I Belong With You

by Ashelyn Drake

  He turns and reaches for my hands but stops and lowers his arm to his lap again. “You’re not comic relief. For what it’s worth, you gave the better advice on that fake letter.”

  “Making her bosses miserable so they fire her?”

  “What makes you think the letter writer was a she?”

  “It had Aria written all over it.” I wave my hand in the air like there was no discussing otherwise.

  He laughs. “True. But I still stand by what I said. Your advice was better. I left Priority News, yet I didn’t tell that”—he pauses and winks at me—“woman to do the same thing. I gave her the safe advice.”

  “Most people want the safe solution.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s the right solution,” he says, and this time when he reaches for my hand, he places his on top.

  Our eyes meet, and my breath catches in my throat. Not once last night did Sebastian make my breath catch or my stomach flutter. Yet here was David, doing nothing more than looking at me with his hand on top of mine, and I’m having trouble breathing. What’s worse is that his words hit home for me. I took the safe solution when I ended our relationship before I could wind up hurting him.

  “You okay? You’re suddenly looking a little pale.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek, and my skin tingles with his touch.

  I clear my throat and stand up. “I think I need to eat. My blood sugar must be low or something.” I turn and start for the kitchen to grab my leftovers from the refrigerator. “Can I get you anything while I’m up?” I ask.

  Instead of answering, he follows me to the kitchen. “Why don’t you save your leftovers for dinner and we go out for lunch?”

  Go out? As in on a date? “I don’t really—”

  “There’s a new miniature golf place on McAllister Road. I know it’s silly, but I’ve been wanting to check it out. Erica, that new features staff writer, did a story on it. She said it has a graveyard zombie theme.”

  I love horror movies, especially ones that involve zombies. “Are you proposing we mini golf after lunch?”

  “There’s a café right in the place. They make dishes that resemble human body parts.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I know it sounds disgusting, but Erica said each dish is like a work of art.”

  “I bet it’s really popular with The Walking Dead crowd.” I can’t deny I want to check the place out, but I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for David and me to spend the day together doing very date-like things.

  “So, what do you say? My treat.”

  I shake my head. “Dutch.” Paying my own way makes it less like a date.

  He holds his hands up. “Fine by me.” He motions to the door. “Shall we?”

  “Just let me pull my hair up and grab my purse.” I walk past him to my room and secure my hair into a ponytail. I haven’t been mini golfing since college, not that it’s been very long since I was in college, but still. I grab my purse from the dresser and fish out my keys.

  “I’ll drive,” David says.

  “No, I’ll drive. Having an empty stomach makes me nauseous sometimes, so driving will be better for me.”

  He eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t argue.

  “After you,” I say, letting him go first so he doesn’t do anything like hold the door for me. Anything to make this less like a date. Part of me wants to suggest we take separate cars, but that may be going a bit overboard. For a moment, I contemplate texting Tara and asking her to meet us at the miniature golf course, but I don’t know how to do that without being obvious. I’m going to have to trust that David isn’t viewing this as anything more than two friends passing the time together.

  David drops his phone right before we reach the elevator, and he bends over to pick it up. His cargo shorts hug his ass, and I have to force my eyes away.

  Two friends. Nothing more.

  Chapter Twelve

  David

  Emily is tense on the ride to Zombie Golf. The only time she talks to me is to ask if I want her to turn up the air conditioning in the car. I hate how awkward things have become. If only we could turn back time and make things go back to when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I miss her creamy soft skin and the freckle she has just below her belly button. She said it tickled when I kissed it. I miss the way she liked to bite my lower lip after we kissed. I miss her.

  “There’s a parking spot up there,” I say, pointing to the first row by the café.

  Emily pulls into the spot and cuts the engine. She loops the strap of her purse across her body and gets out of the car. It’s going to be a really long lunch if she doesn’t plan to talk to me. I’m glad she drove, though. She probably would have texted Tara to come meet us here if she’d been in the passenger seat with nothing to do on the ride here. I get out and follow her to the door, letting her open it herself. It’s hard not doing things I’ve been conditioned to do since I was a little kid.

  Inside the café, we see there’s a long row of glass cases and someone taking orders at the end of it. I motion for her to go first. The food items are pretty amazing. I couldn’t imagine eating some of them because they look a little too realistic, especially the intestines, which is some sort of pasta and sausage dish according to the fine print on the card sticking out of it.

  “Welcome to the Zombie Café,” says a woman with a fake bullet hole in her cheek.

  “Your makeup is incredible,” Emily says. “That looks so real.”

  “Thanks. I take it it’s your first time here?” the woman asks.

  Emily nods. “What do you recommend?”

  “Well, for you, I’d say the brain casserole.” She opens the back of the display case and pulls out a giant dish of what looks exactly like something Liv Moore cooked up on the television show iZombie.

  Emily nods, even though I’m not sure she has any idea what’s actually in that dish.

  The woman scoops some onto a plate and hands it to Emily. Then she turns to me. “And for the squeamish, I’d go with the barbeque chicken.”

  I furrow my brow. “That’s it? Barbeque chicken? No zombie name for it?”

