When We Met

by A. L. Jackson

  “Damn, dude. Give me a little credit. I’ve never had a chick hate me that bad.”

  “My ass. You don’t remember—damn, what was her name?” He paused, snapping his fingers. “We called her Black Widow.”

  I slapped the table, nearly falling backward out of my chair. “Oh, shit. You mean Aubrey. Okay, but she was crazy.” Collin did have a point, though. Aubrey was cool at first, but after a while I had to cut it off because she got seriously possessive. She would pick fights with chicks that did nothing but look at me. After I told her we were done, she spray-painted the word asshole down the entire hallway of the dorm where I lived at the time.

  “This fucking sucks,” Dave whined, checking his phone for a text that obviously hadn’t come in. He tossed the phone on the table like a total pussy.

  “Dude, I don’t think Coach meant you needed to break up with your lady. He just didn’t want anyone hanging out at the bars all night trying to score,” I pointed out as he picked up his phone on the off chance a message had come through in the two seconds it was out of his hand.

  “Yeah, you look like a total pussy whip,” Collin added, elbowing him.

  “Fuck off, Collin,” he said as Courtney approached the table carrying our drinks.

  I flashed her a smile when our eyes met, but her glance slid right on by like she wasn’t even aware I was there.

  “Here you go.” She smiled at Dave as she handed him his Coke. Collin got the same greeting, but when Courtney turned to me, her face was blank.

  “Thanks,” I said as she set my drink down. She nodded in response but turned back to Collin and Dave. “Your food should be up in a few minutes. If you need anything, ring the buzzer,” she said to them, pointing at the buzzer attached to the wall. It was supposed to sound like the time-out buzzers at the arena, but it sounded more like some annoying horn you’d find in a smart car or something.

  My eyes focused on Courtney’s backside as she walked away. I’m not going to lie. I was completely puzzled by her attitude toward me. Collin was right. She was acting like someone I’d had a bad breakup from, not someone I had once been friends with. Sure, it was a long time ago. Hell, she was the first girl I’d ever kissed. Although calling it a kiss was a stretch. It was more like me awkwardly smashing my lips against hers without asking when we were ten years old. We were watching a movie at her house and I took a shot. Courtney retaliated by socking me in the arm. I never tried to kiss her again after that.

  chapter three

  Courtney

  “Hey, Chuck, how much longer on my order?” I drummed my fingers on the serving counter, staring off into space in the crowded kitchen.

  “Coming up.”

  I was so ready for the evening to be over, and past ready to get rid of Dalton. Having him grin at me and act like we were still friends was making me shaky and off-kilter. Obviously he didn’t remember how he’d tossed me aside like I was no longer important. He moved on, leaving me behind without my best friend. More important, I was confused about the feelings I had started having for him. One moment I was daydreaming about us becoming boyfriend and girlfriend and then, poof, he was gone.

  I had tried convincing myself I hated him for ditching me, but I couldn’t do it. I had a crush. What could I say? Over the years I’d watched him from afar, but we never really ran in the same circles again. In eighth grade his talent on the court earned him a lot of attention, and in high school basketball had made him a legitimate star. When I saw him in the hallways, he always seemed to have a new girl on his arm. I found my own circle of friends in high school, and eventually I realized I had romanticized our friendship into something it wasn’t and I got over him.

  Facing him now while he attempted to flirt with me like I was a typical girl he’d just met was seriously screwing with my head. I could see why girls were into him. It took all my concentration to ignore his come-hither looks and deep, sexy voice. How one person could be blessed with so many gifts was beyond me. Most men would trade their left nut for even a smidge of his talent on the basketball court, but combining that with rugged good looks and a voice that would make any girl’s panties wet was just unfair.

  Amanda interrupted my inner whine-fest, snagging a fry from one of the plates waiting to go out. “So, how’s it going?”

  I smacked her hand without hesitation, making the fry drop to the floor.

