Chapter Ten
My palms are sweating. I stand in the entryway staring at them. I can’t wipe them on my dress. I can’t go out with him with sweaty palms either. I run to my bathroom and wash them, then douse my hands in coconut hand lotion. That should do it.
The door buzzes and my shoulders tense. I flap my hands because now they’re just greasy instead of clammy. My heart is thudding. I catch my reflection in the mirror.
My hair is curled, make-up looks natural but pretty, and the dress Brooke loaned me is casual but sexy. I didn’t want to go overboard, so I’ve paired it with flats instead of the heels Brooke suggested.
“You can do this,” I tell myself.
And after a couple more breaths, I leave the safety of my bathroom and head to the front door. I’m about to walk through when I remember he is still down there not knowing I’m having a mini freak out. I hit the intercom and let him know I’m on my way down without waiting for a response .
I lock the door, double checking it before I head to the elevator. I paid to get better locks put on the door when I moved in. The landlord didn’t care, so long as I was paying.
My stomach flutters again as the elevator reaches the ground floor. “It’s just dinner,” I whisper to myself. “No pressure.”
Joey is waiting in the lobby when I step out of the elevator. He’s talking to the doorman, they’re both laughing, and the doorman has one hand on Joey’s upper arm, clapping it like he’s congratulating him on something. I take a moment to collect myself. And to take him in.
He’s wearing dark blue jeans that mold to his thighs like a second skin. The cornflower blue shirt is tucked in, showing off a brown leather belt with a small silver buckle. The color sets off his eyes. Because yes, it’s his eyes I’m looking at, not his enormous arms, the broad shoulders and tapered waist.
My cheeks flush and an unfamiliar, distant sensation throbs between my legs. I let out a small squeak. It’s not the first time I’ve had dirty thoughts about Joey, but it’s the first time my body has reacted so strongly to the idea of him getting very up close and personal with mine.
“Hey.”
Joey is now focused on me. His eyes sweep up and down my body, and I try not to fidget. I look amazing. I know this. Clearly he thinks so too because his grin widens and he steps around the doorman, like he’s forgotten all about him. Joey stops in front of me, a good distance between us that I wish he would close. But I get why he is doing it.
He’s very respectful of my boundaries. With a fortifying breath, I take a step closer to him. His brow lifts a little, but still neither of us touch.
“You look beautiful,” he says. He shifts a little like he doesn’t know what to do next. “Shall we go?”
“Thank you. Lead the way,” I smile .
I don’t want him to be nervous. So I need to stop being nervous and projecting that on to him. Joey is not a nervous person and me making him feel that way is not how I want this night to go.
What does it mean that he is nervous?
I’m reading way too much into this. It’s just dinner. We’re just friends. But he looks so smart, and I’ve made an effort to look nice too. This isn’t casual. I’m deluding myself into thinking it is.
Brooke’s words filter into my head as we head out to his truck.
“You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, but if you’re comfortable, don’t be scared to show him you’re interested. Don’t think about what you should do on a date. Just be present, be yourself. And have fun.”
I’d asked her not to tell our other friends. Not because I don’t trust them, because I’m still not sure what this is yet. And I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. Or let anyone down. That is always in the back of my head. Disappointing people terrifies me.
It’s a different fear now. I want people to see me getting better, and if I freak out about Joey, then they’ll think there is something still wrong with me.
If Brooke could hear my thoughts, she’d kick my ass.
“Meg?”
I’m standing in the middle of the street like an idiot. I almost say sorry but smile and head over. Joey holds the door for me until I’m inside, then he closes it and hurries round to the driver’s side.
In my whole life, no one has ever done that for me before. Stereotyping people is something I try not to do, but I never would have thought Joey could behave so gentlemanly. This whole thing is so foreign to me, but I’m going to do what Brooke said. Enjoy it.
“So there is something I should tell you,” Joey says as he starts up the engine.
My nerves race as I face him. He’s leaning one elbow on the center of the steering wheel, his body angled towards me. I can’t help but notice how far back his seat is, so his long legs can fit. He is so big. So masculine, and he smells divine.
“My family owns the restaurant where we’re going.”
I snap out of the Joey appreciation haze. “Really? That’s good, right?”
He makes a pained sound. “It is, and it isn’t. I mean, the food is excellent, the place is spotless, you can’t fault the service. It’s just,” he rubs the back of his neck. “My aunt is a bit… Extra.”
I grin at how awkward he looks. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“She’s nosy, overbearing, and I should have taken you somewhere else.” He shakes his head and looks through the windshield.
“Relax, I’m sure it will be fine, Joey. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Just promise you won’t walk out halfway through dinner, and I’ll consider it a win.”
“Now you’re freaking me out.”
He laughs, and it sounds strained. I don’t want to start this off on the wrong foot, and I’m sure he’s exaggerating. So what if his family is a little intrusive? It shows they care.
Tentatively, I reach over and touch his forearm. Joey’s eyes lower to where my hand rests.
When he looks back at me, the surprise morphs into a radiant smile.
“It’ll be fine,” I reassure him.
