by A. R. Perry
Another man I hadn’t seen steps out of the shadows with the weirdest-looking guitar, similar to an avocado with a neck, and accompanies the accordionist, falling into the most beautiful synchronization. Out of nowhere, my body begins to sway with the calming sound. I’m so lost in it as the tempo picks up speed I don’t notice the hostess trying to seat us until Braden lays a hand on my lower back.
I jump, twisting to face him only to freeze when I realize how close I’ve brought our faces. Braden’s eyes light with a smile, amused by the horror on my face. Over his shoulder I can see the hostess sigh, clutching the menus to her chest. She’s got to be in her seventies and no doubt thinks she’s looking at some kind of young love.
Yeah. Right.
“Sorry,” I mumble and move forward, knocking off his hand as I go. Not that I want to admit it, but I miss the warmth from his palm the second it’s no longer there.
He matches my stride, leaning in to whisper, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
His hot breath on my ear makes me stumble and momentarily forget how to breathe, let alone speak. When I find my brain again, all I can manage is, “Huh?”
“The music.”
The hostess arrives at our table, stepping out of the way and motioning for us to sit. I’m relieved to no longer be standing so close to Braden. Until I notice our table is in the far corner. A dark corner. With the three glowing votive candles it resembles something out of a cheesy romantic movie instead of two people who aren’t even friends eating dinner.
Why the hell would he bring me here?
The hostess leaves us with another lingering smile and I just stand there staring at the table.
“Something wrong?” Braden asks as he slides out my chair then moves to his.
“This place is…”
“Great, right?” Grinning, he sits, but his face scrunches in confusion when I remain standing. “You don’t like it? We can go somewhere else.”
On wooden legs, I sit, letting my purse fall to the ground at my feet. A woman passing by gives me a weird look before reaching down and plucking my purse from the floor. I almost jump up to snatch it back when she clucks her tongue.
“No. No. We don’t treat beautiful handbags this way.” She leans over me, hanging the strap on a decorative hook I didn’t see. With a wink she saunters away.
Okay. The damn thing cost five bucks at a secondhand store. This place is all kinds of weird and not at all what I picture when I think of Braden.
Guess I don’t know him as well as I think. Then again, my assumptions are based on rumors and if anyone would know the half-truths of rumors, I would.
Braden picks at the edge of the menu, staring at me with pensive intensity. “I should have asked before bringing you here. I just thought…” He shrugs. “It’s stupid but I thought you would appreciate it as much as me.”
He put more thought into it besides simply driving past it?
Throwing aside my doubts, I meet his gaze and force a smile. “Do you come here often?”
“Not anymore. My mom found it one night when reservations got screwed up at another place. She fell in love and it became a weird tradition every time my dad came home.”
The purse woman stops by our table interrupting Braden as she drops off two glasses of water with another wink.
“So what happened?”
“Hmmm?” His gaze flicks up from the menu.
“Why don’t you come here anymore?”
He runs a hand across the back of his neck, giving it a squeeze. “Things change.”
Well if that wasn’t the most ambiguous answer ever…
“So what looks good?” His eyes dip to the menu and I get the hint. Sore subject. I’ve got a few of those myself.
That doesn’t stop me from thinking about it though. I’ve heard bits and pieces. His mom in the hospital. Michelle’s callous comment about him having drama. His dad being away. He’s becoming this puzzle that I desperately want to figure out.
Instead of prying though, I scan the menu.
Holy shit.
I blink hard, squinting down at the prices next to each meal. He didn’t tell me this place cost a damn arm and a leg. I don’t have the extra cash to be throwing around. I flip back to the appetizers and spy a starter salad for ten bucks. I’ll still have to eat when I get home, but at least I’ll have my cushion for coffee in the morning this week.
“I’ll just get the starter salad.” I snap the menu shut and shove it toward the middle.
Braden’s eyebrows shoot up. “The starter salad? You don’t come to a place like this to eat a few pieces of lettuce.”
Do I tell him? A twenty-five-dollar dish may be easy money for him, but considering I have to water my shampoo down just to stretch it out, it’s not something I can swing. The only thing I splurge on is coffee. Everything else goes to the house.
“It looks good.”
His eyebrows crease. “It’s lettuce and cheese.”
“Okay?” I snap. “I like it.”
He doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the tilt of his head.
“Are you allergic to gluten or something?”
What? I snort, making the most unattractive sound possible. If I wasn’t annoyed I would be embarrassed.
“Well…are you?”
“No, Braden. I’m not allergic to gluten. Nor am I scared of carbs. I’m not one of the cheerleaders you date. Clearly.” I motion to my body before reaching for my water. My mouth is so dry my tongue keeps getting stuck to the roof.
“What’s going on right now?” He lays his hands flat on the menu, bringing them too close to mine.
I snatch mine back, tucking them in my lap. “Nothing.”
“You’re lying. You do that a lot.”
My head jerks up and I can’t reel in my anger anymore. “I lie? That’s rich coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I stand, leaning over the chair to grab my purse. “Doesn’t matter.”
