Hiding my laughter, I drop my chin and tighten the strap of my apron around my waist.
“You think it’s funny?” he asks, not amused.
“It’s just pouring beers and mixing stuff. And what does football have to do with any of it?”
“Nothing. That’s my point, girlie. But he sure took to those footy boys at the bar. Been chatting with them and no one else for almost a half hour. We do have other customers.”
Glancing down the long counter again, I take in the sight of Carl laughing and high fiving two men seated together. He snaps his head in our direction and immediately wipes away his boisterous grin when Pat gives him a knowing glare. I wink his way, hoping he doesn’t get too discouraged by Pat. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun at work as far as I’m concerned. Working with customers can be so stressful and it’s nice when you can let loose a little. I’ve worked with guys like Pat in the past. They’re really dedicated to their job, but sometimes have trouble connecting with each new generation. He and I get along fine, though. Maybe it’s because I don’t act like an idiot. At least I don’t anymore.
The two men chatting with Carl at the bar curiously look our way, and my heart stills. Brent. Of course. That’s what Pat was talking about when he mentioned the footy boys. He meant soccer, not the Bears game.
“Excuse me, Pat,” I say, focused on Brent. “I’ll be right back.”
As slow as possible, I place one foot in front of the other bringing myself closer to the man I physically ran from not too long ago. Each step feels like an exhausting mile. The pounding in my chest drums out louder, like a marching beat, with each narrowing inch. I attempt not to fidget, not smooth my apron, not finger through my hair, and keep my hands at my sides. Every lack of movement is torture on my nerves. He’s just part of your past and everyone has one.
Brent twists the stool around when I come to a stop, standing between he and the blond gentleman who was at the table with him before. I steady my breath as it catches in my throat and hope he doesn’t notice.
He looks the same, but different. Better and god help me hotter.
Leaning back, Brent sets his elbows on the armrests and clasps his hands together.
“Hi,” he offers. A smirk plays around his features and his flirty dimple is already working its magic. Fuck you, dimple.
“Hi, Brent. Sorry about not talking with you earlier. We were really busy.”
“No, I get it.” His mouth tightens and his knee moves up and down, nervously. He signals to the man sitting beside him. “Ruby, this is Johan.”
Johan circles around in his seat.
“Nice to meet you, Johan,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Ruby and I—” Brent starts.
“Went to high school together,” I interrupt, stiffly.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Johan says, accent thick. He then turns back around and begins chatting with Carl some more. Carl gives me a measured look and then focuses his attention back on the blond.
“So what are you doing in Chicago?” I ask Brent.
“We have a match on Sunday against Chicago Fire. Final game of the season.”
“An international game?”
“It’s not international. I don’t play for Sweden anymore. Johan and I both play for L.A. I joined them over a year ago.”
He’s been back in the States for over a year?
“Oh, I had no idea.”
“Well, we kind of lost touch,” he says with slight accusation.
“Yeah. I guess we did.” I wisp back the strands of hair falling out near my ear. “So how long are you here for?”
“Just a few more days.”
“The team is heading back on Monday,” Johan adds, apparently listening in.
“Any other plans while you’re in town?” I ask, making friendly conversation, like nothing ever happened. It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago. We’ve both moved on. He has a whole life I don’t even know about.
“Not really. Mostly just team practices until the match. It’s more of a quick trip. Playoff games start next week.”
“Oh. Sounds like you guys are pretty busy, then.”
“A little.”
Brent looks at me in expectation.
Not sure what else to say, I glance behind me, letting my eyes wander at anything but him. I don’t want to seem overly interested, even though my brain is dying to know everything about what he’s been up to for the last four years. Not to mention, the obvious—Is he seeing anyone?
It’s not healthy to know any of it. I’ve already let him go, and the less I understand about him the easier it will be to forget he was even here. But I can’t help thinking about everything we’ve been through.
Everyone’s life has major events and he’s linked with my biggest tragedy.
Time to cut this off, now.
“Well, I should get back to work.” I reach behind my back, tightening my apron.
Brent lets out a small gust of air, drawing my attention to his mouth. Damn you, soft lips.
Tilting in Johan’s direction, I say, “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too.” He nods.
“Brent.” I pause, openly taking in what I decide to be my final look at him, ever. “It was good to see you.”
“You too.” His hand reaches out to mine, squeezing it gently, causing the blood in my veins to send a flashing pulse of urgency. Involuntarily, my fingers apply pressure to his and his eyes dilate slightly. I see it. And then words, unspoken words, pass between us.
Regret.
Longing.
Take care.
What if?
“Bye,” I breathe, releasing my hand from his.
I leave, not allowing myself even a last tempting glimpse of what’s behind me.
I count each step.
They are heavy.
Seventeen.
I enter the kitchen.
Don’t go back.
Three
After seeing Brent, I spent a lot of energy thinking about him, trying not to think about him, and avoiding the bar. Eventually though, I made another pass by the bar only to find that he and Johan had left.
