by Sarra Cannon
She laughs. “You’re telling me,” she says. “Anyway, most of the other victims have given their affidavits have been taken and a new set of charges have been filed. Now we’re just waiting for a court date. The attorney thinks it could be as soon as December.”
“That’s not too bad,” I say. “Did you decide for sure what you’re doing about school starting back?”
She’d been trying to decide between going back to school in Boston or enrolling here at Fairhope Coastal.
“Knox said he’ll come with me if I decide to move back to Boston,” she says. “But I haven’t really decided what I want to do. Up there, the trial will be my life, you know? Plus, Burke still lives there, even if he’s not allowed to go to classes. The last thing I want is to be running into him every day.”
“I still cannot believe six women from the school accused him of rape and it took the administration this long to suspend him. What kind of bullshit is that?”
“I know, it’s disgusting,” she says. “They kept saying he hadn’t been convicted of anything.”
“Yet.”
She smiles. “Yet. Anyway, this conversation is a downer,” she says. “Let’s talk about your date with Braxton tonight. What shoes are you going to wear?”
I look at her and smile, wanting to tell her just how impressed and how proud I am of her. How much I wish I could be like her. Instead, I just wrap her up in a huge hug and pull her toward the closet to help me pick out shoes.
Chapter Eight
Braxton pulls up to the gate at exactly seven on the dot.
He’s driving a black Escalade with tinted windows, so I can’t get a good look at him through the security cameras.
Mom is pretending not to be interested, but she’s walked by me about six times in the last ten minutes. When she walks by this time, I turn toward her and smooth my hands down the front of my dress.
“How do I look?” I’m wondering if she’ll even recognize this dress.
She stops and raises a hand to her mouth, studying me. “You look gorgeous as always, sweetheart,” she says. “You really need a bracelet or a watch or something, though. Your wrists look so bare.”
She unhooks the clasp on the ten carat diamond tennis bracelet she’s wearing.
My mouth drops open. She’s never let me wear her jewelry before. “I can’t,” I say. “What if I lose it or something?”
“Don’t,” she says, a smile growing on her face as she secures it around my wrist.
I twist my arm, watching the diamonds sparkle in the light. It’s breathtaking, but it’s heavy and it scares the shit out of me. I really don’t want this responsibility.
If I take it off, though, she’ll be upset.
“Just give this guy a chance, okay?” Her voice is soft and serious and when I look up at her, her eyes are fixed to my face. “That’s all I’m asking.”
My stomach fills with a nervous wave of energy. Is it so obvious that I’m closed off to every guy who isn’t Mason?
The doorbell rings and I take a deep breath. I really hope this guy isn’t a troll. Or a coin collector.
Our butler, Jameson, opens the door and I turn as Braxton walks inside.
Definitely not a troll.
He’s tall and handsome with broad shoulders. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans with a crisp white shirt and a tailored black blazer. He smiles as I walk toward him.
“Penny?” he says as I give him a quick hug. “It’s so great to meet you. You’re even more beautiful than the pictures your mom sent.”
I glance back at my mom. “Thanks.” She just smiles, but I make a mental note to drill her later about which pictures she’s sending to people without my permission.
“Braxton, this is my mom, Lucy.”
She steps forward and he reaches for her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says. “My parents say such great things about you and your husband.”
She practically swoons at him. “You are too sweet,” she says. “I’m so glad we could finally get you and Penelope together.”
I cringe when she uses my full name.
“We better get going,” I say, slipping my arm inside Braxton’s. “We have reservations.”
“I actually canceled the reservations you made,” he says, surprising me. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to take you someplace a little different tonight.”
Mom raises an eyebrow and gives me a look that says this one’s different. I have to restrain myself from kicking her, inching toward the front door instead.
“Sounds fun,” I say, praying he’s not going to try to make me eat sushi or something. “Goodnight, Mom.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she says. She’s practically giggling, she’s so excited. “Call me if you’re planning to stay out too late.”
I don’t respond to that, but I know the implication is that maybe, for the first time since she started trying to set me up with one of her friend’s kids, she finally hit the jackpot. Maybe this is the one who will finally break through to me.
I feel everything inside me rebelling against the idea as we walk toward his car together.
Yes, he’s good looking and rich and probably perfect for me on the outside, but there’s something about him that’s too perfect. Too rehearsed. Definitely too good to be true.
Besides, my heart has belonged to someone else for so long, I can’t even imagine falling in love with another guy. No matter how great he is.
He opens the door for me and as I climb inside and wait for him to step around to the driver’s side, I think about how crazy I am to be thinking about Mason right now. He flat-out told me he didn’t want to be with me. That he didn’t love me. Why am I still holding on? If he really, truly doesn’t want me, there’s nothing I can do about it. Am I going to spend the rest of my life heartbroken and alone?
God, I hope not.
As Braxton slips behind the wheel and drives off toward some mystery destination, I wonder if it’s even possible for me to open my heart to someone new.
Chapter Nine
“Where are we going?” I ask as Braxton pulls onto the main highway.
