Chapter Six
Inflection Point
Iforgot to text Chrissy.
That’s my first thought when I wake up the following morning. Somewhere between picking Luke up off the side of the road and getting lost in a book for the rest of the evening, it completely slipped my mind.
Now it’s Monday, and I still haven’t nailed down the details of our date.
A date I have done absolutely nothing to prepare for.
Fuck.
Great. Cool. Totally ideal. There’s no way she doesn’t think I’m an insensitive ass who just blew her off after this. Good job, Ethan!
If texting before 8 a.m. on a Sunday was rude, texting at 5:30 is definitely out of the question.
But I can’t leave it too much longer, or she’ll really think I’m standing her up.
She doesn’t have my number yet, so she can’t even text me first to confirm we’re still on for tonight. I can only imagine what she’s thinking.
This is precisely why I wasn’t looking to date anyone.
There are too many rules to follow. Too many ways to fuck things up.
When other people’s feelings are involved, it’s like I’m in a game of 4D chess, and I’ve forgotten how to play.
Or maybe I never actually learned. It would explain why so many of my past relationships have failed so miserably.
Coming up with romantic ideas on the fly is not one of my strong suits, and Luke was right to criticize this town’s lack of attractions.
I can’t just take Chrissy out to Lucky’s, although it is the only bar for miles and would be an easy option.
That would be tacky. Even if I’m not in a dating mood, Chrissy deserves better than that.
So, I spend my morning looking up restaurants outside of town and writing up a list of options, even though I have no clue what kind of food she likes.
I don’t want to pick somewhere too fancy or bougie that would make her uncomfortable.
Yet, at the same time, I don’t want her to think I’m cheap or unwilling to spend money on her by taking her somewhere inexpensive and dingy.
God knows the money isn’t an issue, but it’s best not to jump into something too ostentatious on a first date, opening the door for unwanted questions.
God damn it. Why does this have to be so hard?
It’s nearly impossible to keep the secret that I’m rich as fuck from a potential romantic partner.
I don’t like lying about it, but it’s not the sort of thing you introduce yourself by unless you’re looking for trouble.
At that point, I might as well hang a big sign around my neck that says, ‘Gold Diggers Welcome.’ Not that I think Chrissy is a gold digger, but even the sweetest personality can sour when that kind of money comes into play, and I’d rather not test the theory that my fortune is the only thing I have going for me.
Every financial decision has been made carefully to fall in line with what people expect I can afford on a machinist’s salary.
And that’s been perfectly fine with me. I don’t have lofty goals of owning a mansion or buying hundred-thousand-dollar vehicles, and I wouldn’t even begin to know how to dress myself in designer clothing.
The only thing I’ve ever really thought of doing was traveling, only to chicken out every time before I truly commit.
Outside of Marcus and my mother, no one else knows about the money—not even Eric and Ben. It’s strange, but when a kid from a town with a population of under 2000 people wins a $160 million lottery jackpot, anonymity is a godsend one doesn’t question.
Anyone with enough sense could still find out on their own, since it’s technically public information, but the internet wasn’t as ridiculous back then as it is now, so there was little chance of it going viral thirteen years ago.
At the time, the newspapers were arguing over the Affordable Care Act being signed into law, so they chose to keep my story small—if they printed it at all—and no one here even read it.
I waited on pins and needles for months for someone to acknowledge it, but it never came.
Marcus only found out because he was with me when I checked the ticket.
That night, we celebrated by getting rip-roaring drunk on the most expensive booze Meijer had to offer because I could obviously afford it now.
I don’t remember most of that evening, except that there was a lot of laughing.
And crying. And it left me with the most expensive hangover of my life.
But Marcus was just as adamant that I keep the news quiet to protect myself, and he’s been the soul of discretion ever since.
He’s never once treated me any differently for winning, either, though it’s not like he hasn’t benefited from it over the years.
I’ve always been generous about sharing the wealth with him and the guys, even if they didn’t know I was the source.
Hell, I secretly paid for both Ben and Eric’s weddings behind their backs.