  “Oh, it has one, but I’m not telling you what it is because I doubt you’d eat it if I did.” She winks at Emily as if they’re sharing a private joke.

  “That will be fine,” I say, assuming she’s probably right.

  The woman hands me a plate with the barbeque chicken and a side of coleslaw. “We keep regular food on hand for those who don’t quite get our theme,” she says, motioning to the coleslaw.

  “Thanks,” I say, although I’m pretty sure I should be a little offended by her comment.

  Emily has already ordered her drink and is at the register paying when I slide my plate down the counter. “I’ll find us a seat,” she says after returning her wallet to her purse.

  I nod and wait for the cashier to ring me up. He rolls his eyes when he sees my plate. Is it really that odd that I didn’t want to eat anything that looked like it belonged inside a human being?

  “Don’t you want something to drink?” he asks me.

  “Right. I don’t suppose you serve alcohol, huh?”

  The guy shakes his head. “We have iced tea, lemonade, or soda for those who don’t want to drink our feature drink.”

  I have a feeling the feature drink looks a lot like blood. “I’ll take a Sprite.”

  He pours my drink, and I pay for my order. I don’t bother to leave any money in the tip jar after both the woman who helped me and this guy both made fun of me. Turning around, I spot Emily at a table by the front window. Something outside has her attention.

  “What is it?” I ask, sliding into my seat across from her. I twist my head and follow her gaze. There’s the man she had dinner with last night standing with another woman in front of the miniature golf course rental booth. His arm is around the woman’s waist. At first, I’m not convinced that means anything, but then he tilts her head in his direction and kisses her. Not a little kiss either.

 
; “Emily,” I say, not sure how to console her right now. I want to storm out of here and punch that guy in his celebrity lookalike face, but I doubt that would really earn me any points with Emily. She’d think I was acting like a jealous, possessive ex-boyfriend. And she’d be right.

  She shakes her head. “We only went on one date, and I prefaced it with the fact that I wanted to keep things casual and see other people.” She finally stops staring and pushes her casserole around on her plate. “I’m glad he’s seeing someone else. It means he won’t get too attached to me.”

  Her words sting more than I want to admit. “Whatever makes you happy,” I say, cutting into my chicken.

  “Sebastian told me he gets mistaken for Jensen Ackles all the time, so I’m sure he isn’t lacking options when it comes to dates.”

  “What is it about Jensen Ackles that drives women so wild anyway?” I ask. “It’s not that I can’t acknowledge when another man is attractive, but the guys on Supernatural seem kind of goofy to me sometimes.”

  “They’re supposed to. The show can get dark, so there are always humorous scenes interspersed to break up the tension.” She takes a bite of her food, and I cringe.

  “How can you eat that?” I ask her.

  “They’re actually meatballs,” Emily says, forking a piece and holding it up for me to see. “Want to try it?” She raises an eyebrow in challenge.

  “No. Definitely not. I’m fine with zombies, but I don’t want to pretend to be one.”

  She puts the brain-like meatball in her mouth and moans. “So good.”

  For a moment, I remember another time she said that to me. We were at her apartment, completely naked.

  “David?” Emily says.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you were going to eat. You haven’t touched your food except to cut off one small piece, which is still on your fork.” She uses her own fork to point to it.

  I look down at my plate. If I don’t start acting normal, she’ll never agree to hang out with me like this again. I pick up my fork and eat the piece of chicken, which is actually really good. The barbeque sauce has some tang to it. “It’s good,” I say, after washing it down with a sip of my Sprite.

  We finish eating and walk over to the booth where we rent the golf clubs and get our balls. Emily insists on paying half, right down to the penny. I don’t protest because I don’t want to make a bigger scene than we already are. The afternoon crowd has formed a line behind us, and two young boys are glaring at me as Emily counts her change. Finally, she hands it to the man and he gives her a club and ball.

  “Sorry about that,” she says as we walk to the first hole, which is the graveyard entrance. “I didn’t realize my change had dumped out of my wallet. I must not have zipped it up after I paid for my lunch.”

  “No problem, but we better not play too slowly or the little boys behind us are going to bludgeon us to death with our own clubs. Our dead bodies might become part of the décor.”

  She smiles and places her ball at the start. “Prepare to lose, my friend, because I happen to be insanely good at miniature golf.”

  “Really?” I ask. “I didn’t think it was an actual skill people possessed. Isn’t it mostly luck?” The courses are designed to mess up your shots. It’s nothing like a real golf course. Not that I’m good on one of those either.

  “Watch and learn,” she says. She stands to the side of her ball and sizes up the course. We have to shoot under the cemetery gate and up a pathway to where the gravestones are on the other side. She wiggles her ass and takes her shot.

  “What was that?” I ask her, but she’s watching her ball. It sails under the gate, up the walkway, and straight down the middle on the other side, putting her in a good position for her second shot.

  “What did I tell you?” she asks with a smile. “That’s talent.”

  “Okay, tell me your secret so I don’t look like a complete ass and miss getting the ball under the gate. All I need is those two brats laughing at me on the first hole.” I tilt my head in the direction of the two boys.

