by Xavier Neal
His frustration flares. “Neither of those sports you’re talking about are…extreme.”
I reluctantly inform him, “I also dabble in the ‘norm’. Occasional guest speaker. Guest announcer. Award presenter. Most often those types of things.”
His blue eyes seem to sparkle as if impressed.
“Have you met-”
“No more sports questions,” the woman whines.
Oliver offers her a smile. “Natasha is right. Let’s avoid work topics for a bit. All work topics.”
The two men visibly sulk.
“London, let me actually introduce you to my co-workers and friends. That’s Natasha,” the bitchy blond lifts her glass as a hello, “that’s Brando,” he points to the brunette male with not so natural blond highlights, “and this is Matty.”
After a brief round of handshakes, thanks to Oliver’s disapproving glare, we’re greeted by a hostess who escorts us to our table. The five of us are seated at a round table in the very middle of the restaurant. Almost immediately, we’re greeted by our server who struggles not to look down my top. He hands us the one-page menu and explains there is a guest chef in the restaurant, so the specials for the evening are at his culinary discretion. We collectively agree to tackle whatever the guest chef wants to deliver and dismiss the antsy waiter.
Around the time, he brings my martini along with a round of refills for everyone else, the chatting is headed a direction I know absolutely nothing about. With the block placed on talking about work related activities, the four friends drift to a topic it is obvious they discuss frequently. They laugh and quote lines from some television show they all enjoy, in between relating characters to people they actually know.
It’s rare this happens to me. I spend the majority of my time around people who I have something in common with. Sports are, believe it or not, a universal language in a way. Can’t honestly remember the last time I was the one completely left in the dark about a topic.
Oliver’s thumb strokes my bare shoulder, and I thoughtlessly lean into it. The small act is so nonchalant, yet so significant my heart speeds up.
I’ve never had a guy touch me like this.
He’s so much more than just some guy….
Boyfriend?
No. Don’t want that stifling outdated terminology.
Guy friend?
No. That’s for men like Guy Klinger and Rome Calloway.
Booty call buddy?
Ugh. Am I really just flailing down the totem pole of titles?
Fuck labels.
“Have you ever seen the show?” Brando asks me between sips of his whiskey and coke.
“Which show? Downtown Abbey?”
“ Downton ,” Natasha snips.
She receives a forced, polite smile as I recite my mantra about violence not being the answer even if a bitch slap to her thin face would make me feel significantly better. “No.”
“Peaky Blinders?” Matty references another one they’ve discussed.
“Nope.”
“You’ve at least seen Sherlock Holmes with Benedict Cumberbatch. Everyone has seen that,” Brando insists.
I shake my head slowly. “I um…I don’t actually watch much T.V. outside of sports.”
Oliver drops his eyes to mine and chuckles. “And I don’t watch sports outside of my family.”
“Don’t you seem like a shitty match,” Natasha mumbles not so quietly.
Without letting my stare break his, I retort, “I don’t know…I like that we flow to different rhythms. Makes for a much more interesting song….”
“Let’s talk about something that can include you,” Matty suggests, successfully pulling our eyes apart at the same time the first portion of our meal appears. “Why don’t you pick the topic?”
“Why does she get everything?” Natasha snips, reaching for her fork.
Unable to bite my tongue any longer I sigh, “Because I have the confidence to go after what I want without being petty.”
She drops her jaw on a short gasp.
“Look, Natasha, from your backhanded compliment about my earrings to the way you huff every time Oliver touches me, I’m gonna guess you wanted him at some point and he wasn’t interested.”
Her entire body stiffens.
“My suggestion to you would be to let that shit go before it costs you a friendship with a decent person and pay more attention to Mr. Highlights who hangs onto your every word every time you speak.”
Brando diverts his attention down as she darts hers over.
“Stop resisting the natural force pulling you towards him and embrace it.”
The table falls briefly silent, but I don’t let it deter me from eating. I simply grab one of the fried goat cheese pieces with the roasted golden beet on top and have real food for the first time today. The burst of flavors hits my tongue, and I helplessly moan, “God that’s good.”
When I cut Oliver a glance I see him glaring at the treat in my hand.
Teasingly, I state, “You can relax. You taste better in my mouth.”
His face flushes yet he grins widely at the comment.
There’s a harsh throat clearing followed by Matty declaring, “Why don’t we all dig in? See if this ‘celebrity chef’ is worth all the buzz.”
Everyone but Oliver abandons the idea for forks prompting me to question, “You really don’t like finger foods, do you?”