He flashes a smile. “You’ll see,” he says. “I figure if you’re anything like me, you’re sick of these kinds of blind dates. And even sicker of always going to the same boring place for dinner each time.”
I study him, but don’t admit that he’s right.
“Your mom sets you up on blind dates a lot?”
He sits back against the seat, one hand high on the steering wheel. “All the time,” he says. “After the last one, I told her I was done for good.”
I can’t decide if he’s playing me or not, but I’m definitely intrigued, so I ask the question he so obviously wants me to ask.
“If you’re done, then why did you come tonight?”
He looks over at me and his eyes flick from my knees up to my face. “Because you’re not like those other girls.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw your picture remember?” he says. “How could I possibly say no? I figure worst case scenario, I get to have dinner with a beautiful woman. Best case, we actually hit it off.”
I know this is the part where I’m supposed to swoon, but I can’t help feeling he set that whole thing up just so he could impress me with how sweet and romantic he is.
When he pulls into a little Italian restaurant near the beach, I don’t bother telling him I’ve been here before. He seems really proud of himself for coming up with a way to stand out from the crowd of other blind dates.
“I found this place a couple years ago,” he says. “It’s one of the best kept secrets along this part of the coast. If you like Italian food, you’re going to love it.”
I guess he does get points for taking me off the beaten path, but I can’t help wondering how many other girls he’s brought here. Or how many times he’s used the line about having dinner with a beautiful woman.
“I adore Italian f
ood,” I say.
Inside, it’s dark and romantic. A pretty girl with long, dark hair takes us to a secluded booth near the back of the restaurant. Either we look like the kind of couple who wants to be alone, or he called ahead to make sure his favorite table was available.
We settle in and I long we have before he starts trying to impress me with his knowledge of fine wines.
It’s something all the rich guys like him do. Like they were given a dating instruction booklet when they were kids called ’How To Bag A Rich Girl’.
It takes precisely thirty seconds.
“We’ll take a bottle of the Stag’s Leap Cabernet Sauvignon,” he tells the waiter. He doesn’t even look the guy in the eyes when he orders. “When I was touring the vineyards in Napa last Fall, I fell in love with their cab. At first, you taste the berries, but it finishes with a slight hint of vanilla.”
He doesn’t bother asking me if I like red wine, which I don’t.
He also orders an appetizer without asking for my opinion.
I’m not wearing a watch, but I’m guessing we’ve only been on this date for about fifteen minutes and I’ve already got him pegged. Sure, he’s more handsome than the average guy, but other than his looks, I’ve been out with this exact guy before.
Guys like this start out very charming. He says all the right things. Wears all the right clothes. Makes all the right moves. But eventually, he’ll make it clear the only thing they really cares about is himself. I already know that every time he asks me a question that appears to be about me, he’ll quickly turn the conversation back to him. He’ll continue to do exactly everything he wants to do tonight without asking what I want, but then try to pass it off like he’s being the ultimate gentleman.
He’ll expect me to be very impressed by him by the time we leave the restaurant, and when I’m not, he’ll either turn into a mega-jerk or he’ll try harder by announcing that he wants to take me to some other mystery place that will turn out to be some excessively romantic hillside where he’ll try to get in my pants.
I usually play along with these guys and stroke their egos long enough to make it through dinner and the drive home, but I’m not in the mood for listening to him talk about himself all night. Maybe it will be more fun to not play along. I’m curious what he’ll do when I refuse to fit into his perfect plan for the night.
When the server brings the wine and a basket of bread, I place my hand over my wine glass and shake my head. “I actually don’t like red wine,” I say. “Can you bring me a vodka and cranberry?”
“Of course,” the server says. He pours Braxton’s glass, then sets the bottle on the table and leaves.
“I’m sorry.” He tugs at the sleeve on his blazer. “If I’d known you didn’t like red wine, I wouldn’t have gotten a whole bottle.”
“If you had asked, I probably would have told you,” I say.
He laughs a little, but doesn’t know how to take it. I can tell I’ve put him off balance.
He clears his throat and reaches for the bread, offering me a piece first.
“Thank you,” I say. “I love the bread here.”
He lowers the basket on the table, his expression pinched. “You’ve been here before?”
I look around. “A few times,” I say. “Never on a blind date, though. I usually just have guys take me to the country club. I’m comfortable there and everyone knows me, so I feel safe.”
“Would you rather have gone there instead?”
“No, this is really nice,” I say. “You surprised me bringing me here. It’s a nice change.”
He smiles, but it’s forced. I’ve taken the upper hand here and he doesn’t like it one bit.
The waiter brings my drink and takes our order. He doesn’t order for me, which is a relief. While we wait, Braxton asks me basic questions about my life and just as expected, ends up mostly talking about himself.
“What’s your major?” he asks.
“Political science,” I say. “Mostly concentrating on pre-law courses.”
It’s the perfect chance for him to ask me where I want to go to law school or why I want to be a lawyer, but he doesn’t.
