23. Corey
23
COREY
S weat drips down my back as I jog up the curved driveway, my shoes crunching against the gravel. The front door's already unlocked, and the mouth-watering smell of bacon hits me before I even step inside the cool air-conditioned foyer.
"About damn time. Your food's getting cold."
Donovan lounges at my kitchen island, demolishing what looks like half the menu from Annie's Diner. His plate is loaded with eggs, hash browns, and enough bacon to feed a small army. Classic Donovan, treating my house like his personal playground.
"Make yourself at home, why don't you?" I grab a water from the fridge, gulping down half the bottle in one go. My workout shirt clings uncomfortably to my skin.
"Someone had to check if you were still alive. Two weeks, man. Two Taco Tuesdays." He points his fork at me accusingly, though the hint of concern in his eyes doesn't escape my notice.
"Been busy." I snag a piece of bacon from his plate, dodging his half-hearted swat at my hand. The crispy strip practically melts in my mouth - Annie's always did make the best bacon in town.
"Get your own plate, asshole. And yeah, I heard about your little speakeasy adventure with Seth. Didn't think you had it in you anymore, old man." Donovan's smirk is equal parts amusement and judgment, the kind only a lifelong friend can get away with.
I grab a clean plate from my cabinet and load it with scrambled eggs, trying to ignore the knowing look he's giving me. "Thanks for bringing all this. It's complicated." The word feels inadequate for the mess I've gotten myself into, but it's all I can offer right now.
"When isn't it with you? Seth mentioned the girl's been distant." He settles back in his chair, crossing his muscled arms over his dark henley. The gesture reminds me of all the times he's listened to my problems over the years.
"Abbie." Her name is there suddenly, and I hate how much weight it carries. "And yeah, she's barely responding to texts." Her last message - just a simple 'okay' - sits heavy in my mind.
"Plus your kid's latest scheme?" Donovan raises an eyebrow, reminding me that my personal life isn't the only fire I'm trying to put out.
I groan, rubbing my temple where a headache is starting to form. "Kid wants to go back to school. Claims he's turning over a new leaf." The words feel hollow, like every other promise my son has made over the years.
"Let me guess - Daddy's funding this age of enlightenment?" Seth's tone carries that knowing edge I've grown tired of hearing from my friends.
"When isn't he?" The eggs taste like sawdust in my mouth, and I push the plate away. "At least it's better than bailing him out of impound lots." Or drunk tanks, or covering his bounced checks at bars - the list of past disasters seems endless.
"You're too soft on him." Donovan's blunt assessment hits a nerve, probably because he's right. He's always been the one to call me out on my parenting mishaps.
"What choice do I have? Can't exactly tell him no when he's finally showing interest in something besides partying." Even as I say it, I know how weak it sounds. Twenty-five years of making excuses for my son weighs heavy on my conscience.
"Sure you can. It's called tough love." Donovan pushes a fresh coffee my way, the gesture softening his harsh words. The rich aroma at least promises to be better than my abandoned breakfast.
"Remember when life was simple?" Donovan takes a long sip from his own cup. "Get drunk, fuck around, wake up with a hangover and zero consequences?"
"God, those were the days." The memories of college hit - endless parties, rotating bedmates, no responsibilities. "Now I've got a son who thinks ATMs print money and a girl half my age ghosting me."
"About that. What exactly happened with her?"
My fork scrapes against the plate. "Seth and I... we shared her."
"Shared?" Donovan's look is skeptical. "Like back in college?"
"Yeah. She seemed into it at the time. But now..."
"Now what?"
"Radio silence. Few text responses here and there, but that's it."
"Have you actually seen her since?"
"No." The admission stings.
"You're a fucking moron." Donovan tosses his napkin at me. "You tag-teamed some young thing with Seth and then what - expected her to just bounce back like nothing happened?"
"I didn't want to pressure her."
"So instead you're hiding in your house eating cold eggs? Christ, you've gotten really pathetic in your old age."
"Damn." I push the cold eggs around my plate. "When did I turn into such a pussy?"
"Around the time you started overthinking everything." Donovan pulls out his phone. "Listen, Mindy and I are hitting up that new steakhouse downtown tomorrow night. Why don't you bring your girl?"
"She's not my-"
"Shut up. Text her. Right now."
"A double date?" My stomach knots. "I don't know..."
"What's the worst that could happen? She says no?" Donovan kicks my chair. "At least you'll know where you stand. Better than sitting here wondering if she regrets everything."
He's right. Of course he's right. I grab my phone, staring at our last text exchange from three days ago.
"For fuck's sake." Donovan grabs my phone. "Give me that before you spend another hour crafting the perfect message."
"Hey!" I lunge for it but he turns away.
Dinner tomorrow night at Morton's, 8PM? My friend and his date will join us. No pressure, just good food and company . He hits send before I can stop him. "There. Done."
The message shows as delivered. My heart dances like I'm sixteen asking out my first crush.
"Now was that so hard?" Donovan slides my phone back. "You're welcome, by the way."
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Yes, that sounds nice. Thank you for asking.
I release a shaky breath, taking another long draw from my coffee cup. "Christ, could you have warned me before putting me through that?"
"See?" Donovan grins. "Sometimes the direct approach works best."
My stomach churns as I stare at Abbie's message. What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to this?
"Stop obsessing." Donovan stands, collecting our empty plates. "You look like you're planning your own funeral."
"A double date? With you and Mindy?" I rub my temples. "She's going to take one look at us and bolt."
"What - afraid we'll cramp your style?" He loads the dishwasher with practiced ease. "Or worried I'll tell her about that time in Cabo when you-"
"Don't you dare."
"Relax." He claps my shoulder. "Mindy's great at putting people at ease. And Morton's is neutral territory - public enough she won't feel trapped, private enough for actual conversation."
The coffee's gone cold in my cup. "What if she asks about Seth?"
"Then be honest. You're all adults." He checks his watch. "Speaking of which, I've got to head out. Client meeting in thirty."
"Wait-" Panic rises in the back of my throat. "What do I even wear?"
"Jesus Christ, Mary." Donovan rolls his eyes. "Wear whatever you want - just don't look like you're trying too hard. See you tomorrow."
"Thanks, asshat."
He's gone before I can spiral into more questions, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a kitchen that smells like bacon. Tomorrow feels both too close and impossibly far away. What am I doing? This isn't some college fling or business dinner. This is Abbie - young, beautiful Abbie who deserves better than some middle-aged man's midlife crisis.
She texts again.
Should I dress up?
My fingers hover over the keys. Keep it casual, don't overthink. Morton's is pretty casual. Wear whatever makes you comfortable.
Looking forward to it, she replies, and those three words shouldn't make my heart race like this.
I'm so screwed.