“I don’t like my hands dirty if they don’t have to be.”
“How did you make mud pies as kid? Or dig for dinosaur bones?” I ask after having another bite.
He transfers one of the pieces to his plate while his friends moan their approval of the food. “Why would I dig for fossils when I knew there weren’t any?”
“But how did you know that? There could’ve been.”
His brow creases. “Because even as a child I did due diligence about such activities. And I did enjoy learning about dinosaurs, which is how I knew their remains wouldn’t be found on some middle of nowhere farm in the Who The Fuck Cares, U.S. Life isn’t a ‘90s television show. We weren’t going to find coins that would allow us to call on dinosaur robots.”
Excitement flares my expression. “Power Rangers!”
To my surprise, Oliver chuckles, “You got that reference?”
“I loved them as a kid!”
“Me too!” Matty and Brando agree in unison.
“I was always a fan of the pink ranger,” Natasha coyly confesses.
Our new subject sends us down a sweet nostalgic trail filled with lots of laughter. The five of us finish up what’s left on the plate just moments before the waiter delivers the main entrée. At that point they start gushing about how incredible the concoction looks, anxious to taste it, while I’m more excited by the idea of trying new food. They begin raving about some of the other restaurants they love downtown, asking me if I’ve tried them and when I mention I haven’t they take turns rambling on about what to have when I do.
Oliver politely wipes his mouth. “You travel often, Sunshine. Do you not make a habit of trying new restaurants?”
Sucking the sauce off my thumb, I shrug. “I don’t make a habit of much.”
There’s an unmistakable glint of disappointment in his eyes.
Is that from the fact that I’m not a food snob like the rest of his group or because he doesn’t think I’ll make the effort to keep him?
Be with him?
Commit to him?
And we’re back to labels….
I reach for my cocktail and try to offer a comforting smile. “My schedule is always so chaotic, most days I’m lucky if I get more than a protein bar and an energy drink before four in the afternoon.”
The table lightly laughs.
“Most of the restaurants I eat at I don’t personally pick. I’m either there because whoever I am dining with wants to be or am involuntarily showing face for the company or my family.”
“Then when you come to town, I’ll let you do the picking,”
Oliver slyly suggests.
Hearing him make definite plans to our very uncertain future has my bottom lip briefly slipping out of sight.
“We’ll make sure to book reservations wherever you want. We can spend some of our time apart picking places and dates.”
I prepare to remind him I’m more interested in us just going where we feel on a whim when a male voice suddenly appears at our table. “Hello! My name is Wyatt and I’m-” My face snaps his direction and surprise splatters itself on his too pretty for his own good face. “Little L?!”
“Wyatt!” I shriek, jump up, and toss my body against his.
The grumble of disapproval over my shoulder isn’t lost upon me.
Is it wrong to find his jealousy a tad bit sexy?
Pulling away, I shake my head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it’s you!”
“I can’t believe it’s you .”
“And I can’t believe we are still sitting here waiting to be introduced,” Oliver grouses.
“ Again ,” Matty mutters with another bite of his dinner.
“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” My rushed apology is proceeded with me moving to the side.
“I’m Wyatt Kutner,” he starts again, “your guest chef for the evening.”
“Oh my God it’s really you,” Natasha whimpers with an erotic shimmer floating in her eyes.
He cockily grins. “Live in the flesh, baby.”
“Didn’t you cook for like a king last year?” Brando questions, pieces of food falling out of his mouth.
“It was a private meal for the king’s son and his wife-”
Matty interrupts, “Weren’t you on Get Out Of My Kitchen last year too?”
Wyatt proudly nods. “I did a guest judge spot.”
Oliver harrumphs loudly, which is when I slip back into my seat beside him.
He wraps his arm securely around my shoulder and grunts, “And how exactly do you know my girlfriend?”
There’s that word again….You know pretending felt amazing and everything between us still feels amazing, but every time he puts that little collar around our relationship, our very new relationship, something inside of me cringes.
“Wyatt and I are kindred travel spirits,” I swiftly reply. “We’re both always traipsing around the globe for work.”
“Both by choice,” Wyatt warmly adds. “Once in a while our trips cross paths.”
“Or purposely cross paths, like last summer when you catered my father’s summer banquet.”
“Still can’t believe you didn’t show up.”
“Other obligations.”
Matty’s voice cracks, “Wait. You’ve catered for the Hellcats?”
Wyatt casually nods. “I’ve catered for athletes, actors, musicians.…”
“Princesses,” Natasha reminds on a hum.
