The ride to the city is somber. In my head, I go over and over all the things I want to say to Posey the same way I had done while I was on the plane on my way to Illinois. Nothing to do but think or listen to the radio, this entire day has been consumed by thoughts of her. Actually, the entire week has been consumed by thoughts of her; ever since I left, I’ve been restless.
Misplaced.
Felt uneasy, like I’m missing something.
It took me a damn minute to figure out what that something was, only to discover it was a human. A sweet, bratty, kindergarten teacher from the Midwest. I don’t know, maybe this is a mistake. It was certainly an impulsive decision to jump on a plane, fly halfway across the country to plead my case and apologize to a woman I’d wronged. I left without a goodbye and she’s holding my feet to the fire for it.
I have no idea where in tarnation this damn place is, getting lost once exiting into downtown, and then taking a one-way street before realizing it was a doggone one-way street. Thank Christ when I arrive that it has valet parking.
I can’t imagine trying to find a spot for this fucking thing, let alone back it into a spot.
The valet raises his brows when I pull up; they lift higher when I unfold my body from behind the steering wheel.
He immediately recognizes me.
“It’s not mine,” I tell him when I hand him the keys. “Wouldn’t mind if it got stolen or lost while I was inside—I’d appreciate you not callin’ the paparazzi on me.”
I hand him fifty bucks.
“No, Mr. Colter, sir, I would never,” the kid stutters. “I…I know we’re not supposed to ask, but would you mind…” He can’t even finish the sentence. I wouldn’t be shocked if pee was running down his legs, the kid is so nervous asking me for a photograph.
“It’s fine,” I say, eyes scanning the front windows of the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of Posey before I even step inside. “No problem.”
He fumbles his phone out the back pocket of his black work pants, arm shaking when he extends it for a selfie.
I crouch down and smile.
Well. I bare my teeth, which is practically the same thing, ain’t it?
I take a deep breath when the hostess pulls the door open for me, then another one when I step inside the dark, dimly lit entry of the place. Do another scan.
“Can I help you?” another hostess asks. “Do you have a reservation?”
No, I don’t have a fucking reservation, I want to growl, a bundle of tension. I actively pursued a woman here who doesn’t know I’m about to crash her girls’ night.
“I’m actually lookin’ for someone,” I admit. “Her name is Posey, but she might be here under someone else’s name?”
Who would have brought her here? “Molly Summervale?”
Her fingers track down a row of names until she spots the one she’s looking for. “They’re at table nineteen. Right this way.”
I follow her, head down so I don’t catch anyone’s eye, lest they get it in their heads to spring up from their chairs to fan all over me; or chew my ass out for switching teams, but that would probably only happen if I was prancing around New York.
Here?
They don’t give a shit.
Still.
A football fan is a football fan and I’m not dumb enough to know the lot of them would give their testicles for a chance to meet me in person.
There are five of them total, seated at a round table, all laughter coming to a halt when I stop next to it.
Posey’s girlfriends all stare; their mouths drop open.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, waiting for her to notice me behind her as she chatters away, oblivious to my presence.
“Posey.” Molly’s eyes are as big as space sauces—maybe wider. “You have a guest.”