Astor Hill

Chapter 13

13

Olivia

Vida’s calls itself upscale dining, but the $14 nacho platter being slid in front of Andrew suggests otherwise. Pendant lights hang over the secluded, plush booths that mostly encase the dark mahogany tables, and floor to ceiling sheer drapes attempt to shield restaurant goers from onlookers. But make no mistake, the food is pathetic. Nevertheless, it’s the only place near campus that actually serves something other than watered down beer or sickly sweet wine, so it’s usually the spot we end up at.

“Yes,” Andy groans out, indecently, as he pulls a loaded nacho away from his plate. Gen looks on in disgust, sipping her vodka soda.

“We could do without the grotesque sound effects,” she reprimands him with her judgmental glare, and I laugh despite myself because, for once, I agree with her.

“Awe come on, Gen. Don’t take your sexual frustration out on poor ol’ Andy,” Scott drawls, already buzzed before the mains have been served. “If you’re in need of hearing a man groan, I’m always?—”

“Babe!” the busty blonde next to him squeals, slapping his arm. His eyes go wide at the rest of us, like the problem is that she clearly can’t take a joke. Grant just shoots him a menacing glare.

“Gen knows I’m kidding, right?”

She clears her throat glancing away, obviously uncomfortable.

“Not cool, man,” Will adds, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Neither can Grant, apparently, and we send each other knowing looks.

Scott disgusts me as much as he does the next person, but the last thing I want to do is hear Will stick up for Gen tonight.

“Anyway…” I quickly attempt to redirect the convo. “Did you guys hear about Rebecca Banks and her pantomime professor? First of all— pantomime? And second of all?—”

“Ohmygod!” Gen squeaks, slapping Will’s arm from where she sits across the table. “Do you remember Becky Banks? Honestly, I’m not totally shocked. She was always such a teacher's pet.” Will’s laughter stokes my irritation.

“Jesus, I didn’t even realize she went here. Yeah, she really was. Fucking annoying, too.”

Gen gasps again as she recalls yet another thing they both, undoubtedly, remember and I flag down our server.

“Can I get another gin and tonic as soon as you get a second?” She gives me an earnest nod before rushing back to the bar. I turn my attention to Grant, and witness the only scowl I’ve ever seen him produce.

Having missed the first part of their conversation I am lost at what's going on. All I see is Gen grabbing Will’s hand playfully, her tone a little too flirty.

“Will, can we please go back there? Maybe in a few weeks?”

Will’s grinning at her, unaware that I’m listening.

“Sure, let’s make a day out of it.”

My stomach drops and I feel nauseated. I rub my fingers together, warming them, trying to convince myself this must be some childhood place that would make sense for them to go together, alone.

“How’s practice been since, well, you know?” I shift my attention to Grant, deciding his still very present scowl is not worth acknowledging at this moment, and instead opting to find a neutral subject to get us both out of our heads.

“Ha! He didn’t tell you about our scrimmage?” Grant's voice comes out dry but his eyes seem to be dancing with amusement.

“A scrimmage? Now I’m glad I didn’t ask,” I laugh, relieved by Grant’s company.

“Olivia, it was EPIC,” Andy interjects, his voice comically exaggerated. “We were literally tied when?—”

“Can we not talk about him?” Will cuts in, ever the commanding captain. Gen gives him a sympathetic smile and I roll my eyes for what feels like the tenth time this evening.

“You were tied when what?” I urge Andy to continue, ignoring Will.

“Ben steals the—” Andy tries to explain.

“Olivia, are you fucking deaf? I said drop it,” he snaps at me, his voice dripping with contempt.

“Hey, you really can’t just call people deaf anymore…” Scott speaks up as Grant abruptly slides out of the booth.

“I’m getting a drink. Gen— do you want to join me?” The whole table gets quiet, clearly confused at Grant’s invitation.