  “Hey.” She reached for another in spite of her complaint, but I slid the plate out of her reach.

  “You know Chris will have your head if he sees you munching off the customers’ plates.” I didn’t know why I had to remind her. She knew the rules as well as I did.

  She pouted, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re such a brownnoser.”

  “And you should know how gross that is. I’d hurl if I found out someone had their fingers in my food. You know Chuck would make you something if you asked.”

  “I don’t want a whole dish of something. I’m on a diet, hence why I was only after one fry.” She patted her model-thin waist for emphasis. I was tempted to throat-punch her. I wasn’t fat. I just had more curves than I would have preferred. My waist was tiny, but my ass seemed determined to be seen. I was okay with my boobs being on the larger side, although at times I worried they were too large for my frame. Maybe I wouldn’t mind my figure as much if I were taller. Being five foot nothing made my hourglass curves look like they had been smooshed in a compactor.

  “Thanks, Chuck,” I said, placing the last plate from my order on my tray.

  He tipped his chef’s hat in response. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

  “I saw that you lucked out with table twelve,” Amanda said, opening a package of saltines since I had deflected her attempts at taking a fry.

  I balanced the heavy tray on my palm before heading for the swinging door to the dining area. “Lucked out?” I asked incredulously before reminding myself that she knew nothing about my history with Dalton. In the year and a half that Amanda and I had been friends, I never once let on that I knew Dalton before he became the basketball savior of the university.

  “Are you kidding? You’re waiting on my own version of a dream team there.” She shot a lustful look toward my zone.

  Understanding dawned on me at seeing her hooded eyes. “Of course.” Her next fascination was sitting at the table. For a horrible moment I wondered if it was Dalton. Not that it should matter. Dalton wasn’t mine. He never had been.

  I returned to their table with their food, resolved to make the best of the situation.

  “So, how have you been?” Dalton asked as I dished out their plates. “It’s been ages since we had a chance to talk.”

  “I guess some of us just got busy.” My answer had a little more snap, despite my intent to play it cool.

  He frowned, rubbing a hand over his head. It was a habit I remembered him doing when we were kids. It meant he was confused. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  I excused myself, telling them I would be back in a few minutes to refill their drinks.

  Somehow I managed to keep it together for the rest of the service. I checked on them a few times and inquired about dessert, but I could barely suppress the pent-up breath I’d been holding when they paid their checks and headed out.

  After Gruby’s finally closed for the evening, I spent the last hour of my shift doing side work and cleaning the restaurant with Amanda and Chuck while Chris headed to the office to take care of whatever managers did. Chuck handled the kitchen and prepared a bucket of water for Amanda, who tried to bribe me into taking her turn at mopping. Throughout our closing duties, I finally learned that Amanda had set her sights on Collin. I didn’t know anything about him other than having just served him, but Amanda was absolutely gaga.

  Once the restaurant was prepped for the following day, we all headed out together. Amanda followed me to my car since I was her ride home. She was from sunny Phoenix and had chosen to leave her car with her parents while she attended school in Michigan. I’d become her unoff
icial chauffeur after we became friends. I didn’t mind as long as she didn’t complain about Lucy, my car. Lucy was old and had been labeled a piece of crap by Earl, the mechanic I’d been taking her to for years. “Don’t call her that,” I had to chastise him every time I took Lucy for an oil change. “You’ll hurt her feelings. She may be older than all the other cars you work on, but she’s the toughest,” I’d point out, patting her rusty hood. I loved Lucy. I purchased her after I turned sixteen. I logged more hours at Denny’s than I cared to think about and even fit in some babysitting jobs on the side, all so I could buy Lucy free and clear. She might not be as pretty as she once was, but she sure as hell was reliable. I’d kick anyone’s ass that dared to argue.

  “Gaaaaaaaaah, what is with the heat in this car?” Amanda wrapped a scarf around her neck and face until only her eyes and forehead were visible. I should have expected her to complain considering the frigid nighttime temperature.