“I’m a senior at Emery this year,” he says. “I’m starting back in a couple of weeks. I’m pre-med, hoping to get into Fairhope Coastal for med school.”
I almost laugh. A doctor and a lawyer. Looks great on paper, but if we got married, we’d probably never see each other.
Not that I can really see myself as a lawyer. My mom has had her heart set on it since I was little. I think she has this idea that since she got pregnant half-way through law school and never finished, I can pick up where she left off. It was easier to just do what she wanted than argue about it, but when it comes time to start applying for law schools, I’m going to have to put my foot down. No way am I putting up with another three years of this crap after undergrad, much less the rest of my life.
After our food arrives, Braxton continues to talk about his career aspirations and what it’s like living in Atlanta. By the time I’m done eating, I’ve heard about his perfect GPA, the various awards he’s won over the past few years, and how he’s sure he’ll have no trouble with med-school after acing his MCATs.
Meanwhile, I’ve had three drinks and am happy to just let him blab on and on.
At least he’s pretty to look at.
When there’s finally a break in his endless love song to himself, I speak up. “Do you want to go to this bar in Fairhope with me?” I ask. “A group of people are throwing a little welcome home party for this friend of mine, and I told them I’d swing by.”
He hesitates. I’m on the edge of my seat waiting to see which way he’ll swing. Mega-jerk or over-the-top romantic.
“I was kind of hoping we could keep it just the two of us tonight,” he says. He leans forward, his arms resting on the table between us. “I know this really gorgeous spot just down the beach from here. I’d love nothing more than to grab a blanket and walk on the beach with you tonight. I think there’s really something special about you, Penny.”
Over-the-top it is, then. I like that better than the alternative, but I’m disappointed I was so right about this guy.
“Aww, thanks,” I say, patting his hand twice, then standing up. “That’s really sweet, but I should get home soon. I promised my friends I’d come out there, and it’s really important to me.”
He scrambles to his feet. “Oh, well, I don’t want to take you home,” he says. “If you really want to go to this party, let’s do it.”
“Yeah?” I’m surprised he’s still trying.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’ll be enough just to be with you.”
I smile, but suddenly have the overwhelming urge to cry. I would give anything to hear words like that from Mason, but from this guy, they mean nothing.
Still, I wonder if I’m being too hard on him.
I shrug my shoulders and start walking toward the door. He takes a few long steps to catch up with me, opening the door just before I get to it.
“Wait,” he says. “Is that a yes?”
I turn to him. “Tell me something, Braxton.”
“Okay,” he says, shifting his weight.
“Why did you really want to go out with me tonight?”
His gaze darts toward the shore, but it’s too dark for us to see the water from here.
“I thought you were gorgeous in your pictures,” he says. “I really wanted to meet you.”
“Bullshit,” I say, my lips buzzing slightly from the alcohol. I’m not drunk, but I’m on my way there if I can get to another glass before the buzz wears off. “You probably see pretty girls all the time up in Atlanta. I bet you have them knocking down your door. So why me? Why does a handsome guy like you go on a blind date?”
He puts his hands on his waist, pushing his blazer back. “I’ve heard really great things about you from my mom,” he says. “I’m not seeing anyone in particular right now, so when she mentioned a possible date, I was exc
ited to meet you. It’s not every day I get to go out with a beautiful, intelligent woman like you.”
I smile and shake my head. He’s not actually going to be honest with me right now, and I guess I wasn’t really expecting him to be.
“Come on,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go have some real fun.”
He takes my hand and we walk together to his car.
“Are you always this blunt on a first date?” he asks.
“No,” I answer truthfully. The only guy I’ve ever just been able to be myself with is Mason, but he’s never actually taken me on a date. “But I’ve always wanted to be.”
Chapter Ten
Leigh Anne shouts and waves me over toward the bar.
It’s crowded in here still, but we’re early. Knox isn’t closing the bar until ten, so most of our other friends aren’t here yet.
She stands and gives me a huge hug. “I’m so glad you made it,” she says. She buries her face in my hair and whispers, “He’s cute.”
“Cute and perfect,” I whisper back. “And completely wrong for me.”
She makes a face.
“What can I get you guys to drink?” Knox asks from behind the bar.
There’s country music playing through the speakers. He’s decorated the place with balloons and a big welcome home sign. There are two dozen red tulips sitting on the bar in front of Leigh Anne with a little note sticking out that says ‘I love you’.
I swallow down a bit of jealousy and turn to my date. “Braxton? What are you drinking? And no more bullshit red wine tonight. We’re drinking real drinks from here on out.”
“I’ll take an IPA,” he says. “What do you guys have here that’s good?”
I shrug. I guess beer is better than nothing. He and Knox start talking pale ale and Leigh Anne pulls me onto the bar stool next to hers.
“Jenna and Colton and some of the other servers should be here soon,” she says. “Summer’s here, but she went to the bathroom. Is Preston coming?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, thinking back to the sadness I’d seen in his eyes. “He said he’d try to stop by.”
Braxton finally picks his beer and then, surprisingly, asks what he can get for me.