The Night We Said Yes

by Gibaldi,Lauren

  “I remember that about him.”

  “They’re recording because Barker set it up. But Barker’s moving to Chicago at the end of the summer.”

  “He is?”

  “Yeah, college. He’s really excited, and I think it’ll be good for him.”

  “Gabby?”

  “She’s going, too.”

  “Not surprised. I half expected them to be married with seven kids by now.”

  “Right? So, yeah, with Barker gone, Jake won’t have anyone to push him. The new bassist is kind of useless, and I think he’s leaving as well. Jake’s staying here, of course. But you can’t really get big in Central Florida.”

  “Unless you’re a boy band,” Matt points out. “What about Meg?”

  “She’s staying too.”

  “And they’re . . . ?” he asks.

  “It’s a long story,” I say, thinking of their on-again, off-again relationship, and how I could never have that. I could never know that a relationship might just be temporary. I still don’t know how she holds it together. Had I known Matt would have only been here for a handful of months, I think our story would have been much different. Then again, maybe not.

  “I’ve missed them. You know, I haven’t played bass since I left, really,” he admits, his eyes wandering.

  “You missed them?” I ask, tilting my head, and feeling my face start to heat up. “You could have kept in touch, you know. With them.” With me.

  “I know.” He lowers his head, clearly unhappy with the turn of the conversation. And it had been going so well. “It was . . . complicated.”

  “Too complicated to make a phone call?” I start, readying myself for his answer. And as if on cue, my phone rings. It’s Meg. Matt sees, too.

  “You should—”

  I grab my phone, get up, and walk outside. “Hey Meg,” I answer.

  “Where are you?” she demands.

  “Wing King. With Matt.”

  “What? What are you doing there?” she practically yells. In the background I can still hear the party going on without me and my drama.

  “He suggested we get away to talk. You said I should get answers,” I remind her.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want you to leave. What if something happens?”

  “What’s going to happen? He’s going to get upset and sigh loudly? This is Matt we’re talking about. He’s not exactly dangerous.”

  “God, I’m not talking about that,” she says, and I can almost feel her nudge me until I get what she’s saying.

  “We’re not going to make out.”

  “Good. Because I’ll sooner punch you than let you do that.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say. I turn around and look into the restaurant’s window and can just spot Matt in the corner. He’s glancing at his phone, too, and I wonder what he’s looking at.

  “Just be careful. And keep in touch, ’kay?”

  “I will,” I promise her, still looking at Matt. “How’s Jake?”

  “He’ll probably be calling you soon,” she warns.

  “Not surprised. Anyway, I should go.”

  “Yeah,” she sighs. “Just . . . get answers and come back.”

  “I will,” I say, and hang up after saying good-bye. I take another look at Matt and my heart leaps like it used to when he was around. I will be careful.

  I walk inside and back to our table. He looks up when I’m near, and his mouth twitches.

  “Meg making sure I haven’t hurt you?” Matt asks, trying to make light of the situation. I smile in response.

  “Something like that,” I respond, sitting down.

  “Your wings,” the waitress says, setting them down and pushing away our previous conversation. There’s no going back now.

  We split up the food and start eating in silence, my last question, prior to the phone call, still echoing in my mind.

  “I’m glad you’re here. With me, that is,” Matt says, finally, looking up at me. I catch his eyes and once again I’m not sure if I want to slap him or kiss him. Because I’m happy we’re here together, too, and I hate him for making me think that. So I simply nod and sadly smile, and look back down.

  “I know I don’t deserve it,” he admits, and I look back up. It’s the first time he’s mentioned that he was wrong, first time that he verified that I was right. I open my mouth to speak, but first notice barbecue sauce on his nose and smile at the sight. “What?”

  “Your nose,” I say, pointing at his face. Confused, he touches his nose and accidentally gets more barbecue sauce on it. He’s now covered in orange-brown goo, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks, smiling. He reaches over and taps a glob of sauce on the tip of my nose.

  “Hey!” I yell, ready to fire back.