He rounds the table, blocking my escape. I’m vaguely aware of eyes on us, but at the moment I don’t care. “Move.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Well I’ll take—”
“I’m good.” I dig around in my purse, searching for my phone. “I’m sure there is a bus stop around here.” When I finally get it out, I fumbled with the button a few times, but the screen remains black.
You have got to be kidding me.
I growl and storm past him, knocking my shoulder into his side as I go. This night is just freaking great. Why did I let him talk me into going to dinner? Oh, that’s right. I didn’t. He assumed I would be one of those girls who fell all over myself because he’s giving me attention. Just like his dick of a best friend, Jesse. Now I’m stuck downtown with no phone and no idea how to get home.
The cold night air bites at my face as I storm out the door. It’s busier than it was when we arrived. People rush up and down the sidewalk with little more than a sideways glance as they pass. Asking someone for directions comes to mind, but how do I know I can trust them? I might end up in a dark-ass alley and get mugged. Or worse.
“Stella,” Braden calls from behind me.
Every muscle in my body freezes. And not from the cold. Why the hell, or better yet, how the hell does he do that?
“What?” I try to sound angry, but my emotions are having a nice little battle so it comes out with less bite than I would have liked.
“Let me give you a ride home.”
I want to say no. I want to prove he has no power over me. But damn it, I might be as weak as all those girls he’s ran through.
With a nonchalant shrug, I motion toward his car. He lets out a little breath, his shoulders slumping as he does. Even after everything, he moves to the passenger side, propping the door open for me before circling around.
And damn it that little gesture cracks something in my chest. Maybe it’s the ice around my heart, I don’t know, but the fo
reign sensation somehow gives me the strength to tell the truth.
“I don’t have money to spend on pricy dinners.” My admission is only a whisper, but he hears it.
“What?”
Cringing, I turn to face him. “Please don’t make me repeat it.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t him laughing at me after admitting the reason I got so upset. Confirms what I thought about him.
I’m seconds away from ripping his head off, when he shocks me by grabbing my hand in both of his and sobering up. “Stella, I never intended for you to pay. I invited you to dinner… Well, I guess I sorta sprung it on you, but I wanted to take you somewhere. Somewhere without nasty vegan wraps.” He shudders at the memory of the place I chose.
“I…I’m sorry.” I’m an idiot.
“It’s okay.” He gives me hands a squeeze before letting go. “Maybe you can make it up to me?”
Uhhh… “How?”
“Let me take you to lunch tomorrow.” I open my mouth, but he powers on. “Burgers or something. What do you say?”
I want to ask why. Why the hell he’s insistent on taking me out, but I don’t. I know I’ll come to regret this, but there’s something about him that’s begging for me to let go of my armor as Zari called it. “Okay.”
His smile is so bright it warms me to my bone. “Twelve? I’ll meet you at your place.”
“Sure. And Braden…if you could…don’t mention the whole money thing. Not even to Jesse.”
“Of course, I won’t. You’ve got something on me too, remember?” This time his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It seems faked in a way it never has before.
As he pulls away from the curb and the lights of the city dim, leaving us in darkness, a sick feeling deep in my stomach takes over.
I’m going to regret this.
I’m embarrassed to admit that not only did I accompany my mother on her run this morning where I almost died of a heart attack, but I also spent way too long in my closet attempting to choose an outfit for our lunch date.
Date. I groan. Is it a date?
I drop a pair of red skinny jeans next to his hoodie on my bed. I’ve got to give it back to him. Today. I’ve been meaning to, but I don’t want to march up to him at school returning his clothes. Kind of gives a bad impression. The talk of the whole school.
I washed the sweatpants and shirt he loaned me, but I can’t bring myself to wash away the scent of him on the hoodie. Not that it will matter after today once it’s in his possession.
My fingers tug on the string as I swing my attention to my outfit. I haven’t worn these jeans since freshman year so I’m banking on them fitting. Otherwise, I’ll have to throw a load of laundry in which will leave me with no time to do my makeup.
Ugh. I fall flat on the bed. I sound obsessive, which is so not my style.
Last night we didn’t talk on the way home. When we arrived at my house, he jumped out and walked me to the door, giving me a gentle squeeze on my shoulder as I stepped inside. I swear I felt tingles from the short contact all night.
Groaning I roll on my stomach. I need to get a grip. No boys. My one rule. And here I am letting Braden and his sexy smirks and penetrating gaze weasel their way through my defenses.
My defenses aren’t strong enough apparently. But the excuse I keep telling myself is I’m allowed to be friends with him. I’m even allowed to lust after him as long as I don’t act on it. Since it takes two to tango and I have no freaking clue where his head is at, I’m in the clear.
With new resolve, I roll off my bed and reach for the dreaded pants. Hopefully I don’t bust out of them. I have a pile of clothes in the back of my closet from that year. Most of them are brand-new. Now they gather dust.
After doing the pants dance, I slide them over my hips and once the button is in place, I’m amazed they fit. Not just fit, they’re kind of loose. Sticking my thumb in the band I pull it away from my belly. Damn, at least an inch. Not that I’m mad. Hell, it’s a confidence booster if anything.
Now that I have pants, I hop over the piles of clothes I have littering the ground and dash into my closet. Mom always says a little color won’t kill me. Guess I can give it a stab for today.
