With squinted eyes I pressed the screen and opened the message, but they widened when I read the words.
Edward: I jumped a taxi and grabbed a table at Hamburger Haven.
Both thumbs hovered over the screen when my eyes noticed the time. Twenty minutes early—typical. He’d slid into class prompt every day, never a few minutes late. That sinking moment when you realize someone expected something from you hung heavy on my shoulders. Those uncomfortable mishaps were why I stopped dating after Deborah. She sucked the life out of me—physically, not a bad deal. Emotionally, I carried too much baggage to be bothered by her insecurities and neediness.
My thumbs tapped on the screen with hesitation.
Me: Running late. Sorry. We can do it again another time.
Three bubbles appeared on the screen, stopped, and reappeared several times. I sat in my car, hating myself for being shallow and assuming. My head throbbed, overthinking this situation. I knew if the shoe were on the other foot, I’d be looking for at least one friend.
Edward: Don’t worry! There are plenty of things to keep me entertained until you get here. See you soon.
Hot air blew through my lips, and I buckled myself in for an experience that had me questioning why I felt out of sorts. Every stop sign I rolled through only brought me back to the complicated life my dad had created for us, and I wanted out. He ruined everything about me, everything most kids at twenty-one took advantage of—the freedom to live a life unjudged. Everything I wanted hid behind my tight lips held under lock and key as if it were a dirty secret because the reality sucked the life out of me, out of my mom, and anybody who wanted to get close enough to know the ugly truth were few and far between.
One of the final reasons Deborah fucked me over arrived the night after I opened up a little about all my ugly truths. She decided sleeping with the quarterback the next night sounded better than dealing with my bullshit life. With a tight fist, I pounded on the dashboard. Once again, I drowned in the Milo Garcia pity party, where I held little control and yet controlled what the outside world perceived.
The warm August air in Texas brushed over my back as I opened the door. The hum with the usual Friday night crowd buzzed over my ears as I entered through the door and looked for Edward. The familiar faces hung out at the bar and along the outer edges where pool tables lined the back walls; a few dartboards hung about. These were my people. The ones who survived without Friday Night Lights beating all the rhythm in their hearts, despite what the rest of Texas thought.
I spotted Edward immediately. The eclectic crowd known to hang out at Hamburger Haven were either hipster or grunge, with no sign of the typical boots and hats attire of traditional Texas. Edward, however, wore grey skinny jeans that clung to his toned thighs, a white T-shirt I surmised made from a designer label by the logo, and white Converse. He had his own sense of style. Something I felt we might need to change if we were to become friends. He stood out like a Christmas tree in June, and I preferred to blend in. After all, I was the son of Clay Wilcox, ex-football loser extraordinaire whom others still held high on a pedestal. Assholes.
I paused a beat too long, and Edward caught me in the middle of my perusal of the situation. He waved and pointed to the empty seat across from him. I whispered a silent thank you that he didn’t choose a booth. If the way he scooted in close to me in class kept me on edge, I could only imagine his lack of personal space in a booth.
“Hiya.” He picked up his wine and swallowed hard as I took my seat. I turned it around, leaned my folded arms on the back, straddling it, and faced him.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. Got hung up by Ma and a broken washer.”
“Don’t you have a handyman for that?”
I chuckled. “You’re looking at him.”
He winked. “Oh? Well, that changes things.”
I tilted back on the chair and gripped the arched back I’d been leaning on. Unsure how to take the gesture.
“Gosh, I wouldn’t know where to start with fixing a washing machine. I don’t even do my laundry.”
I pondered what he nervously rattled out. “Y’all don’t do laundry? Y’all dress in clothes more Hollywood than homeless.”
Cindy, a girl I went to high school with, stood beside me with her pad ready to take our order. “Hey, Milo. Y’all need a minute?”
“Cindy. Edward. Edward. Cindy. And I’ll take water.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cindy.” Edward stood and extended his hand. Cindy blushed, and somewhere inside me, a touch of jealousy sprouted as if Cindy might rob me of the opportunity to get to know the Brit.
“Well, aren’t you as sweet as the bee’s knees. Another wine?”
“Erm.”
“Don’t stop on my account. I need some water before I start drinking.”
“Then, yes. I’ll have a go.”
Cindy took our orders, and I followed her retreat. Her ass swayed in a way I never noticed before. The short skirt of her uniform almost unveiling what hid beneath. I shook my head and returned my attention to Edward.
“Do you fancy her?”
“No. We grew up together. She’s more of a sister.”
“She spotted you straight away.” He raised his brow.
“Hey, don’t accuse an innocent man. Cindy is the girl whose pigtails I pulled and then ran from on the playground. I’ve never dated her. In fact, I think she found you a little more interesting.” The busboy dropped off my glass of water and Edward’s glass of red.
Edward tilted his glass toward my water. “To friendship.”
I clinked my water glass with his delicate glass of wine, and we both swallowed with a heavy gulp. My gut told me more hid behind the upbeat facade of Edward, but if I asked him questions, he earned the right to ask them back. Did I want him to know more of the hellish life I led? Nobody but Seth knew the ugly truths which lie below the walls I built around myself.