  “Oh, don’t you dare. I’ve got ranch dressing just waiting to be spilled,” he threatens. But I dare, reaching over the table and wiping my fingers on his cheek. “That’s it!” He grabs my wrist and I struggle, trying to get free while he reaches over to further drench me. His hand grazes my cheek, but I grab it with my other hand to stop more sauce from getting on me. In the pushing and pulling and laughing, my hand, still restrained, reaches his face. My thumb presses against his lips.

  I jump, electrified by the contact. He lets go, pushing himself as far back as possible on his side of the table. His face is blank, unreadable. I look around and notice most of the other patrons are looking at us.

  “Sorry about that,” Matt says, low.

  “Yeah,” I respond, grabbing my napkin and wiping the mess from my face. Erase the past. How did we get so far so soon?

  We eat in silence, concentrating way too hard on our food. All words flew away with our touch. A simple act I took for granted a year ago now feels illegal, almost unmentionable. And despite everything, I want to feel the spark again—see what it means.

  After what feels like two hours, the bill finally comes. “I’ve got it,” he says, picking up the check before I can protest. He used to always pay; it seems so wrong now. “Oh crap,” he says, his face going ashen.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I left my wallet at home,” he admits.

  “Oh, it’s okay, I’ve got it.” I wave him off and grab the bill from him.

  “No, I mean, that’s not—”

  “Matt, it’s okay. I can do it,” I say, putting some cash on the table. I look over at him and his head is in his hands. He’s . . . hurt. From this. Because this, I realize, was his plan all along. He wanted to take me out. Maybe he was flirting, after all.

  “Thanks,” he murmurs.

  As I get up, I hear a whisper of a phrase, about not deserving it. I turn back to him and question it. “Did you just say something?”

  He lowers his hands and shakes his head. He looks so sad, so helpless. What happened to his fearlessness, his charm? When we get to his car, I open my mouth to speak, but he pipes in first.

  “I know . . . things are awkward between us right now. But I’d like to change that. Do you . . . by any chance . . . do you want to keep hanging out tonight?”

  The remorse in his face his unbearable. His eyes squinted, hair a mess. He’s clawing for anything, and I can’t help but give in. Because one thing is clear—I don’t want the night to end yet.

  “I’d like that,” I admit, entranced by his sudden smile. “What do you want to do?”

  “How about . . . a night of saying yes.” He says it as a statement, with a period, not as a question. There’s no room for debate. I nod, knowing exactly what he means. Knowing exactly where we’re going next.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  THEN

  9:20 P.M.

  Inside was bright. It took a minute for my eyes to fully adjust, as they were used to the subdued streetlights from outside. The restaurant, much like the party we’d just fled,
was crowded and loud; everyone talking, but no one listening. Waitresses in the skimpiest uniforms I’d ever seen roamed around taking orders that were spoken not so much to their faces but to their chests. The smell of grease from fried everything filled the air, and I could almost feel it coat my skin.

  “What is this place,” I whispered, crinkling my nose at Meg.

  She rolled her eyes. “Jake’s favorite restaurant. Obviously.” Jake watched the waitresses with the intensity of someone watching a sporting match. Eyes bopping back and forth, afraid to blink in case he’d miss anything. Matt stood next to me, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  “Back?” Jake asked. We nodded and followed him to a secluded booth in the back corner. It was hard, dark wood, with scratches littering the top. Jake sat down first, sliding to the right. We paused, unsure of who should sit where. Matt took a seat next to Jake, clearly comfortable being next to the only person he’d met more than once. Meg sat across from Jake, me across from Matt. He fidgeted with his watch, spinning it over and over again on his wrist.

  “So that was fun,” Jake said, leaning back against the booth. He looked relaxed, like he hadn’t just run from the police. But that was Jake. He was the kind of guy who wore sunglasses at night and somehow pulled it off. He was tall and built, and obviously hot, with never-ending dimples. His blue eyes lured you in, his words held you captive. Like the time he had three sorority girls clinging to him after he simply recited lyrics from a song he wrote. Granted, the magic ended after he suggested skinny dipping, but despite his often idiotic demeanor, he was never honestly arrogant; he had this engaging personality that made everyone comfortable instantly, and some—Meg specifically—a little too comfortable.