  I fiddled with the controls, hoping to coax a little more heat from the vents to pacify her. “You mean Lucy, and she doesn’t want to spoil you.” Lucy was a bit temperamental when it came to certain things, like heat and air-conditioning. Both wheezed from her vents like she was struggling to breathe. Earl claimed it was because she was going to drop dead at any moment. He’d been saying it for years, so I didn’t put much stock in his words. Deep down I think he liked Lucy.

  By the time I pulled up to Amanda’s dorm building on the east end of campus, Lucy was slightly warmer than the current temperature outside, but Amanda’s teeth were still chattering. “I’m buying a blanket to keep in here.”

  “It could be worse. You could be freezing your ass off waiting for the bus,” I reminded her, smiling sweetly as she stuck out her tongue before slamming the door so it would close properly. Lucy was a bit temperamental about that, too.

  Whipping a U-turn, I headed toward Hamilton Street, where I shared a house with my friends Indy, Misha, and Chloe. We’d been strangers when we all moved into the cute house, but we quickly found out how well we meshed.

  All the lights except the living room appeared to be off at Hamilton House, which was the name we christened our abode with when we moved in. (I wasn’t the only one who liked to name inanimate objects.) I pulled into the driveway, parking Lucy in my usual spot in front of the house, and got out to trudge through the foot of snow that had been too stubborn to melt since Mother Nature dumped it on us the previous week. I slid my key into the lock and stomped the snow from my boots before quietly pushing the door open. It was almost one a.m., which was the only downfall to working at Gruby’s. Thankfully my earliest classes were at ten on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The other days I didn’t have anything until noon, so I was able to get some sleep in.

  Misha was on the couch reading a thick novel with her boyfriend’s head in her lap as I quietly closed the front door behind me. “Hey,” she greeted me softly after sticking a bookmark between the pages.

  “Hey, what are you guys doing up so late? Don’t you have class at like eight tomorrow morning?” Placing my gloves and hat in the pockets, I hung my heavy pea coat on the rack by the door, draping my scarf on the hook along with it. It was a routine Mom had trained me into years ago after I kept coming home with either my hat or one of my mittens missing. Raising a kid on a shoestring budget meant every cent counted, so lost mittens and hats were never a good thing. Mom had a good job that she loved at the Department of Children and Families, but the pay sucked. Still she had always managed to stretch the money so I never went without. Not that designer clothes or electronic gadgets ever showed up under our Christmas tree, but I never missed them. I admired Mom greatly for the work she did. Lots of kids were less fortunate than I was.

  “The class was canceled, so I figured I’d catch up on a little reading. I’ve been dying to finish this new novel.” She stroked a hand over Darryn’s forehead, gently waking him.

  “Lucky you. I wish one of my classes would get canceled. Professor Zeal is trying pretty damned hard to ruin early American history for me. He couldn’t be any more boring if he decided to start showing bowling videos in class. His voice is the most monotone thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Misha chuckled as Darryn opened his eyes and grinned sleepily at me. “Consider it future practice for when you’re poring over classic art or whatever other things you would do as a museum curator.”

  “But that won’t be boring. That will be—” My words ended with a sigh. My lifelong dream of working in an art museum seemed distant at the moment. Getting through the required classes had become daunting. Who knew history professors would be so freaking boring?

  “Don’t worry. You got this. You ready for bed, babe?” she asked Darryn, rising from the couch and reaching down to help him up. He stretched and yawned before draping an arm across Misha’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Are you heading to bed, too?”

  “Yeah, after I wash the fried food stench off me.” She clicked off the lamp in the living room as I walked away, waving.

  The sounds of smooching filled the darkness almost immediately. They were a cute couple, and I loved Misha to death. I was happy for her. I switched on the hallway light so I wouldn’t kill myself walking down the hall. “You guys have fun.”

