Sadie #2
That made his mouth curve up a little on one side again.
God, that smirk. Something about it was boyish, yet at the same time slightly wicked.
It was the kind of smirk that encouraged you to giggle in embarrassing ways and made you forget the long list of reasons why you were no longer interested in finding love.
“I have an internship, which makes the slacks a big-boy necessity,” he replied, nodding.
“What kind of internship?” I asked. “What’s your major?”
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for him to say, “Civil engineering.”
“Wait. What?” I shook my head and said, “I don’t know why, but I never would’ve pegged you as someone…engineer-y.”
“It was the leather jacket, wasn’t it?”
“Kind of,” I admitted with a laugh. “It gave you a badass, I-don’t-care-about-anything aesthetic that isn’t usually synonymous with math people.”
“Exactly the vibe I was going for when I wore it every fucking day.”
We fell into easy conversation then, picking up where we’d left off as fourteen-year-olds. The waiter brought us drink refills that we barely noticed. Jess was quick, funny without trying, and talking to him felt effortless.
He told me in the light of the red table candle that he’d been an intern with his engineering firm for two years, so even though he was still an undergrad, it sounded like he knew what he was doing.
He seemed genuinely engaged with his work, like he liked what he’d chosen to study, and it was refreshing to hear someone discuss their future career like it was a job, not like it defined them.
It was equally refreshing to have someone not treat my undergrad status like it defined me as a child.
“So, is this a place you hang out?” he asked, gesturing to the bar.
“God no,” I said, maybe a little too quickly. “I was supposed to meet someone here and they didn’t show up.”
“Wait—was it a blind date?” he asked.
For some reason, with him, I wasn’t embarrassed to admit, “Yeah, kind of, but I was dreading it so much that I’m glad he didn’t show.”
“Of course you are,” he said emphatically, leaning in a little. “Trust me, Mr. No-Show was not someone you wanted to go out with.”
“And you know this how?” I asked, reaching for my pop.
“Well, for starters, he picked this place to meet for drinks.”
“You don’t like this place?” I said, unaccountably happy at the thought.
“It’s shitty,” he said, scowling. “It’s pretentious, and they don’t even have food. This is the kind of place where guys who want people to think they’re smart hang out. But I ask you—what kind of smart person chooses to hang out somewhere with no food and no TV?”
“I mean, you do, obviously,” I said, an involuntary laugh bubbling out of me.
“Still the little smartass,” he said, chuckling and giving me a slow headshake.
“That was the vibe I gave off at fourteen?” I was shocked. “Little smartass?”
“Afraid so,” he said. “You were funny as hell, which was surprising when you looked like a nervous little mouse.”
“I was so awkward.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But I was burning up every fucking day in a leather jacket trying to convince you I was cool, so who was really the awkward one?”
“For sure you,” I said, smiling.
“Right?” He nodded. “And I’m not hanging out here by choice, for the record. My firm is renovating the building.”
“Ah,” I said.
“Love the building, hate the Bud.”
And just like that, I was laughing again.
How am I laughing in the Rosebud?
“So, were you going to get actual food with Mr. No-Show?” he asked. “Or just overpriced drinks?”
His phone lit up with a notification, which he glanced at but ignored.
“I believe the plan was for dinner, too,” I said. “But my Aunt Debbie set the whole thing up, so I didn’t really have details.”
“You trust your Auntie D that much?” he asked.
“Let’s just say she caught me at a weak moment. Favorite aunt, heart attack recovery, shameless groveling.”
“Oof, the trifecta.”
“You get it,” I said.
“Well, would you be interested in getting food with me?” he asked, and I was a little surprised by how chill it was.
Relaxed. It felt no different from when Annie (my best friend) asked if I wanted to get Captain Chicken with her (the answer was always yes, by the way).
“Because seeing you has ruined any shot of me getting work done now.”
“What food are we talking here?” I asked, suddenly feeling lighter, more playful than I had in a long time.
“Your call, O’Connor,” he said. “As long as it’s not, like…clams from a food truck.”
“My only vice, are you kidding?” I replied with an exaggerated pout.
“Food truck clams are your only vice? I call bullshit,” he said with a grin. “I need more.”
“What—you want me to list my bad habits?”
“Top three, please.”
I inhaled and narrowed my eyes. “Okay. Um, number one—chocolate milk made with Nesquik powder. I’ve been told it’s embarrassingly gauche, but the heart wants what the heart wants.”