“I’m good?” She gives Will a pointed glance suggesting she’s just as confused as the rest of us. Grant clenches his jaw, his posture faltering as he makes his way to the bar without another word.

I grab the fresh gin and tonic sitting in front of me, downing it in one gulp, while the rest of the table awkwardly resumes the conversation, Will and Gen laughing at Grant’s expense quietly to my left. I grab my phone and scroll through my conversations until I find the one I’m looking for.

Fuck it.

Hi

I type, hitting send before my prefrontal cortex can chime in and click my screen off, placing it screen side down on the table. I know this is probably petty and definitely immature, but I’m doing it all the same. When I see the edges of my phone light up not ten seconds later, I quickly retrieve it.

Ben

Already have your thoughts together?

Lol no. Still baking.

Ben

Ah— so you miss me already?

A rush of adrenaline courses through me as I consider what to say, the gin definitely clouding my judgment. I take a steadying breath.

Not at all. I was just wondering where you got your sheets.

Gen’s, unfortunately, melodic laughter floats past me as Will lets out a chuckle.

“Okay, but you have to tell Andy about that time we went crab hunting and you literally piss—” Will cuts her off with the drunken wave of his hand, completely unaware that I’m even still here.

“Enough, enough! It’s bad enough you’ve seen me like that. I don’t need everyone here to have a mental picture of it.” His laugh is infectious and carefree, and I can’t help but think about how I rarely hear it like that.

“Okay, but Ben was definitely worse.” Her face speaks volumes. It says the time she’s recalling was a good one; that it involved Ben, and Will, and her, and it was happy; that she is privy to a time and space I probably never will be.

“Yeah,” Will says, distantly.

“It was good once. It could be like that again.” Her shrug seems noncommittal, but I’d know that scheming glance anywhere. “Maybe give him a chance to prove you wrong.”

“Not really looking to give him anything, Gen.” His smile goes taut before relaxing for her benefit. “But thanks.” He grabs my hand, kissing it gently in a way that isn’t directed at me but instead as a jab to Gen, probably for bringing up a subject she knows he’s uncomfortable with. Gen’s expression immediately changes, her eyes pained and her smile flattening into a shell of what it was just moments before, and I realize I feel sympathy for her and anger blooming inside me toward Will.

I mostly believe Will when he tells me there’s nothing going on with Gen, that they’ve just been friends for as long as he can remember, but when I have a front row seat to this— the fruits of an obviously deep rooted friendship— I can’t help but feel like I’ve been deprived of something special with Will. The more I sit in that feeling though, I realize that I’m not jealous of her… I’m jealous of them. Gen obviously wants something more, but I would kill to have a friendship like that again.

She sighs, shifting the conversation to Scott’s date who, apparently, is from California. Riveting. Grant finally slides back into the booth, a proverbial rain cloud over his head.

I release the breath I was unwittingly holding, checking my phone.

Ben

Daydreaming about my bed, Beckett?

I battle the urge to smile against the rim of my glass, my third drink of the evening making me reflective, reckless, and apparently careless.

Maybe I just wanted to talk to you

Ben

You’re at a table full of people.

I glance around the restaurant, the guys now talking basketball. I’m almost positive I’m going to find a smirking Ben at a booth if I just look hard enough.

Spying on me, are we?

Ben

Grant may have mentioned your dinner.

So you’re saying Grant is your spy, and you are spying on me? You are dangerous…

Ben

What are you drinking?

Wouldn’t you like to know

Ben

Remember when you texted me because you wanted to talk?

Uh yeah— you are infinitely better company than the guy to my left… hint— it’s not Grant!!

Ben

Don’t let Will catch you talking to me.

Will who? :)

“Liv.” Will’s irritated voice brings me back to our booth at Vida’s. “Your food’s gonna get cold,” he says, nodding toward my salmon salad. I narrow my eyes at him, feeling light and buoyant in my seat.

“It’s a salad?” My brows quirk, my alcohol fueled assessment of him clear.