  “Night, Court,” they said in unison, which would have been nauseating coming from any other couple.

  “Night, MD.” I could hear more face sucking as I headed wearily toward the bathroom. Hence the nickname. They were always attached at the hip anyway. Admittedly I felt a tad envious even though I had no energy for a boyfriend. The only thing on my agenda was a shower and bed. Not that thoughts of Dalton hadn’t crept into my head. I was sure tonight wouldn’t be the last time I saw him. I would do my best to avoid him from now on, and we could continue on the separate paths our lives had taken.

  • • •

  Early American history the next morning proved to be as boring as always. Taking endless notes on my iPad while Professor Zeal droned on about the first transcontinental railroad would have been interesting if he could have injected any kind of enthusiasm into his voice.

  My afternoon was spent in the campus library working on a paper I had due the following week. I got so wrapped up in research I nearly forgot to head to work. Luckily I managed to make it through the front doors of Gruby’s at five o’clock on the nose, despite the snow flutters that had started midday.

  “Wow, for a minute there I thought you were going to be late,” Jill, one of the hostesses, greeted me as I walked in shaking a light layer of snow off my jacket.

  I grinned, knowing I had probably ruined a bet for someone. “I’m never late,” I said, draping my jacket over my arm and heading to the back room to stow my belongings.

  “It could happen,” Jill called after me before turning to greet three middle-aged men dressed in business suits.

  Her words cracked me up. The staff had a standing bet on when and if I’d ever show up late. In all the years that I had been out in the workforce, I’d never been late. Only once when I was a teenager and working at Denny’s had I ever called in, and that was because my mom was sick with pneumonia and refused to go see a doctor. I practically bullied her into going, and had to drive her there myself to be sure.

  The kitchen was buzzing with activity as I walked through the swinging doors that separated the back from the dining area.

  “Hey, girl, how they hanging?” Jimmy, one of the line cooks, called out.

  “No flies on me,” I responded with my normal answer. Jimmy roared with laughter like it was the first time he’d ever heard me say it. At seventy-six years old, he should be sitting on a porch, people-watching or tinkering with some old car, but instead he was working at Gruby’s. He always said he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he sat at home all day. We were the lucky ones since he kept the kitchen lively and was a blast to have around. He had basically become an honorary grandpa to all the servers, allowing us to pour our college woes out to him. With more wisdom than
all of us put together, he had an answer for every dilemma.

  Any time the school’s basketball game was on TV, it meant Gruby’s would be packed, and tonight was no exception. Every TV in the restaurant was tuned to the same channel. You could barely hear yourself talk as loud, eager fans erupted in one fashion or another, depending on whether something good or something bad happened to the team.

  I followed the game as best I could while I worked, managing to notice each time the announcer would mention number nineteen, which around here, unless you lived under a rock, you knew was Dalton. Judging by the constant mention of his name, it was obvious Dalton was having a great game. Rolling my eyes, I continued to take orders and hand out food. It seemed like there was no escaping Dalton Thompson as long as I was working at a sports bar. I guess I should have considered that when Amanda got me the job here. My old restaurant went belly-up right before the holidays. Nothing says merry Christmas like unemployment. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance to work at Gruby’s. Although right now the job had lost some of its luster.

  As my rotten luck would have it, the waitressing gods not only screwed me over, but also kicked me in the teeth that night. Three hours into my shift and an hour after the game ended, the restaurant erupted into loud cheers when a handful of the players walked through the front door, including Dalton, who was leading the show. He grinned at everyone chanting his name and waved like he was the Prince of England or something.

  Biting back a groan, I headed to the kitchen to avoid the spectacle.

  “What’s going on out there? Did the president of the United States just walk in the door?” Jimmy asked, wiping his hands on the dish towel that was stuck in the waistband of his apron.

  I snorted. “I’m not sure he would have gotten that kind of welcome. Some of the team just walked in. You know—the ones who feel they deserve to be worshipped.”