I Belong With You

by Ashelyn Drake

  “That’s awful. I don’t want him to sacrifice his happiness for me.” But how do I make him stop? I don’t want to lose him as my friend either, but am I asking too much of him? “What do I do, Tara?” I’m on the verge of tears, and my voice is shaking uncontrollably.

  “Did you like Sebastian at all?” she asks.

  I hitch a shoulder at the question. “I guess so. I mean, he’s sweet and I enjoyed talking to him.”

  “And he looks like Dean Winchester. Let’s not forget about that.”

  I smile. “He does.”

  “So, do you think there’s any chance you’d be willing to date him, given he’s not looking for anything serious?”

  “But how will I know? We aren’t in high school or even college anymore, Tara. It’s not like I can have you call him and find out if he’s willing to date me and keep things casual.”

  “No, I can’t. But you can.” She takes my phone from the cup holder in the center console, where I always keep it when I’m driving. “Call him and be upfront. Say you’re not looking for anything serious, and if that’s okay with him, you’d love to grab dinner sometime.”

  I guess I could do that. It’s what I probably should have done with David, though I’m not sure it would have made a difference with him. He’s too caring. I think he would have developed feelings for me either way.

  “Do you want me to dial for you?” Tara asks.

  “No.” I take my phone from her and pull up his number in my contacts. Then I take a deep breath before connecting the call. It rings twice before Sebastian answers.

  “Hello?” His tone is full of question, probably because I never gave him my number and he has no idea who he’s talking to yet.

  “Sebastian, it’s Emily. From Last Call,” I add.

  “Emily, hi. I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you.”

  I can practically hear the smile in his voice. “Well, here’s the thing.” Best to just get it out there. “I’m not looking for anything serious right now, but I had a good time talking to you last night. So, if you’re okay with keeping things casual, I’d really like to have dinner with you.”

  “Great. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Are you free tonight?”

  That was almost too easy. Tara’s eyes widen, and she mouths, “Well?”

  “Tonight would be great. Where did you have in mind? I can meet you there.” Best to meet him instead of having him show up at the apartment. I want David to know I’m dating, but I don’t want to make him watch me do it. That would be cruel.

  “How about Bella Noche?”

  “I love that place. Eight o’clock work for you?”

  “I’ll make the reservation,” he says. “See you then.”

  “See you then,” I repeat before hanging up.

  “See. That was easy. Now David will see you’re moving on, and he’ll do the same.” Tara opens her car door and steps out.

  Boy, do I hope she’s right because I can’t take the idea of hurting David anymore.

  Chapter Ten

  David

  I pull up to Bella Noche at around eight thirty. Emily said she had a date, and I didn’t want her to think I was sitting home alone on a Saturday night, so I decided to meet up with Dom and the others after their golf tournament. I’m sure Dom chose this place for dinner so he could skip out on the bill. For once, I’m thankful since him skipping out on the check usually winds up with me paying it. But I don’t have any problem letting his family cover this one since they own the place.

  I walk up to the hostess stand, where Janel greets me.

  “Welcome to Bella Noche. Will you be dining alone this evening?” Janel reminds me of Siri because she has automated responses for everything. She’s known me for years, but she’s so conditioned to greet people the same way she doesn’t bother to acknowledge me.

  “Hi, Janel. I’m meeting Dominic and a few others for dinner.”

  “Right this way,” she says, grabbing a menu and walking toward the back of the restaurant.

  I sigh. When I see her at Last Call, she always calls me by name and has actual conversations with me. But at work, she turns into this robot of a hostess.

  I do a double take when Janel leads me past a table for two tucked behind the fish tank. Emily is seated with someone who looks a lot like a celebrity whose name I can’t place at the moment. Her back is to me, so I keep walking and pretend not to notice her.

  “Hey!” Dom says, waving his hand in the air when he sees me.

  I want to tell him to shut up before he draws Emily’s attention, but if she hears my voice, she’ll definitely look this way. I quickly slip into the empty seat, which gives me a little too good of a view of Emily and her date.

  “Your menu, sir,” Janel says, handing the menu to me.

  “Thank you, Janel,” I say, using her name on purpose, though it has no effect on her.

  “Certainly. Your server will be right with you.” She turns and walks back to the hostess station.

  “You missed a hell of a tournament today,” Dom says.

  “Yeah, sorry I stole your spot,” Will says.

  “You didn’t,” Malcolm says. “Dom’s the idiot who forgot he promised you a spot.”

  “All right, I made a mistake. Big deal. David doesn’t even really like the sport anyway.” Dom claps me on the back. “Right?”

  “Yeah.” My eyes are glued to Emily and her date. Who the hell does he look like?

  Will and Malcolm turn in their seats, following my gaze. “You know her?”

  They aren’t the type of guys I’d bring Emily around, so they don’t know who she is.

  “We work together, and she’s my new roommate.”

  “She’s also his ex,” Dom adds.

  “Thanks for that,” I say, glaring at him.

  “Tell me you’re kidding,” Will says. “You had a girl that hot and you let her go?”

