Chapter 16
EDEN
I stareat Danny’s name in my text messages, my stomach doing backflips. Why am I so nervous to text him? I normally text him after his Dream Dates to see how they went. Or he comes over and tells me about it—for work purposes.
I groan and fall back on to the couch so I’m lying down. There’s no use lying to myself. I know why I’m nervous.
Because of our almost-kiss the other night. That’s definitely throwing things off at the moment. Up until this point, I’ve been able to act normal around Danny, despite thinking he’s super-hot. I’ve thought he was super-hot since I was a teenager, so that’s nothing new.
What’s new is that we were on the brink of kissing, and that’s definitely changed how I’m acting around him. Right now, all I can think about is that almost-kiss, how I wish Cruz hadn’t come over so Danny and I could have had a proper kiss, and whatever else would have unfolded after that…
I immediately cut off the thought. Danny is technically my employee. I’m scumbag of the year for even allowing things to get to the point of almost kissing. And now I’m fantasizing about him?
“Real classy, Eden.”
With that silent mental scolding of myself, the tangle of nerves in my stomach dissipates. I quickly type out a text.
So? How did it go? Did Danny the douchebag leave a memorable impression?
When he texts less than a minute later, my stomach does a somersault. Damn my body and how much it likes Danny.
Danny: I definitely did. The night ended with her dad kicking me out of the house and threatening to have me killed if I so much as look at his daughter ever again.
Me: Whoa. Maximum drama. Well done!
Danny: Haha pretty much. Laura put on a good show of standing by my side and leaving with me. She was so giddy in the car. She played her parents perfectly. The plan is for her to tell them next week that we broke up and then a few months after that introduce her actual boyfriend to them.
Me: Aww yay! Happy endings for all! Well done, Douchebag Danny! My only regret is that I couldn’t see you in action.
Danny: If only you could see the shirt I wore to dinner.
Danny: Actually, are you doing anything? I know we sometimes meet up at your apartment to go over post-date stuff, but you wanna grab a drink? Change things up a little.
I’m biting my lip like a giddy high-schooler who’s been asked out by her crush.
Get a grip, Eden. This is strictly work-related.
Me: That sounds great. Where do you want to go?
* * *
“Oh my god, you didn’t!”
“I did.”
My head falls back as I burst out laughing. I almost fall off the stool I’m sitting on. Danny reaches his arm out to steady me from the barstool next to me, but I right myself.
“I can’t believe you slapped Laura’s ass in front of her parents.”
He takes a long swig of his whiskey before asking the bartender for another. “What can I say? Douchebag Danny goes hard.”
For the past hour, we’ve been laughing about Danny’s date while sipping our drinks. As I drink my whiskey on the rocks, I quietly reflect on how this is the best time I’ve had with a guy in a long, long time. Better than any date I’ve had recently.
I banish away the thought. This isn’t “pine for Danny like a creep” hour. This is a fun chat about work.
“You couldn’t be a douchebag even if you tried, Danny.” I tell the bartender thank you when he tops off my whiskey. “Even in high school when you were on the baseball team and every girl was swooning hard for you. You were still the sweetest, least-douchebag guy ever.”
He chuckles, his face in perfect profile as I look at him. Even in the dim lighting of this dive bar, Danny’s beauty is apparent. He’s the best-looking guy in this place—in any place.
That’s definitely not pining. That’s just stating a fact.
“I doubt that,” he says. “I’m sure I didn’t even register on the radar of most of the people we went to school with.”
“God, listen to you. So modest. No wonder everyone was in love with you.”
Danny shakes his head, his smile fading. “Not everyone.”
The corners of his mouth turn down as his expression tinges on sad. And that’s when I realize what he must be talking about. His ex.
For a second, I’m not sure if I should ask. It would definitely come off as prying. But in this moment, when I’m two whiskeys deep and curious as hell, I say the one thing I’ve been wanting to say to him ever since we got back in touch.
“Your ex is out of her mind for cheating on you.”
I brace myself for him to tell me off, to say that it’s none of my business or that he’s not in the mood to talk about it. But he surprises me by aiming the most heartened and shocked stare.
“Thanks for that.”
I nod. “Sorry. I don’t mean to bring up something so painful for you.”
He gazes down at his glass. “No, it’s okay. It’s good to talk about it. I, uh, honestly haven’t talked about my breakup much ever since it happened. Other than to my parents, of course, when I asked to move back in with them. But even then, I gave them an abbreviated version.”
“You can give me whatever version you want, Danny. Uncensored, profanity-laden, the ugly truth. Promise I won’t judge.”