“You’ve been on your phone this entire time,” he mutters to me under his breath, clearly bothered.

“So glad you noticed between nostalgia sessions with Gen,” I snipe, aware of my exaggerated expression. His jaw flickers with irritation, and he silently swaps my cocktail for his water, turning away from me.

Good riddance , I think to myself, both pleased to have pissed him off and annoyed that he didn’t take the bait. Remembering I’m in the middle of a conversation, I click my screen back on.

Ben

Goodnight, Olivia. Get home safely.

I click my phone shut and shove it into my bag, the text sobering me in an instant. I feel stupid, and I’m wracking through every possible impression Ben has of me when I feel Will nudge me to move out of the bench.

“You coming, babe?” The look on his face tells me he couldn't care less, and I realize I couldn’t either. This day has been an emotional rollercoaster, and I’m desperate for the quiet solitude of my bedroom for a few hours.

“I’m just gonna head home.” His gaze settles on me for more than a moment, irritation flickering behind it. It seems like he’s about to say something, but he just gives me a tight smile instead.

“Don’t worry— I’ll make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble,” Gen mockingly reassures me, her gaze sliding up to Grant as he approaches.

“I’ll give you a ride back. I can’t imagine being out for another hour.” Grant and I walk out of Vida’s together, pausing in anticipation of the group, but they just keep going. We stare after Will, Gen, Scott, Andy, and the girl whose name I never asked as they cross the street.

“Not even a goodbye to you? Jesus Christ,” Grant says mostly to himself, but I hear him.

“It’s really okay, Grant. I’m used to it.” I hear the apathy in my voice and hope he doesn’t notice.

“You’re not the only one.” He swipes a hand across the top of his head before resettling his baseball cap and unlocking his car, opening the passenger door for me without a second thought.

“God, you are the epitome of southern charm, you know that?”

His eyes twinkle with amusement as he grins, settling into the driver’s seat. “I know.”

The drive from Vida’s to my apartment is less than five minutes, but he refuses to even put the car in drive unless I have my seatbelt on. Once we’re finally moving, I turn toward him, suddenly curious.

“So, what was bothering you tonight?” I’m nowhere near as tipsy as I was an hour ago, but it seems I’m still just as chatty.

“Who says anything was bothering me?” I make a mental note that he did not even spare a glance as he answered.

“Either something was bothering you, or you’ve been cloned and your jovial essence didn’t make the trip.”

“My jovial essence?” He smirks, finally sparing me a glance.

“Is jovial not a word in the Bible Belt?” He laughs at this, his tenseness starting to evaporate.

“You know, I did have to be a little smart to get here.”

“Sure,” I tease. I raise my eyebrows, nonverbally reiterating my earlier question. He takes a deep breath, sighing.

“Maybe one day it’ll be worth telling you about. But for now, don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.” I make a face of disgust at his over exaggerated southern accent as he pats my head, surprised to find us both laughing in earnest.

“Thanks for the ride. I really didn’t want to walk home in these shoes.” I glance down at my heels, grateful I didn’t have to trudge back here in pain or barefoot.

“Anything for a friend.”

He waits in his car until I’m inside, the wheels of his car audibly spinning away only once I’ve turned on my lights. I swish my front curtains shut, doing a quick closing shift of my living area, before begrudgingly washing the day off my face.

I can’t believe I texted him .

I rifle through my closet, in search of the comfiest pajamas within which to wallow in supreme embarrassment. I decide on my pink La Perla set, because if I’m going to feel like a fool it should at least be a beautiful one.

Collapsing into my bed, I relish the softness of the sheets against my skin but realize that my bed is nowhere as cozy as Ben’s. I reach for the planner on my nightstand, hoping tomorrow I’ll have enough time for a mind clearing manicure. Relief washes over me when I realize I have absolutely zero plans. I have all the time in the world to shop my worries away.