“We get it. You wait on more important people than yourself,” Oliver snips.
I give him a harsh elbow.
His defensive nature just crossed the line from attractive to annoying. That unnecessary tone and level of negative energy are not welcomed in my personal space. This isn’t an ego maniac athlete chomping at my heels for help up in his career. This is a friend . An equal wanderlust loving friend I’ve known for years….He should be kinder to those I care about.
“How’d you guys meet?” Brando inquires. “Sports thing?”
My hand sways side to side. “Kinda.”
“The first time we met was in Costa Rica. I was there trying to perfect my plantain game.”
“And I was there for a white-water rafting event. We literally bumped into each other at this little stand that made some of the most amazing sweet fried plantains-”
“Have you had them in Cuba?” Wyatt interrupts. “ Those are to fucking die for.”
Before I have a chance to answer, Oliver snaps, “We get it. You’re old friends.”
We’ve been a bit more than that...more than once….But it doesn’t matter since it’ll never happen again.
Oh. Wow. Never again? Did I mean that? Is that what I really want or is this whole girlfriend title thing going straight to my head and throwing me uncomfortably off balance.
As if he overheard my previous thought, Wyatt quickly nods. “Exactly. Old friends.”
I offer him a silent thank you.
“How was the meal?” Wyatt drags the conversation back to the point of his presence being at the table.
“Incredible,” Matty answers first.
Natasha gushes, “Fantastic.”
“Never had beets that amazing,” Brando insists. “Not even a beet fan, but with the goat cheese….It was….”
His loss of words brightens Wyatt’s smirk. “And the Moroccan Lamb Pizza? Was that okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Brando beats everyone to the response line.
“It packed so much heat.” Natasha’s double-entendre makes Wyatt wink.
“The yogurt dressing and fresh hunks of tomato set it off perfectly,” Matty cheerfully adds.
“It was alright,” Oliver defies the rest of the collective praising.
I toss him a sarcastic look. “Liar.”
His eyes flare in irritation.
“You didn’t enjoy it?” Wyatt quickly questions.
“He’s lying,” I state boldly.
“I’m not.” He clears his throat and diverts his attention to the chef. “The toasted pine nuts were a little over the top and the crust was a bit doughy.”
His friends ramble off their objections, but Wyatt ignores them. “I’m sorry you felt that way. Would you like me to make you something else from the regular menu? Perhaps a steak or stuffed baked potato?”
Oliver grits his teeth. “Are you implying because I have a bit of a southern drawl I can only appreciate southern food ?”
My jaw drops at the bite.
Wyatt merely folds his hands behind his back. “I was assuming because you’re dating Little L, a woman whose favorite food is tater tots, you might too be a potato fiend.”
“I am not a fiend!”
“Little L, I’ve seen you scoop up mashed potatoes with parmesan truffle fries.”
“They were so good!”
Once again everyone except Oliver chuckles.
“No other meal is necessary,” he insists.
“In a rush?”
“Yes, actually. London and I are prepared to call it an evening.”
“Without dessert?” Wyatt counters.
“She is my dessert.”
The prompt announcement spins my head around. On one hand, that sounds like heaven, but on the other I’m not sure I want him angrily chomping away down there just because he has an inkling someone else wants to. Or someone else occasionally used to. There’s sexy teeth and then there’s awkward emergency room visits.
Wyatt flashes the smile that is almost as famous as his food. “Well there’s no point in arguing with that. Why don’t I have dessert delivered for the rest of the table and your meal comped on me?”
Oliver snaps, “I can afford to buy my girlfriend dinner.”
“And I can afford to treat an old friend .”
“And I can move out of the way if you would both like to unzip right here and measure your dicks for all the world to see,” I sarcastically chime in.
All eyes fall onto me.
“You know, I think I am ready to go.…” I rise to my feet. “I do not like the new temperament this evening has taken.” Turning to face Wyatt, I give him a quick hug. “It was good seeing you. Thanks for the meal it was truly delicious.”
“Anytime, Little L.”
“Congrats on your marriage, by the way.”
He lifts his eyebrows in surprise.
“Noticed the ring.”
Wyatt’s smile expands the biggest I’ve seen it yet.
I give Oliver a pointed look before bidding everyone else a goodbye. “It was cool to meet all of you. Thanks for allowing me to join you.”
“We’ll see you next time,” Brando quic
kly insists.
With a hint of sadness in my eyes, I almost whisper, “Maybe….”
“London,” Oliver starts slowly.