  “It’s all in the ass shake before you take your swing,” Emily says.

  “That’s what you were doing? That’s part of your swing every time?” I thought she was trying to be funny.

  “Laugh if you want, but it works.” She leans on her club. “Are you going to shoot, or are you trying to see if those boys really will beat us with our own clubs?”

  I step up and place my ball on the ground. “I really have to wiggle my ass?”

  “It helps with your balance and makes it so you can get a straighter swing.” When I don’t move, she cocks her head and says, “Just try it.”

  What the hell? It’s not like I’ll ever see those two boys again. Nor do I really care what they think of me. It doesn’t make me feel like any less of an idiot though as I put my club to the ball, bend over, and shake my ass. The boys laugh behind me, but Emily says, “Ignore them. Hit the ball.”

  I take my shot, and the ball goes under the gate and up the pathway. I hit the side edge on the way down, but the shot is better than I thought it would be.

  “Nice work,” Emily says as we walk around the gate to where our balls are. She’s positioned straight in front of the hole and easily sinks it.

  My ball is lodged behind a tombstone. “Hmm. No way am I hitting this in one shot.”

  “Sure you can,” Emily says. “It’s simple geometry. Aim for this wall here.” She walks over and uses her club head to point to the precise spot on the wall. “The ball will bounce off and head in this direction toward the hole. You just need to use the right amount of force to make sure the ball goes in the hole as opposed to falling short or sailing past it.”

  I look at her dumbfounded. “Did you just give me a lesson in geometry and physics?”

  She bobs her head. “That’s all mini golf is.”

  I step around the tombstone to my ball. “Let me guess; you’re great at pool, too.”

  “Why? Do you want to hustle some guys later this evening?”

  Even though I know she’s only joking, I get excited about the idea of spending the evening with her. Somehow, focusing on the game is making her forget the tension that’s grown between us.

  “Tell you what. Next time I’m short on cash, we’re hitting the bar scene to hustle some drunk idiots.”

  She laughs. “You’re on. But not Last Call. Caleb wouldn’t like that very much, and if Caleb gets upset, Nate will, and then you know what will happen.”

  “Ah,” I say, “our lovely boss, Aria, will make us pay.”

  She points her club at me. “Bingo.”

  “Hurry up already!” one of the boys yells. “You’re holding up the line!” He’s cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone, as if he needs to be any louder.

  “Come on,” Emily says. She points her club head at the spot on the wall again. “Aim right here. Oh, and make sure you shake your ass.”

  I do as she says, and my ball almost goes in. I used a little too much force, and it rolled right over the hole, landing on the other side. I easily tap it in from there.

  “I’m ahead by a stroke,” she says as I collect my ball, and we head for the second hole.

  “Now that I know your secrets, prepare for my comeback,” I say, wagging my eyebrows at her.

  She beats me again on the second and third holes, but I’m holding my own. By the time we reach the last hole, we catch up to an elderly couple who must be nearing their eighties. Emily grabs my arm. “Look how adorable they are,” she says.

  I’m a little surprised she’d think so considering she seems very “anti-relationship.” “How old do you think they were when they started playing the course?” I joke, motioning to how slowly they’re moving.

  Emily smacks my arm. “Stop it. You’re terrible. I give them a lot of credit for getting out and doing something fun like this at their age.”

  I should have known it wasn’t their relationship that impressed her, but
their zest for life at their age.

  The woman turns her head and sees us. “Harold,” she says, “let’s let this lovely couple go in front of us.”

  Harold takes her arm and helps her step to the side. “Go right ahead, you two. We don’t like to hold anyone up.”

  “Are you sure?” Emily asks. “We don’t mind waiting.”

  “Such a sweet girl,” the woman says with a smile. “We insist.”

  Emily nods and returns the smile before stepping up to her ball. She takes her shot, and I notice she doesn’t wiggle her ass. I wonder if she feels awkward doing it in front of the elderly couple. She manages to sink a hole in one.

  “Oh!” the old woman exclaims. She covers her mouth with her hands like she can’t believe what she just saw. Then she turns to me. “Well, don’t just stand there. Go kiss her. She deserves it after a shot like that.”

  Emily turns around and looks at me.

  I walk over to her and raise my hand for a high five, which she awkwardly gives me. Then I take my shot, not shaking my ass at all. I miss by a long shot without Emily giving me pointers. It takes three more shots before I get the ball in the damn hole. I collect my ball as Emily waves goodbye to the older couple.

  “Sorry for kicking your ass so badly,” she says, falling in step with me after we place our clubs and balls back into the appropriate compartments at the rental station.

  “It would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t given me all those tips,” I say. Hopefully, the awkwardness created when the old woman suggested I kiss Emily is long forgotten.

  “Maybe not. I was totally messing with you when I told you to shake your ass.”

  “What?” I stop walking and gape at her.

  She shrugs. “What can I say? I wanted to see if you’d do it. Plus, you have a nice ass.” She turns and starts for the car.

  I might have lost the round of miniature golf, but Emily just said I have a nice ass. I smile the whole way back to the apartment.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emily