  “Real fun. Escape a lot of parties nowadays?” Meg asked.

  “Only the fun ones,” Jake responded with a wide grin and a wink.

  “Hey, where did your girlfriend go?” Matt asked, clearly unaware of the implication of his question. I shot Meg a look and held my breath.

  “Who? Oh, whatever,” Jake answered, looking anywhere but at Meg.

  “She looked . . . smart,” Meg added, letting him know she saw them together.

  “You don’t have to be smart to be fun,” Jake responded, this time at her.

  “So, it says here that PG hearts TA,” I said, pointing to an inscription on the table. My observation was greeted with silence; everyone was aware of my obvious topic change and no one was going with it.

  “Well, it says over here that U. R. stoopid, spelled incorrectly. It’s funny that the writer would call someone else stupid when they can’t spell the word themselves,” Matt offered, tracing the table with his finger. I gave him a smile, appreciating that he was helping me out.

  “Oh, god, let’s not make this any more awkward,” Meg said after a pause. “Jake and I used to date. It ended. A bit ago,” she said, looking at Matt. “Thus Ella’s fantastic subject changes.”

  “Okay . . .” Matt said, looking uncomfortable. “Um.” He paused. I bit my lip, wanting to chime in, help him out of the situation, but I couldn’t think of anything. At all. “I dated a girl who talked to her cat.”

  “So? A lot of people do that,” Meg said. I nudged her, hoping she’d get the hint and stop directing her attitude at us. Matt was trying, after all.

  “Well, yeah, but she said the cat responded to her. Like, she’d have full-on conversations with the cat, as if it was actually replying. As if the cat had opinions about her wardrobe and, as it turned out, guy choices,” he explained, talking with his hands.

  “Was she hot?” Jake asked. I didn’t want to know the answer, so I interrupted.

  “What happened?”

  “Her cat didn’t like me. He told her to break up with me.”

  “What?” Meg yelled.

  “Yep. I mean, I was going to break up with her—she was clearly crazy—but, she got to it first. Or, I guess the cat got to it first.” I laughed at the ridiculousness of his story and he caught my eye. It was in that moment that I knew he’d be one of us. “That’s almost as good as El’s last breakup,” Jake added, and I turned to him with wide eyes. Maybe I didn’t want Matt to know about my pathetic first relationship just yet. I felt the blood rush from my face as I looked at Jake, panicked.

  “What?” Jake said, clearly unaware.

  “Smooth move,” Meg said.

  “What happened?” Matt asked, concerned.

  “Err,” I started. “Well . . .” Oh god, I had to tell him. “This guy broke up with me.” I looked down, then back at Matt. His face looked . . . nice. Like whatever I said wouldn’t bother him. So I continued. “He, um, he asked if we could high five for friendship.” I left out the cheating part. He didn’t need to know that just yet. I hated reflecting on that part.

  “What?” Matt spit out, then started laughing. But not in that embarrassing way that would make me blush and cry. In the way that said that guy sucks.

  “Please tell me you didn’t high five him,” he added.

  “No, I kind of just walked away. Because, really, what do you do in that situation?”

  “Punch him?” Meg answered.

  “That’s what you’d do,” Jake added.

  “Needless to say, these guys have not let me live it down.”

  “Jake! Welcome back!” I looked over to see an exuberant waitress about our age in front of our table. She had a wide smile and black hair piled on the top of her head in an intricate knot. Bangles lined her tiny wrists, and I wondered how she was able to hold trays. I gave Meg a glance and caught her rolling her eyes.

  “Hey Elise,” Jake responded, grinning hungrily at her.

  “What’ll ya’ll be having?” she asked in a thick southern accent.