  “How the hell are you living with her now?” Malcolm asks. “Are you two still sleeping together or something? Did you just decide not to be exclusive? Because if that’s the case, you need to give her my number.”

  “Right,” Will says. “Like you have a chance. She’s dating a celebrity lookalike.”

  “He does look like a celebrity, doesn’t he?” I ask.

  “Yeah, that brother from Supernatural,” Will says.

  That’s it. Emily loves that show. That’s just my luck, that she’d meet a man who looks like her celebrity crush. The universe keeps kicking me in the balls.

  While Will and Malcolm are busy staring at Emily’s date, Dom leans in and whispers, “You all right?”

  “Fine. Just hungry.” I pretend to peruse the menu, and when the waiter returns, I order lobster ravioli and an Amstel Light.

  “Since when do you drink Amstel Light?” Dom asks me.

  I didn’t even realize I’d ordered it. “Emily has it in the apartment. It’s not bad,” I lie. I must have ordered it because I’m so honed in on Emily, and when the waiter asked what I wanted to drink, I said the name of the beer she was drinking.

  Her date flashes a smile at her, and she returns it. She seems so at ease with him, like she used to be with me. I miss those days. I’m not sure why I had to ruin everything by asking her out. If I didn’t, we might still be looking at each other like that, flirting all the time, touching each other in suggestive ways... I enjoyed every second of it, but it wasn’t enough for me. I wanted more. I wanted her.

  Dom waves his hand in front of my face. “Man, you need to stop staring. It’s bordering on stalkerish.”

  “I didn’t know she’d be here. She told me she had a date, but I didn’t know where she was going.” And I hoped she was lying, trying to put some space between us after I broke the boundaries of our new relationship and kissed her.

  “You want to leave?” Dom asks after several long minutes pass where I can’t take my eyes off Emily.

  “No. I haven’t even eaten yet.” Besides, if I got up and left, I’d have to w
alk by her table again. I’m lucky she hasn’t seen me yet, but I’m not about to push that luck.

  As if on cue, the waiter arrives with my ravioli. “Here you are, sir. The plate is hot.”

  I take it from him, not heeding his words. Damn it if he wasn’t kidding, though. I quickly put the plate down.

  “That’s why the waiters wear gloves, man. You’ve been here enough to know that. Don’t let Emily mess with your mind.”

  He’s right. I had to get over Emily. She was moving on, and I had to do the same or I was going to lose her as my friend, too.

  “You up for Last Call after this?” I ask Dom.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re looking for someone to take your mind off Emily?”

  “Because you’re not stupid.” I cut my ravioli and shove a large piece of it into my mouth.

  “Now you’re talking.” Dom pats my back before picking up with the conversation Will and Malcolm are having.

  I spend the rest of dinner watching Emily and her date. Once her date pays the bill and they leave, I slap money for the tip on the table. I stand up, downing the rest of my Amstel Light. “I’m ready. You?” I ask Dom.

  “Meet you there. I have to finish this.” He holds up his beer, which is still half full.

  I give Will and Malcolm one-armed hugs and head out. I’m getting into my car when I spot Emily and her date standing next to her Altima. I know I should drive away, but I can’t help watching.

  Her date steps closer to her, and I mentally chant, “Get in the car. Get in the car.” But she doesn’t. He tilts his head and leans in. She meets him halfway. The kiss is brief, but it still sends jealousy coursing through me, mainly because she doesn’t run away from him like she ran away from me. She smiles and brushes her hair behind her ear. He opens her car door for her. Wonderful. He’s attractive and has good manners. I should be happy for her. If she’s not with me, I want her to be with a good guy.

  No, I don’t. I want her to be with me.

  She pulls out of the spot and drives past me. She eyes me through the window, and all I can do is offer a small wave. She knows I saw her. Now I really do feel like a stalker.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emily

  My date with Sebastian last night was...nice. He’s funny and sweet and incredibly handsome. In all reality, I should be swooning over him. And if I’m being honest, there were times during dinner that I really thought I could see myself with him. That all changed when I saw David as I was leaving the restaurant. I’m not sure why he was there, but I didn’t agree with Tara’s theory that he followed me. First, David would never do that. He’s not a stalker. Second, I know his car, so I would have seen him following me. Third, it was entirely possible he just happened to be eating at the same place. I mean, he didn’t come home until much later than I did, which probably meant he stayed there for a while. Maybe even had dinner with another woman.

  Contemplating it all had given me a headache. I spent the morning in bed watching Sunday cartoons like a little kid. I snuck out to the kitchen to get myself a bowl of cereal and some coffee while David showered. But it’s almost noon now, and I have to act my age and go write this column. Which means facing David.

  I pat down the front of my shirt and shorts, making sure I’m not too rumpled after spending my morning in bed. Then I run a brush through my hair, noticing the split ends. When was the last time I cut my hair? I should make an appointment to go to the salon on my lunch break one day this week. I set a reminder on my phone so I’ll call tomorrow morning from work.

  Out of ways to stall, I open my bedroom door and step out into the living room. David is on the couch with his laptop. His coffee mug is perched on the table in front of him and so is his breakfast plate.