“Chocolate milk for the discerning palate, what is gauche about that? We’re talking chocolate precision right there, microdosing down to the specific choco-kernel at a molecular level, and I think it’s a vice you should be proud of. Number two…?”
“Number two,” I said, “has to be fast food. I know it’s the worst, but on payday you can pretty much always find me burning rubber to get to the nearest Taco Bell drive-through.”
“What’s your order? Nachos Bellgrande? Gordita with extra sour cream?”
“Steak quesadilla—no sauce—and a Baja Blast.”
“Solid. The saucelessness is a choice, but I don’t judge. Three me up now, O’Connor.”
God, he’s exactly the same. Jess might’ve become this stunningly attractive man with a wickedly deep voice that was octaves lower than that of Jess (freshman version), but being with him felt just like it had all those years ago.
Fun.
“Well,” I said, “vice number three is either my propensity for illegal parking or the fact that I need an ice-cold Red Bull the second I wake up.”
“The parking’s not illegal if you don’t get caught, so we’ll go with the second option. Is this a mini-fridge-by-the-side-of-the-bed situation?”
“Not quite, but my apartment is very small, so we’re talking no more than fifteen steps until I’m there.”
His phone lit up, and once again, he ignored it.
And god, it felt good to have someone ignore their phone in my presence. Even though this wasn’t a date, it was nice.
“What happens if you’re out of Red Bull?” he asked.
“Your girl is big sad.”
“Well, that would be tragic.” His voice was a little quieter, and I realized as I looked into his dark brown eyes that I didn’t want to go to dinner with him.
Or go to the ladies’ room to check my makeup.
Or even go to the bar to get another drink.
I didn’t want to move from my chair, because I was having more fun with him at that pretentious table in the Rosebud than I’d had anywhere else in the last eight months.
“Do you want to go?” he asked, dropping cash on the table to cover our drinks. “There’s a great Italian place on the corner, if you like meatballs.”
“Meatballs are actually my fourth vice.”
“I’m slightly obsessed with your vices, just so you know,” he said as we stood, and this time, when he set his hand on my lower back as we exited the Rosebud, I couldn’t hold in the smile, because it was just, well, nice.
“Do you mind if we stop by my car so I can re-up the parking meter?” I asked.
“Honey, I’m following those Chucks anywhere they lead.”
Jess
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I got booted,” she said, her big green eyes staring at the orange device that was attached to the tire of her Honda. “So they were serious about the parking tickets.”
She went closer, reading the paper that was stuck to her passenger window, and I still couldn’t believe it was her.
Sadie Fucking O’Connor. I’d thought of her a handful of times in the years since freshman study hall, mostly because she’d been a connection when I’d been pretty much connectionless.
We moved a lot back then—hell, I hadn’t even finished out the year at that school—but the daily appointment to engage in meaningless conversation with her had been my constant.
And fuck—I’d been crazy into her.
Because on the surface she was this shy, cute, slightly awkward redhead.
But then she opened her mouth and sucked me in with the layers of her. She was wry and slightly irreverent, laughed with her whole face, and told hilarious stories about the bullshit minutiae going on in her ninth-grade life.
She got deadass serious when discussing politics.
And—dear god—she kept a running list of potential cat names in her phone, just in case her mom ever let her get one, a list that had over a hundred entries.
“Listen, I think I can help,” I said, recognizing the logo on that huge warning sticker. “I know a guy who works for parking management—hell, he’s probably the one who booted you.”
“Yeah?” she asked, tucking her long hair behind her ears.
“I can probably convince him to remove it,” I said. “But here’s the thing—we have to go see him.”
“What?”
“If I call Sal on the phone, he won’t help me, because he’s a grouchy old guy who doesn’t like most people.
” Total understatement—Sal hated everyone.
“But in person, he’s not too bad, and he definitely can’t say no to a pretty girl.
So I’ll ask him for the favor—all you have to do is come along—and then we can probably have it off within the hour. ”
“Really?” I could tell she wanted my help but didn’t want to put me out, which was sweet. “Is it far? Do you think he’s available?”
“He’s actually just a couple miles away, and I know for a fact he’s available.”
“Yeah, that would be great,” she said, nodding. “You don’t mind?”
Spending more time with you, Sadie?
“Not at all,” I said, but then I stopped when I remembered.
“Oh, actually.” I’m going to kill Jade. “Hmm.”
“What hmm? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I, uh…I didn’t exactly drive my car here.”
Talk about an understatement.
How the hell was I going to make this work?
“Can we walk to where this Sal is?” she asked.
Not in this part of town after dark. “No.”
“Maybe we can—”