It’s late and the restaurant is closed and I’m the only server left. I’m exhausted, physically and mentally. It’s been a whirlwind evening of customers, expected and unexpected.
The dining room is empty and the tables are clean. As part of my duties as closing server, I check everyone’s sections and all of the side service stations. The place appears to be in good order.
Making my way back to the office, I remove my apron, unbutton the top of my blue blouse, and let my hair out of its bun. It falls down the length of my back and I toss it a little, so it covers my shoulders. In the small back room, I spot Colin at his desk going through the night’s numbers. Knocking gently, I alert him of my presence before entering.
“Dining room’s set and here’s my report for the night,” I say, holding out my pile of receipts.
Focused on the computer screen at his desk, he takes the pieces of paper into his hand and says, “Thanks.”
Plopping down in the seat next to the desk, I wait as he goes over my night’s till.
“Any cash sales?” he asks.
“No. Nobody pays in cash anymore.”
“I know, but we’re required to ask.” He shuffles through each of my sales receipts, making sure all of the numbers line up. He fastens them together with a paperclip and then sets them into a pile with some others. “Looks good. You’re all set.”
“Don’t you need to check out the front of the house before I log out?”
“No, not really,” he sighs. “But I will because I’m supposed to.”
Standing up, Colin stuffs his hands into his pockets and leads us out into the dining area. We go through each separate section briefly, making sure that every table is pristine, clean, and set for tomorrow night’s service. Entering into the final mahogany-walled room, Colin stops at the entry.
; “It all looks good,” he says, angling in my direction. “So, did you hear that Olivia is leaving?”
“Yeah, I did. She’s moving, right?”
“She is. Going out west to be with her family.”
“That makes sense. She mentioned that her mother’s health wasn’t so good.”
“No, I guess it isn’t. She’ll be gone in two weeks and we’re currently looking for another manager.” He rubs his chin with his fingertips. “Do you think you might be interested?”
“In what? The manager position?”
“Yes. You’re more than qualified and I think you’d do really well here.”
Biting my lip, I focus on my feet, thinking about the proposition. I’m sure the money is good, but the hours and expectations would likely increase and get in the way of what I’m striving to do. Coming back to Chicago has one purpose and I can’t lose sight of that.
“Thanks, Colin, I appreciate the offer. But I’m still in school and I don’t think the hours would work out with my classes.”
“You’re going full-time?”
“Yep, that’s why I only work three days on the weekends.”
“Well, the position is part-time and on weekends. If you’re interested, let me know. We’re planning to start interviewing on Monday.”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell him flattered, but know I won’t be taking him up on the offer. I like having my flexible days to get schoolwork done. Not to mention the mountain of laundry.
“Let me know,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, eyes roaming around the room one more time. “You’re good to go for the night. Thanks again for closing.”
“You’re welcome.”
He goes back to the office, leaving me alone in the room surrounded by wood and leather.
Staring at the white linens, I’m immobilized and mesmerized by Table 32. The table carried so much weight when seated with a particular patron. Brent flipped on a switch to my past–—a past that I already stowed away.
Shaking my head, I don’t allow myself to linger too long on any of those thoughts. I dash back to the kitchen, clock out for the night, and meander toward the door that leads to the basement break room.
Someone bumps my shoulder from the right.
“Whoa,” Brian chuckles as he exits the freezer, catching me. “I gotcha.”
Stumbling a little, I right myself and pull my arm from his grasp. “Thanks. Sorry.” What is wrong with me? It feels like he came out of nowhere. I must be out of it.
“Don’t worry about it.” He wipes his hands on his apron. “So, I’m almost done here. You still up for a drink?”
Sweeping away a few strands of hair away from my cheeks, I nod. “Yeah. A drink sounds good.”
“I’ll only be another ten to fifteen minutes. Do you mind waiting a little longer?”
“No, not at all. I’m going to go down and change first. I’ll meet you up front.”
I scoot around him and make my way down the steps to the employee break room. Pulling out my bag from one of the lockers, I change into the fitted sweater and skinny jeans I brought with me. It’s not the ideal outfit for a night out, but it’s late, nearing one in the morning, and I wasn’t expecting to go out in the first place.
Dressed and ready to go, I shrug into my jacket and carry myself up the steps and take a seat on the bench in the front lobby. Having some time to spare, I pull out my phone and respond to Cody’s email.
Sure, turkey sounds good. Count me in. And yes, I got your gift last week. Thank you so much. Sorry, I should have called. Got caught up with exams. I love a Shakespeare quote, especially a fierce one. I’ll call you later. Remind me to tell you who I ran into tonight. You’ll never guess. Tell Shauna and Dragon hi.
Ruby
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I lean back against the carved wood wall that adorns the lobby. I close my eyes, noticing the steak aroma more acutely.
What a night.
I’m so exhausted and could really use a cup of coffee.
~Past~
Letting go of his coffee cup, Brent reached his hand across the table and slowly slid his fingers over the top of my own. I flipped my hand, so our palms were touching. My heart leapt in my chest as his magnetic eyes pierced into mine.
