same—”
“I get it,” I cut him off sharply. “My work clothes suck.”
“I’m not blaming you or anything,” he rattled on, oblivious to my irritation. “We work with kids. But, yeah, not exactly the sexiest stuff in the world. This, though…”
His eyes perused me openly, probably with the help of the bottle of wine he had swallowed over the past two hours.
I’d had half a glass.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. This guy was everything I should want. Elementary school art teacher. Indie rock aficionado. Self-proclaimed literature lover. Everything a nerdy bookworm like me should want. But everything out of his mouth either made me feel on display for his overeager gaze or slightly put down. Sure, I’d helped him along his train of thought, but it didn’t exactly feel great to have your worst fears about yourself confirmed. That I was, in fact, an unattractive lump of clay when I didn’t take all the extra time to make myself look like this.
The problem was, this wasn’t me any more than the bargain bin crap I wore to work. Both were reactions to my environment, to the expectations of me in those places.
It occurred to me then that was the problem with the entire night. Maybe it had nothing to do with Xavier. Maybe it was more because from the second I’d agreed to this, I was playing dress-up yet again. There were times I mourned the girl I had been before Sofia—the one who had the extra hours every day to do my hair or go to the gym or put on makeup. The one who could wear short skirts because she didn’t have to squat down to help a small child at a moment’s notice. The one who could actually have casual relationships.
Well, not that one. That girl had never existed in the first place.
“Well, hopefully dowdy is more your style,” I said. “I probably dress like this once a year.”
“And I got the benefit? Lucky me.”