I blink up at Cade as I settle myself in the chair Lena just vacated. “I didn’t know she could move so fast.”
“Me either.” He smiles at me, our gazes lingering for a beat too long before I look away. Yes, yes, he’s cute. He’s really nice. Easy to talk to. Everyone seems to like him, he’s fit in here seamlessly since he started.
But do I feel a zing? Do we have actual chemistry? Guess I’ll find out for sure when we go on our first date tomorrow night.
“So tell me.” He rests his forearms on the counter and I study them. His skin is golden, like he spends time outside but doesn’t spray tan or anything gross like that. And they’re corded with muscle, but not too bulky. I have a thing for arms. And hands. “Do you have a restaurant preference for our date tomorrow?”
“Um.” I press my lips together, my mind scrambling. Can’t he just make the decision? “I’m pretty open.”
“Not a picky eater?”
“No. Not at all.” I shake my head.
“That’s a relief.” He smiles. “My ex-girlfriend was super picky.”
Oh. Is he going to be one of those who talks about his ex all the time? I hope not. “That’s…unfortunate.”
His eyes widen, like he just realized what he said, and he holds his hands up in front of him in an almost defensive matter. “Hey, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m over her. We split up a long time ago.”
How long ago? Days? Weeks? Months?
Preferably months. Maybe even years.
I can’t ask, though.
“No, that’s fine.” I try to sound easy breezy. Like nothing he says about his ex is going to bother me.
But if I’m being real? It sort of bothers me.
“She lives in a different state,” he continues. “You don’t have to worry about her.”
“I wasn’t worried.” My smile feels brittle, so I let it fade. Thankfully, a call comes in and I answer it, sending it to the director’s voicemail before placing the receiver back in its cradle. Cade is still standing there, though he’s scrolling through his phone now, and I decide to put this all on him. “Listen, you’re the one who asked me on a date, so why don’t you pick the restaurant? And the movie?”
He lifts his head, his lips curled upward. “You don’t mind?”
“I definitely don’t mind.” I’d rather not deal with it. I have too many other things occupying my brain space.
“Great.” He glances at his phone’s screen. “It’s four-fifty-nine. I say we lock up.”
So we do.
Is it wrong to admit I was dying to get away from Cade so I could head home? My commute averages about forty-five minutes, but on a Friday, it can take up to an hour, which it totally did. Bay Area traffic at its finest, no?
But seriously, I was fine with it, because inching along the freeway makes the time pass, and that’s what I wanted. Sitting on the bus, I pulled up an old playlist on my phone that I made during my senior year and I listened to it, letting all of those old memories wash over me. Memories of me and Jordan. All the fun we had together. The way my toes would curl every time he kissed me long and deep. How when I was with him, I felt like we were the only two people on this whole planet.
Basically I tortured myself the entire ride.
I got off the bus at my favorite Chinese restaurant that’s a couple of blocks from my apartment and ordered takeout, then sat around waiting the ten minutes it took them to prepare my half order of chicken wonton salad and sweet and sour pork with a side of fried rice. Tried to be healthy with the salad addition, but they smother it with this delicious sweet dressing that is probably about a million calories, so healthy went right out the window.
It’s definitely a wallow-in-my-misery Friday night.
By the time I got home, changed into an old pair of sweats and an oversized T-shirt that—yes, OMG, originally belonged to Jordan—pulled out that chilled bottle of rosé I’d been saving for a special occasion, poured myself a giant glass, and plated as much Chinese food as I could, it was almost seven o’clock.
Almost time for Inside Football featuring Jordan mother trucking Tuttle.
The food smells delicious and I start shoveling it in, but when the TV goes black for the briefest moment and then a photo of Jordan on his NFL draft day magically appears, the announcer rattling off facts and stats, my stomach churns.
I’m instantly afraid all the food will go to waste. I set the plate on my coffee table.