There was a conversation happening in the space of silence. No words were being said aloud, but we were “talking” and I could see our futures coming together. Everything was lining up and happening for a reason—his life and mine, fated. It all seemed so easy.
“I’m really happy,” I whispered.
“So am I.”
Pushing back my chair, I got up and made my way around the small table to stand next to him. I bent at the waist and kissed him sweetly on his enticing lips, while running my fingers through the hair on the side of his head. One of his hands rested on my hip while the other tenderly palmed my cheek. The whole world could have been rioting and it wouldn’t have mattered to me. I was lost in Brent—in us.
Disconnecting, Brent touched his forehead to mine.
“By the way, I can taste your tea,” he teased.
“And you taste like chocolate,” I snarked back. “You ordered one of those chick drinks again, didn’t you?”
“So what?” He playfully tapped me on my behind. “I like them. And look who’s talking. Since when do you drink tea, Miss I’ll-have-a-vanilla-soy-latte? Don’t tell me you’ve been watching those sappy Jane Austen movies again. Are you going to have an accent soon, too?”
I laughed. “It’s okay, Brent,” I teased with a mock British accent. “No reason to get all defensive. You can have a foo foo drink every once in a while.”
“Damn right I can.”
He kissed me again, with more force than the last time and his tongue passionately met with mine as we made-out in the middle of the coffee shop. I released my mouth from his and licked my lips.
“I’ve decided that you should get that drink more often,” I uttered.
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because when you kiss me, it’s delicious.”
He nipped at my jaw. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Brent pulled me down and I fell into his lap, giggling. His arms wrapped around my waist as I playfully struggled to get up.
“I’m never letting you go,” he breathed into my ear. “You’re stuck with me.”
“But what about when you have class? You plan to keep me on your lap the entire lecture?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Great. That would be interesting. I’m sure your professors wouldn’t mind either.”
“Who cares what they think.”
Whirling in his lap, I laid my arms over his shoulders, bent my elbows, and entwined my fingers into his thick, dark hair. He squeezed me tighter when I tilted my head forward to touch his.
“I don’t think I ever want you to let me go,” I mused softly in the space between us.
“Then I never will.”
~Present~
“You ready to go?” Brian asks, startling me a little.
My heart sinks when I see his smiling face.
Brian exudes nothing but excitement and anticipation and all I feel is…not the same as him. There’s a saying that timing is everything, but my life’s clock must be broken.
How can I have fun with him while Brent is on the edges of my mind? I worked so hard, letting him go, creating a life without him, and now he’s in my thoughts once again.
Sighing, I stand up and adjust my bag over my shoulder. I button my jacket and push myself forward, forcing myself to bury away all my thoughts of Brent, once again. This night has nothing to do with him.
“Yep. I’m ready,” I say, struggling really hard to mean it.
“Let’s go get a cab.”
Brian leads the way to the door and holds it open as we exit into the cold evening. The street lamps twinkle and the neighboring bars are pumping out music. Over-intoxicated people litter the sidewalks, talking louder
than necessary. Women rub their bare arms and cackle loudly down the block.
Brian steps to the curb and raises his hand, signaling for a cab. I wait a little behind him, pushing my hands into my pockets.
“Do you think it will be crowded?” I ask conversationally.
“Yeah, it always is on Fridays.”
Brian whistles, attempting to hail a cab, but they’re all full. We wait and wait. Finally, we stalk one as it’s letting out some customers, snagging it before a group of tipsy women sneak in.
“Wrigley Field,” Brian says to the cab driver, shutting the door behind him.
Settling into the seat, I zone out the window, observing the lights on the buildings. The car starts to drive and Brian’s hand reaches out to touch mine. Alerted, I snap in his direction.
“Hey,” he laughs. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Sorry, I was just zoning out a little. Long night.”
“Yep, it was. But now to it’s time to kick back a little and have some fun.”
“Yeah,” I drone. “Sure. Fun.”
Brian winks at me and then takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together. I offer a forced, tight-lipped smile in an effort to match the mood. It’s no use. I feel nothing that I should right now. There are no butterflies. There’s no excitement or anticipation about my hand in his. My fingers may be covered in a pair of knit gloves, but I know that’s not the problem. Poor Brian just got cock blocked by Brent, and I’m unable to fight it. What a mess in my head.
We silently make the rest of the trip north, our hands together the whole time. With each block, I try to force Brent’s hair, eyes, mouth, grin, dimples, and everything about him out of my head. Even when Brian’s hand squeezes mine, as a show of affection, it’s not able to bring me to where I am. Right here, with Brian.
Pulling up to the corner of the block, where the Wrigley sign is lit up bright, we get out of the cab and walk toward the bar’s entrance. There’s a line to get in. Brian edges up to the man attending the door, with me beside him, and they exchange a few words. I don’t hear anything they’re saying because the hoots and howls from the inebriated patrons from within the bar echo loudly out into the street.
Forgotten Yesterday Page 2