A smile tugs at his mouth before it fades. “Honestly, it’s such a cliché. We loved each other a lot for a long time. But then we just grew apart. She was into all the things I wasn’t. Money, status, climbing the career ladder, all that. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want to make a good living. I want to enjoy my job and earn enough money to have a stable life, save for retirement and vacations, all that. But I don’t care about it the way she did. She’s driven, which is great, but it almost felt like she could never be satisfied. She’d get promoted or get a raise, and she wouldn’t even let herself be happy about it. She’d immediately be focused on the next goal to achieve.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was,” he says. “And I could tell she was disappointed that my career wasn’t as impressive as hers.”
The urge to defend Danny kicks in. “Teaching is such an important profession, Danny. You educate people for a living. You’re an artist. You help show people that you can make a living out of being creative. That’s admirable and important.”
He looks stunned when I finish speaking. “No one’s ever said that about me and my work. Thanks, Eden. That means?—”
Just then, my phone blares. When I see it’s my mom calling, I groan.
“Sorry. It’s my mom. I should take this.”
“Of course,” he tells me
“Hi, Mom.”
“Anak! Hello! Cruz just told your dad and me the good news!”
“What good news?”
“About your new coding job. How wonderful! It sounds a lot more lucrative than what you were doing before. Bartending, was it? Or waitressing? Something like that, right?”
Mom makes a scoffing noise, which sends a pang of irritation through me. “You know, Mom, a job is a job. It shouldn’t matter how lucrative it is or isn’t. Every job is important.”
“Oh yes, anak. Of course,” she says in her trademark dismissive tone that signals she’s only half-listening. “We just think it’s great that you’re doing a job that’s actually related to the field you’re studying. It shows such maturity and good business sense.”
“Right.” Part of me wants to blurt that my actual job involves orchestrating fake dates for people. I wonder just how mature and professional she’d think that is.
“There’s another reason I’m calling, anak. As you probably know, my and your dad’s wedding anniversary is coming up. The big thirty.”
“That’s great, Mom. Congrats.”
“We want to celebrate with a party. Be sure to block out Saturday the twenty-fourth, okay? It’ll be a fancy event too at the Porter Hotel. Be sure to wear something formal and pretty. You never dress up, which is a shame. You look so much prettier when you take the time to do yourself up a little bit.”
I hold in a groan. I hate dressing up.
“Oh, and anak, be sure that whatever you wear, it has sleeves. To cover your tattoo. And take out your nose ring too. It’s not proper for an event like that.”
I bite my tongue to keep from going off. I know my straitlaced parents don’t care for piercings and tattoos, and that’s totally fine. They have a right to dislike whatever they want. But for them to make requests about my physical appearance makes me want to rage. It’s so pointlessly vain. And for Mom to call me “anak,” her favorite Filipino term of endearment, while she low-key insults me irks me even more. I can’t stand it when she tries to sugar-coat her disapproval.
“Look, Mom. I’ll make this real easy for you and Dad: I won’t be coming to your anniversary party if you’re going to make me take out my piercing and cover my tattoo.”
I don’t miss the way Danny’s brow raises at what I just said.
A heavy sigh rockets from Mom’s end of the line. “Anak, why do you have to be so difficult about this? It’s a simple request.”
“Bye, Mom,” I snap and hang up, shoving my phone back in my purse.
“Good talk?” Danny says, wincing.
“Ha. Just my mom telling me for the millionth time how much she hates my nose ring and my tattoo.”
He offers a sympathetic look before that half-smile I adore appears. “For what it’s worth, I’m a fan of piercings. And your tattoos. They look really, really good on you.”
I probably shouldn’t perk up as much as I do at what Danny said. I shouldn’t let other people’s preferences dictate how I feel about myself. But it feels damn good to know that Danny likes the way I look. Especially after hearing all those nitpicky insults from my mom about my appearance.
She and my dad have always been like that, though. Ever since I can remember, they’ve been concerned about status and appearance. I think back to how even in kindergarten, my mom always made sure that my outfits matched and that my hair was done in a cute style. And how as I got older and tried to establish my own style, it led to countless arguments with my parents.
“You always look amazing, Eden. Always.” Danny’s softly spoken words slice into my memory bank, leaving me feeling flattered and giddy all at once.
I tell him thanks and hope my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels.
He narrows his gaze at me and smiles, like he’s just thought of something. “You wanna get out of here? I have an idea.”
I drain my drink, toss cash on the counter, and hop off my barstool. “Let’s go.”