  I take a deep breath before saying, “Good morning.”

  He presses a few more keys on his laptop before turning his head in my direction. “Morning. Decided to sleep in, huh?”

  I’ve been up since 5:00 a.m., thanks to all the thoughts floating around in my head. “Indulging in cartoons actually,” I say with a shrug as I walk around the couch and sit down at the opposite end. I try to play it off as wanting to lean against the back of the couch and armrest, as if I’m too tired to hold myself up.

  “I always rooted for the coyote. I never did like the roadrunner,” he says, resuming his typing.

  “I admit I do have a soft spot for the coyote. Poor guy had way too many anvils dropped on his head.” Curious what has his attention, I lean over and peek at his screen. “What are you working on?”

  “Our column.”

  “What?” I move closer still. “You started without me?”

  “I had an idea. It’s not like we can write it together because we both know we most likely won’t agree on how to respond.”

  “You don’t know that. We both hated Oliver Strauss.” And that fake letter was definitely about him.

  “No argument there. But I figured the thing that made our last joint article work was that we showed opposing views. I’m pretty sure that’s what Mr. Monohan and Aria are expecting us to do with this column, too. So we should answer separately and let the readers and the person who wrote in to us decide whose opinion is correct.”

  While it makes sense, I still don’t like that he started without discussing his plan with me first. Nor do I like that he found a way to avoid working with me on this. We’re essentially writing separate responses. There’s no collaboration at all. “Can I see what you have so far?”

  “I’m just about finished. It’s rough, though.” He types another line before turning the screen toward me.

  Dear Tired of Working for a Momma’s Boy,

  Many of us have been in your shoes. Nepotism seems to run rampant in the workplace no matter what your field. What you need to decide is whether the money you’re making from this job is worth the aggravation of putting up with your bosses. We’ve all got bills to pay, and if that need is greater than your desire to rid yourself of said Momma’s Boy, then you suck it up. If you can hold out a little while, save some cash, and then quit to find other employment, then that might be the best route to take. No matter what you decide, good luck.

  David

  He took the safe way out, which I knew he would. I’ll be the first to admit I was shocked when he stood up to Oliver and Marjorie Strauss and quit Priority News. I also know he never would have done it if Aria hadn’t led the revolt. And I don’t doubt David knew Mr. M. would start his own paper or at the very least offer him a recommendation for a new job. Safe isn’t my thing, though.

  “My turn,” I tell him, reaching for the laptop.

  He hands it to me. “You already know how you’ll respond?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “I lived it, didn’t I?”

  He reads the screen as I type.

  Dear Tired of Working for a Momma’s Boy,

  You could take David’s advice and play it safe. Or you could live up to your name and do something to fix your situation. You said you can’t afford to quit. So don’t. Make Momma’s and her boy’s lives so miserable they fire you. Then you can collect unemployment while you search for a better job. No one should have to suffer in his or her employment because of nepotism. It’s one of the many things that’s wrong with this world. I left a deadbeat boss because I refused to dread going to work every day, and now I couldn’t be happier about it. Not only do I have a better job title, but I love all my coworkers, too. That could be the same for you. Change isn’t something you should fear. Embrace it, and do what you know will make you happy in the long run.

  Emily

  When I finish, I look at David. “Too much with the personal experience thrown in?” No doubt Marjorie and Oliver Strauss will figure out I’m talking about them. Hell, anyone who can operate a search engine could figure it out by looking me up. I’ve only worked at two papers since graduating college.

  “My gut reaction is yes, but that probably means Mr. Monohan and Aria will love it.”


  “Care to rebut anything in my argument for getting fired?” It’s only fair to offer since I did mention his advice in my reply.

  He shakes his head. “I say we leave it as is and send it to Aria. We might as well make sure we’re on the right track before we edit it.”

  “Since I am the opinion editor, I’m assuming Aria will edit the pieces herself,” I say, saving the document and placing the laptop on the coffee table.

  “Good point.” He gets quiet, and I can tell there’s something on his mind.

  “What aren’t you saying?” I ask him, twisting and bringing my legs up on the couch.

  He keeps his head lowered and says, “I didn’t know you were going to Bella Noche on your date last night. My best friend happens to work there. His family owns it, and he invited me to dinner with him and the guys he played in the golf tournament with.”

  I knew there was a simple explanation for it. “It’s a great restaurant. I’ve always loved their food.”

  “Dominic is one of the chefs. I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

  My stomach growls, and I pat it. “All this talk about food has made me hungry.”

  “Do you have lunch plans? Are you going out with...?” His voice trails off.

  “No. I figured we’d be working on the column for a good portion of the day.” Who knew our advice would come to us so easily? Though I’m sure the topic had a lot to do with it. I doubted all our columns would be this easy to write. Most of our readers are older than I am, so how much life experience can I really offer them? “Do you think anyone is going to take me seriously?” I ask David.

  “What do you mean?” He finally meets my gaze.

  “The column. You’re the voice of reason behind it. I’m sort of the entertainment factor. I doubt anyone will take my advice as legitimate options. I’ll just be viewed as the comic relief.”