He starts the car and mumbles under his breath, but I hear what he says. ‘Famous last words’.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” I tell him for the fifth time after an overzealous Aunt Angelina has set our appetizers down on the table. She’s finally left us alone.
“She shouldn’t have hugged you. Not without consent. ”
“You say it like she tried to strangle me, not greet me,” I shake out my napkin.
I’m surprised as anyone that I didn’t flip out when his aunt pulled me into a hug. I don’t do physical contact. Not without plenty of warning and trust. But she was so fast, neither me nor Joey could prevent the crushing hug.
She held me at arms-length, studied me and nodded before winking at Joey and stepping out of my personal space.
When I look up at Joey, his mouth is partly open, and I replay what I just said. My cheeks burn. I’m not usually that careless with what I say, especially when I know it will make people uncomfortable. I made a comment like that so flippantly, I didn’t think about the connotations behind it. My therapist would say that is progress.
“Well,” Joey clears his throat. “She should have got it out of her system now. If she comes over again, I’ll ask her to give us some space.”
“Honestly, it’s fine,” I assure him. The food looks and smells delicious. If it tastes as good as it looks, then Aunt Angelina will be forgiven.
I ask him about his aunt and the restaurant, and he fills me in on how they’re relatives of the family friend who took him in when he lost his family. He talks about them like they’re his real family though, which is nice.
If Angelina’s reaction to him is anything to go by, they consider him family too. I enjoy listening to him talk about them all, how his life changed when he was seventeen and moved in with Dixon.
He is being careful about asking me about my family life and I find myself wanting to tell him.
“My story is kind of similar, a little,” I tell him.
Joey has finished his meal already. The guy certainly knows how to put his food away, even while talking my ear off. He wipes his mouth and leans forward, his full attention on me .
“My grandparents raised me. Dad was a soldier. He went away to Afghanistan when he was eighteen, not knowing mom was pregnant with me. When he found out, he was already tied in to serving his tour and couldn’t leave without getting in trouble.”
“What happened?” Joey asks when I don’t go on.
“He was part of a convoy that was bombed. His injuries were catastrophic. Wheelchair bound and with a severe brain disorder. I’m not sure of all the technical terms. He didn’t remember anything from before. Not mom. He vaguely recognized his parents.
"The only person he remembered was his younger brother, but he still thinks of him as being a little kid and finds it hard to correlate the older man with his little brother. He lives in an assisted home in Washington. He’s been there since the accident.”
“Wow, Meg, I’m sorry, that’s tough.”
“I met him a few times, but he was childlike, and unable to remember things that happened just a few hours earlier. My uncle introduced me to him three times the first time I visited. And every time I went again, he forgot who I was. It was hard, as a kid, but my grandparents were amazing with me.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s still around. I see her from time to time, but she… lost her way when dad got hurt.”
I won’t elaborate on that. Mom went through a seriously tough time for a lot of years, and I was placed with my grandparents for safety. Eventually she got better, but I’d been living with her mom and dad for so long, everyone decided it was better for me to stay there. I give Joey a very watered-down version of those events and he doesn’t push me for more information.
We never stray anywhere near how things got started with Michael. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to talk about that with anyone other than my therapist.
We change topics to how Joey fell into fighting and went from underground, illegal fights to being trained professionally. He’s hesitant at first, but I ask lots of questions and coax more out of him.
I want to know how someone can make a career out of fighting. His motivation isn’t what I thought it would be. He enjoys it, but not because he wants to hurt people. He sees it as a sport. A discipline he takes seriously.
In fact, he’s animated when he talks about it. Telling me how much he loves it, how it challenges him and makes him a better person, both mentally and physically. And it’s what he was born to do.
Hearing him explain it sets me at ease the more I listen to him. He could be an ass who enjoys beating the crap out of his opponent, but he only fights people evenly matched with him, people who respect one another in and out of the ring. It’s a side to boxing I never knew existed.
Some of his stories about how bad he was at the start have me laughing and when he tells me about his first professional win, there is pride in his voice. I wish there was something in my life I was that passionate about. But I never had much opportunity to follow my dreams.
When Angelina brings us out a complimentary tiramisu, I’m so stuffed I couldn’t eat anything else. Joey uses his spoon to have me taste it, just one bite, he says.
My whole body burns as he leans towards me to feed me the food. And his eyes dip to my mouth when I lick my lips after swallowing the small bite.
The air around is suddenly a lot more charged than it was when we first got here. Brooke said I would know if there was chemistry. If Joey was interested in me, it would be obvious. Although I didn’t believe her at the time, I get it now. His eyes hold mine, and again, like it often does when I’m in his presence, everything around us disappears.
It scares me. But it feels nice too. Having his undivided attention. He’s barely looked away or been distracted the whole time we’ve been here. I’ve been his sole focus. We’ve talked and laughed, it’s been an amazing night.
My stomach is fluttering at the thought of what will happen when he takes me home. Although I don’t want the night to end, not yet.
Then he says something that has me wanting to sink to the ground and hide underneath the table.
“So, Meg. Why did you steal my t-shirt?”