  I still had the stale taste of beer in my mouth, so I opted for water. As did the others. Jake asked for the usual. With a bounce, Elise walked away, on to the next table.

  “The usual?” Meg asked.

  “This is my home,” Jake said. “So Matt—do you like it here so far?” he added, changing the subject.

  “It’s fine, yeah.”

  “Where did you move from?” I asked.

  “Italy.”

  “Italy? Why’d you leave?” I asked, visualizing the amazing sights and mentally tasting the delicious pasta. He was so worldly, compared to me.

  “My dad works for the military, so we move a lot. I’m usually not in one place for more than a year.” I frowned, noting that his time here might be short. “But, you never know. I always hope the job is prolonged so I can at least get permanent furniture for my room.”

  “That sucks,” Meg said.

  “Yeah, it’s hard, but I don’t know. I like seeing different places,” he said in a way that sounded like he was trying to convince himself, not so much us.

  “I think it would be sweet. Starting over every year, and all,” Jake said, tapping his fingers on the table as if they were drumsticks.

  “Sometimes. But it’s also hard to really meet people. Not to sound lame, but it’s why I started playing bass. I figured I might meet people that way. Every band needs a bassist, right?” He shrugged and it was adorable. I couldn’t imagine moving around so much like him. I’d lived in Orlando my entire life. My friends were here, people I knew since elementary school. How could I leave them all behind?

  “Not the White Stripes,” Jake pointed out. Matt opened his mouth to respond, but quickly closed it. I glared at Jake in response. “What? They don’t need a bassist,” he continued.

  “Well, we’re glad you’re here,” I tried to reassure him.

  “Hell yeah,” Jake pitched in, as if he hadn’t just insulted Matt. “And that you like good music.” He turned to Meg and me. “This guy kills on the bass. I mean, he’s so much better than the last guy.”

  “That bad?” Matt asked.

  “He didn’t suck, but he didn’t rock,” Jake said.

  “Right,” Matt said, smiling.

  Our drinks came with another bounce and win
k. Jake’s usual ended up being a Coke, which was far less interesting than we had imagined. When she asked what we wanted, we all balked. We hadn’t looked at the menu yet.

  “Wings?” Jake asked.

  “No way. You’ll eat them all,” Meg responded.

  “Still the champion, right, Elise? Seventy in one sitting.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Meg said.

  “Oh, you loved it. You cheered me on the whole time.” It was the first time Jake had referenced their relationship in a while. Meg tried to come up with a comeback—I could see the gears in her mind turning—but she let it go. Maybe she wanted to keep the memory unsoiled.

  “Wings for everyone,” Jake said. “I’ll be good.” I silently thanked him for helping to keep the peace now, even if he had nearly started a war a minute ago. He loved egging Meg on, and it only made their situation more awkward. And while I oftentimes played referee, it wasn’t my favorite pastime.

  “Where’s Barker, by the way?” I asked, once the waitress left.

  “He was outside with Gabby when the cops came,” Jake said. “He called me, then I texted Meg.”

  “And I told him to meet us upstairs,” Meg continued, and I eyed her, understanding how Jake knew to find us up in Ross’s room. Jake could have left, run off with his new girl, but instead he came back for us. Meg bit her lip and avoided my glance.

  “I’ll check in on him,” I said, stealing my eyes away.

  All OK?

  A second later he responded.

  Yep. At G’s. Stupid cops.

  “Barker’s fine, at Gabby’s,” I said to the group.

  “Gabby’s his . . . ?” Matt asked.

  “Girlfriend,” I answered.

  “Is Barker his first or last name? I never asked.”

  “Last. He’s just always gone by Barker.” I added, “It sucks you guys didn’t get to play.”

  “Yeah, considering it’s my first show and all,” Matt said.

  “There’ll be other gigs. Believe me,” Jake said, smiling.

  “Got one lined up?” I asked.

  “Come on, it’s us. We’ll have another one lined up in no time.”

  “Says the guy who only just got a bassist,” Meg teased.