And for as much as I love them, they were sort of idiots about it.
Eric was convinced his estranged dad swooped in to cover the bill, when I guarantee you that man still probably doesn’t know his son got married. He blabbed to everyone who would listen, and since there was no one to contradict it, it’s still canonized in Eric’s mind.
Ben was a little more skeptical about the whole thing, assuming that one of his or Laura’s parents had paid it off and was merely being incredibly cagey about it.
No matter how emphatically they all deny doing it, he’s convinced they’re simply refusing to fess up, and now it’s a running joke in his family that they all secretly did and didn’t do it, and no one knows who to believe.
Marcus and I still laugh about it sometimes.
Eventually, I glance up from my phone and realize how bright the sky is. Shit. I spent too much time on this, and I’m still no closer to deciding where to go. I have forty minutes before I’m supposed to be at work, but I still have to shower and pick up Luke.
There’s an anxious pit in my stomach that I don’t know what to do with.
Two years of no dating messed me up worse than I imagined, because I don’t remember ever being this apprehensive about going out before.
Although I never used to be so averse to it, either.
I don’t know. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me it’s not a good match.
After a quick shower, I scowl at my reflection in the mirror, lamenting over my too-long beard. It’s gotten a bit wild from months of neglect, but there’s no time to fix it now. Chrissy’s going to have to accept that I look like a vagabond if she wants this to work.
While getting dressed, I realize I need to bring a change of clothes for tonight.
When I made these plans, I didn’t factor in having to take Luke home.
I’ll have no time to come here and change before picking Chrissy up, and I can’t exactly wear my work clothes out on the date, though I’m struggling to remind myself why not.
I let out a frustrated groan, dragging my hands down my face.
I have never been this unprepared to go out in my life, which only adds to my anxiety about the whole thing.
Without knowing what restaurant we’re going to, I can’t account for how dressed up I might need to be, and I don’t have time to stand here pondering it without being seriously late for work.
In the end, I pick three potential options and take them with me as I head downstairs.
In the kitchen, I see the full pot of coffee I started first thing in the morning, and I groan when I realize I haven’t even had a chance to drink it yet.
Maybe that’s why I’m so out of it. There’s no time to sit and enjoy it now, but the day won’t be survivable without the caffeine, so I make a thermos to take with me instead.
A glance at the clock settles me, and I let out a relieved sigh. Despite being a frazzled mess, I’ve somehow managed to get back on track.
And yet, as if I jinxed myself with the very thought, disaster strikes just as I’m finally ready and heading out the door. As I take a big sip from my thermos, the lid entirely falls off, sloshing coffee down the front of my clothes and all over the floor and kitchen cabinets for good measure.
“God fucking damn it, fucking son of a bitch!” I shout into the air.
Now I’m starting to think this is a sign from the universe that I’m not supposed to go out tonight.
Gremlins are clearly following me, wreaking havoc, trying to get me to stay home.
Maybe I should text Chrissy and tell her the date’s off.
The planets aren’t aligned today, and at this rate, I’m afraid something worse will happen if I keep pushing my luck.
I take a deep, grounding breath and then sigh. As much as I would love to use the excuse, I know it’s only my anxiety talking. The commitment has already been made, so I’ll see it through even if the universe is fucking with me.
I have to change clothes, and as I check the outfits I had picked out for the date, I curse to see that I’ve managed to get coffee on them as well. Fucking lovely. There’s no time, so I grab stuff at random and then hurry back downstairs.
The destruction in the kitchen blares at me like a neon sign needing attention.
I know if I don’t clean the floor and cabinets now, it’ll be a bitch to clean later, and I’ll spend the rest of the day thinking about it.
I don’t think I could handle that on top of my already raw nerves.
After shooting Luke a quick text to let him know I’ll be late, I take the time to properly wipe everything down, feeling my nervous energy dispel with each swipe of the paper towel.
Once I’m done and ready to go, I pour myself a new thermos of coffee, triple-checking that I secured the lid this time, then I’m finally on my way.