“Tell me, do you always avoid conversation, or is it only with me?” Edward’s brazen ways unsettled me, but I wished I held the confidence he did.
“No.” I shook my head and admitted, “Unsure what to ask.”
“Oh, come on, give it a go. I’m an open book.”
“What brought you here to the United States?”
“I wanted to travel abroad and experience something away from the stifled village life I grew up in, but also because it’s suffocating to be a part of my family at times. My turn.” He tapped his finger to his temple. “Do you always avoid personal connection? You do it where I’m concerned, that much is evident, but your friend Cindy approached, and you backed away from her, too. Call me nosey, but I can’t help feeling curious as to your outward appearance, on closer inspection at least, doesn’t match the person you are presenting as.”
The mouth full of water felt like cement stiffening my tongue and jaw, fumbling for an answer to a question I refused to answer truthfully. “Umm. I don’t dig people touching me.”
“My family are extremely tactile.” He brushed his hand along mine. The sizzle from the connection stunted my thoughts briefly. When Deborah and I dated, she always wanted my arm slung over her shoulder or for me to hold her hand. I did it to appease her, but it never felt comfortable. Of course, I figured out fast that without the false display of affection, I could forget about blowjobs or sex, so I forced myself to keep up the facade until we fizzled out after eighteen months. I guess if it wasn’t love and a future with marriage and kids, she had every right to walk away. “You’re lost?”
“What?” I played with the sweat dripping off my water glass.
He took a sip of his wine, and something of a lightbulb shone behind his baby blue eyes. “I notice this in class and when I see you on campus. You don’t seem to fit anywhere.”
“Who had the cheeseburger with no tomato?” Cindy stood with a plate in each hand.
I raised my hand. “Then, the protein style veggie burger must be yours.” She leaned over toward Edward with her top open wide. A glimpse of
her ample cleavage on display.
“Well, you better stand up straight and quickly before one of your boobs pop out and scares a customer.” He grinned from ear to ear at her horror. I snickered at his brazen approach.
“If we’re going to be friends,” I paused and grabbed the ketchup for my fries. “You’re going to need to learn to be more subtle than that. Southern girls adore the head tilt of an affirmation of approval when they flirt. You can’t call them out on their approach to offer their personal gift.”
Edward picked up the lettuce, acting as a bun for his veggie style wrap, and stopped, setting it back down. He leaned in with a sassy smirk and lowered his voice, “Cindy is definitely not my type. I prefer them olive-skinned, dark features, and a bit more—” He looked around the room, licked his finger which had hovered over his food and whispered, “manly—like you.” He winked and picked his food back up and continued eating as if he hadn’t laid out his intentions on a silver platter in the middle of Hamburger Haven.
Chapter Four
Edward
And immediately, Milo clammed up, and the shutters rattled down.
He was either scared or wary of me, but I had no clue as to why. Maybe he hadn’t actually realised this was supposed to be a date.
“Are you okay?” I spewed out the first thing that came to mind, anything to break the uneasy silence.
“Umm, yeah,” he grumbled, tapping the side of his glass.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.” His response was oafish and abrupt, but he was lying regardless. The flush to his cheeks told me so. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to hurt my feelings, but I was a grown man and could handle the truth. Even so, I felt a fool luring him out on a date without him actually realising that was the case. How had I got it so wrong? Had the feelings of lust present whenever I looked at Milo overtaken all sensibility? “Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick?”
“You Brits talk funny.”
He offered a throaty chuckle while adeptly swerving the real issue at hand. This man didn’t deal well with awkward situations; I could see that much. “People over here do tend to regard me as strange, especially when I speak.” We were diverging further away from the truth, and I felt it essential to tackle it head-on. “So, did I get it wrong?”
He squirmed in his seat. “Drink up, man.”
I downed half my wine, weighing up my options. Deciding it unwise to get pissed, I slowed down a little, determined to make this my second and final alcoholic drink of the night. “I’m only going to have this one, then switch to Diet Pepsi.”
“I’m driving, so don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.”
Milo was a complete mystery. I incorrectly assumed he exuded confidence from every pore, yet upon closer inspection, I sensed he was locked behind a self-constructed wall built to keep those of us who yearned to get to know him better, at a distance. “You’re quite the gentleman.”
Then, he clammed up again and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. No words were needed for him to convey how he was feeling. His expressions did all the talking. “Um…”
“Did I say something wrong?”
He picked up his burger and took a huge mouthful, chewing ferociously. “No.” He continued to chew his food as he spoke. “I get cranky when I’m hungry.” There was zero eye contact between us.
I ignored the faux pas with his table manners, even though a rebuke sat on the tip of my tongue. In my world, such table manners were unforgivable, but we came from different worlds. I should cut him some slack. “This veggie burger is quite good.”
“How long have you been a vegetarian?”
“I’ve been a pescatarian since I was eight.”
“A what?”
“Pescatarian.”
“What the fuck is that?”
