CHAPTER SEVEN — STEPHANIE
His words hang in the air between us.
I don't know.
Logically, I know it shouldn't be a big deal. He said he didn't know, which is kind of the opposite of information. But for some reason, it feels significant, like he is revealing something important. Or am I just deluding myself into thinking that I have a chance here?
I don't know what's gotten into me. Part of me hates him. His contemptuousness, his holier-than-thou attitude, but another part of me respects him. He's one of the few men who's ever said no to me, and I know he's not just doing it as a show.
It's not a performance. He actually means it when he says it. In a weird way, him not being affected by my little stunt in the maid costume made me want him more.
"Why don't you tell me, Stephanie, what you want?" he says. "A boyfriend? Husband? A friends with benefits or whatever the kids call it these days?"
I laugh.
"I don't really do that," I say.
"Oh, really?" he asks. "Then what was—"
I blush and put my head in my hands.
"Oh, Brayden? Well, I mean, I kicked him out. He was obnoxious."
"Oh."
I notice a smug smile on his face, and I can't help but feel satisfied. I like it when he's pleased with me.
"So you didn't—" he says.
"Oh God, no," I say.
"Well, then why did you bring him over?"
I shrug.
"I don't know. I was bored. It was a hard week."
The waitress comes by and gives us our drinks. He smiles at her, then looks back at me, and starts talking again.
"Stephanie," he says, looking disapproving. "You know that's not the way."
I sigh.
"I know, I know. It's hard though, dealing with stress and school."
He sighs.
"I know, sweetheart," he says.
He rests one of his hands on mine, and I feel that electric spark again, but he pulls it back much too soon.
Without thinking, I grab his hand again, holding it this time.
He looks at it, at our hands. I look at his face and notice him swallow.
God, I would give anything to know what he's thinking right now.
"I understand being stressed about school, Stephanie," he says, after removing his hand, which I'll admit disappoints me. "But you really have to find better outlets for your stress. I mean, that vaping, it's not—"
"I know, I know," I say, rolling my eyes. "It's bad for my health."
"Young lady," he says, "don't roll your eyes at me."
He looks at me with that stern look again, and I feel my stomach flutter.
"Or what?" I say.
I can't help it.
He starts to open his mouth, but then thinks better of it and takes a swig of his drink instead.
He takes another swig of his drink, pulls out his phone, and starts texting.
"You know, it's rude to text at the table," I say, raising my eyebrows.
"Watch your tone with me, young lady," he says.
I roll my eyes again and take a sip of my drink. Still, I have to say, I'm super curious about who he's texting.
He's also the old-school type who would never do that, because it's rude. It's probably something important.
He stares at his phone for a few more seconds, then gets up.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," he says. "Oh, and can you ask for the bill when the waitress comes by?"
I nod, mystified, and watch him walk away.