In the back, covered by a blanket I started crocheting then gave up on, I find a stack of shirts. Since black is my go-to and I’m wearing bright-ass pants, I need to find something mellow. After flipping through the shirts a few times, I settle on a white scoop neck T-shirt. With my cute little black ankle boots I’ll look casual but still a little dressy.
Yeah. There I go overthinking this again.
But I can’t help it. Even though I’m cemented in my plan to stay friends—or become friends, I guess—I get a strange fluttering feeling in my chest every time I think about hanging out with Braden when we’re not studying.
Sure, I’m still unnerved by the fact that he hangs out with Captain Dipshit, but Braden doesn’t seem like that. He would never do to me what Jesse did.
Not that I would open myself up to fall again. But a little flirting and eye candy never hurt anyone, right?
Once I’m dressed, I spend an hour getting my makeup right. And by right, I mean following at least five YouTube videos on winged eyeliner only to screw it up every time. Sixty minutes of apply, remove, repeat, leaves me with my normal fresh-faced makeup of mascara, eyebrows of course, and a thin layer of tinted moisturizer. All for the better anyway, I was leaning toward trying too hard again.
After securing my hair into a side braid with a few loose tendrils, I step backward and check out my reflection. My heart skips an uneven beat nearly knocking all the air from my lungs and this time, it’s not because of Braden. I’m essentially staring at myself from freshman year. Before Jesse. Before shutting everyone out.
Before I hated myself.
Crumpling to the ground, I struggle to breathe. God, I remember now why I never wore these pants again. I was wearing them that night. How could I forget that?
I fight with the button, my shaky hands making it near impossible to grab the damn thing. No clue why I didn’t burn these or at the very least throw them out. Once out of them, I sit on the white shag rug my mom bought me last year for Christmas, and tug my knees to my chest.
The pants lay in a heap at my feet.
My mom did a fantastic job removing the grass stains from when I fell fleeing the house.
She must have snuck them in the pile of clothes I threw in the closet that night. I still have no idea why I didn’t recognize them until they were on. Guess I figured she tossed them.
I can’t do this. Being near Braden just opens me up for the same crap. People haven’t changed, they just moved on to something more entertaining. Braden talking to me already sparked something in Michelle. The rest aren’t far behind.
With a still trembling hand, I grab my phone. Tutoring Braden, I can do. This whole hanging out for no reason thing—not so much.
I send him an ambiguous text and apologize for flaking. Thank goodness I asked Zari for his number last week when I was running behind. Got sick of waiting by his car.
Jeez. I think I’ve canceled more times on him in the past few weeks than I did the whole time I was dating Jesse.
My phone vibrates on the bed as I’m hopping into a pair of black fuzzy pants with penguins on them. Part of me doesn’t want to look. I know who it is. Ghosting him at this point is impossible. Not when I’m stuck tutoring him until Mrs. Rivera gets her act together.
Whatever. I can do this. I’ve been through worse.
Grabbing my phone, I spin it a few times before getting the courage to look at the text message.
Braden: Whats going on? Im at the spotlight by ur hous.
My lips twist to the side as I scan his text. At least it’s easier to read even with misspellings than his chicken scratch.
Letting out a harsh breath, I type out a response. Seconds before I’m about to send it, the doorbell rings.
Wincing, I pad over to my window
. Squishing my temple against the wall, I peek out through the curtains. Braden stands on my porch, hands shoved into his pockets. From this angle I can’t see his face, but the way he’s shuffling from foot to foot gives the impression he’s nervous.
Don’t see a reason he should be nervous, but whatever.
My plan is to ignore him. I didn’t say why I couldn’t make it, just that I couldn’t. He’s a smart boy, he’ll give up after a few minutes when he thinks I’m not home.
Happy with that thought, I flop on my bed, phone tucked under my chin in case he texts again. But then another thought occurs to me. What if he goes looking? If he shows up at my work, Zari—who started before me today—might tell him where I am.
At home.
Alone.
Crap.
Rubbing my forehead, I rip open my door and jog down the hall just as he rings the doorbell again.
How can I swing this?
I’m not a good actor, but maybe if I cough or hunch over or something he’ll think I’m sick.
He’ll also see right through it since he has a way of knowing when I’m lying.
Ugh. Stupid voice in my head is always right.
Whatever. Big girl pants. I can just tell him the truth. I don’t want to hang out if it’s not tutoring.
I swing open the door, my words dying on my lips. Braden is standing there in jeans and a navy fitted T-shirt that hugs every curve of his muscles but especially his wide shoulders. And don’t get me started on the way his jeans hang on his hips, giving me terrible thoughts about how I’d love to run my fingers down that glorious V-shaped group of muscles.
Nope. Can’t go there. That’s a rabbit hole I’ll never climb out of.
His eyes light with a smile. Then out of nowhere his mouth twists to the side and I can tell he’s trying hard not to break into laughter.
I’m not sure what the hell is so funny…
Cringing, my gaze drops to my pants. Great. Just great. These are my comfy pants. My wallowing. My period pants. Not meant to be seen in daylight and definitely not by Braden.