Was I dining with the human version of Fred Flintstone? Cavemen were alive and well in Fort Worth, Texas. Who knew? Being cultured and open to alternative ways of living, I could be accused of tunnel vision where others existed. I wasn’t convinced with Milo though. He was deliberately acting dumb to keep up the macho bravado he had a desire to project, I’d stake my life on it. “I only eat fish, no meat.”
“You Brits are a weird bunch.”
I laughed at his preconceptions, unimpressed with being referred to as a Brit. “They do have such things in America too, you know?”
“Not in my world. Real men eat meat.” My foot connected with his shin before I had a chance to stop myself. “Fuck, shit…” He bent down and rubbed his shin. “...what the hell was that?”
“Real men can handle a kick to the shins.” This was slowly turning into a disaster. I picked up the napkin and wiped my mouth, pushed my chair out and stood up. “Goodnight, Milo.”
I knocked the wind out of his sails. His ship had been scuppered with a single torpedo and would sail no more. “Um, err…” He had no idea what to say or do. I made no effort to conceal my delight. “Erm…” Milo was not used to being challenged over his appalling behaviour, but I wouldn’t tolerate being minimised as a person for my personal choices. He would soon learn. “W—where you goin’?”
“Home,” I fired back.
He glanced about the diner. I sensed his anxiety. “You haven’t finished your food.”
“You’re a real man—you eat it, failing that, choke on it.”
“Hey, you got me all wrong, Edward.”
“Did I?” People stared at us, but I didn’t care.
“Yeah, now sit down and finish your food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well sit down anyway. You’re causing a scene.”
“Tough.” I raised my voice enough for my fellow diners to stare elsewhere.
“Please, take your seat, let me finish my burger, and I’ll drive you home if that’s what you want.”
“Don’t bother, dickhead.” I did have a flair for the dramatic and may have overreacted, but I’d started so had to finish. “Goodnight, Milo.”
I didn’t give him a chance to say another word before I waltzed off. I imagined my wretched sister, Felicity, teasing me. And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to... The audience is poised. ...Edward Baines-Tennant for Everybody, Look at Me. I took my imaginary bow, not focused on where I was going and crashed into Cindy, the top-heavy waitress, almost sending her arse over tit.
“You okay, doll?” She righted herself then jiggled her gargantuan boobs back into place.
“Sorry about that.” I was flustered and wanted to get out of there. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Can I get you a cab?”
“Yes, please.” I was aware of Milo’s approach as Cindy side-stepped me and picked up the diner phone.
“Edward, let me drive you home.”
“I can get a taxi.”
“Why waste your bills on that? Lemme give you a ride.”
“I’m quite capable of getting home on my own.”
“I know, I screwed up okay, but let’s get out of here and…”
Cindy returned. “They’re saying at least thirty minutes so what do you wanna do?”
“Cancel it,” Milo ordered. “I’ll take him.”
She turned to me, awaiting clarification. “What he said,” I snapped, my mood worsening by the second.
“Fine, whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “I ain’t got time to stand about and referee a lovers quarrel.”
I noticed the clenching of his jaw and balled fists. “Cindy, keep your opinions to yourself and get me the bill, will ya?” Milo’s eyes darted from corner to corner. Why was he so concerned about the opinion of others?
“Ever heard the word please?” Cindy scribbled something on her notepad, tore the small page out and shoved it at him. “Pay over there, asshole, and don’t forget the tip.” She nodded toward the cashier and flounced off.
“You seem to be pissing people off, left, right, and centre this evening.”
“Shit happens?” He shrug
ged but left his thoughts as a question, not a statement.
“We have a saying in England about wedging your foot in your big mouth.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Think about it.”
The narrowing of his eyes told me I’d annoyed him, but I didn’t care. Was Milo so used to remaining unchallenged over his shitty attitude and archaic way of thinking that he would behave as he saw fit without consideration to others? Not on my watch! I briefly wondered about his father and whether the apple fell far from the tree. Regardless of his parentage, Milo had more than met his match with me. “I’ll get the bill.”
“No, you won’t. I don’t need charity.”
“For fuck’s sake, man.”
A vein in his forehead popped and his eyes darkened somewhat. The tension between us strangely aroused me. I stood witness to Milo’s dark and brooding side so early in whatever it was we had. Thankfully, he stomped off towards the cashier before I did something I would regret. God, he was so hot when in a mood. I felt a stirring down below and willed myself to behave but couldn’t help the X-rated images barging their way into my mind. I wanted to clear the diner and pull Milo into a crushing kiss while grabbing a handful of what I imagined to be a meaty cock. Then I wanted to drag his jeans over his muscular arse, bend him over the table—one hand on the back of his head, the other pressing down on the small of his back—and fuck the life out of him. Shit, I was ready to explode.
“Let’s go,” he grunted, pulling me out of my fantasy.
I was flustered. “Huh?”
“Are you ready to go?”
Yes, more than ready, but I was still trying to wrench myself away from the place my filthy, sex-starved mind had taken me. “Erm, yes, let’s go.”
Shattered Beliefs Page 3