18. Crickets #2
I have no idea if my brother is here yet, or who the heck the Comptons are, or who else is supposed to be joining us for dinner, but I’ll take my chances introducing myself to a table of strangers.
I more or less speed walk down the hallway to the restaurant, not caring that I don’t even know what name the reservation was made under.
Thankfully, I don’t need to, because my brother flags me down as soon as I step inside The Riverside Restaurant.
Not so thankfully, he’s sitting at one of the larger tables reserved for a dozen guests…
with an identical table pushed up beside it, making our little dinner into a monstrously long party that spans a good section of the room.
I’ve never understood doing this. Once you’re seated, you can’t talk to at least half of the other attendees, but that might play out in my favor.
The fewer people I have to talk to means, the fewer opportunities I have to make some kind of faux pas.
I join Derek at the end of the long makeshift table, lessening those numbers even more. Small victories.
Despite my brother being an extrovert, he’s not too fond of the company Dad and Blythe keep, so it’s obvious he wants to limit his and Lauren’s own social interactions tonight.
I see a couple of people from my periphery approaching, and a few seconds later, my sister rounds the table and sits on the other end.
I assume the guy coming over to us is one of Blythe’s other guests, but after sharing a quick “hello” and “congratulations” with my brother, the stranger extends his hand to me in greeting.
I find myself blinking several times, trying to digest the words he’s just said, because they make absolutely no sense.
Because he introduces himself as Vanessa’s boyfriend .
It’s not that my sister is averse to dating or anything.
It’s just that Vanessa has a type. And Luke, here, isn’t it.
Not even remotely. Every guy Vanessa has dated or even been crushing on is always tall, slender, and rated high on the “pretty boy” spectrum.
So color me surprised to see Luke is a couple inches shy of six feet with a handsome face tipping heavily into the “rugged, tough guy” territory.
Even with the casual dress clothes covering his body, they can’t conceal the blatant muscles underneath.
Yeah, the guy is much less Timothée Chalamet and more MMA fighter, with a physique that screams, “ I can break every bone in your body!”
Unlike Vanessa, who acts like I’m not here, Luke is cordial and offers me a smile before heading over to his girlfriend.
I steal a glance at Derek who just shrugs, looking as confused by the pairing as I am.
The two play basketball together once a week through a men’s park district league, and as far as Derek can tell, Luke’s a really nice, normal guy, save for the fact that his father founded some multi-billion dollar software company back in the day.
Which is all the more befuddling.
Vanessa likes the “cultured” type, who goes to the ballet, speaks French, and has been to The Pinacoteca di Brera.
That kind of man would never dare venture anywhere near the south end of town, too disgusted by the “decadent Philistines” running amuck.
Instead, Derek mentions that Luke is a regular at Castelli’s and knows Nico.
My brain is apparently too busy trying to compute these details that I don’t notice Blythe is here until her voice comes from directly behind me. And like the jittery mess that I am, I jump and whirl around with a look that says I expect to see her brandishing a steak knife at me.
Blythe offers a cold smile, evidently trying not to roll her eyes as she starts literally shooing Derek and me down the table. She does the same to Vanessa and Luke, insisting we all sit in the center so that everyone has a better chance of speaking with us.
Because of course.
Derek and Luke make a good show of it, but my sister and I pretty much drag our feet until we reach the middle, where Blythe rearranges our seating placements.
Derek is forced to the other side of the table beside our father and Lauren (whenever she arrives), and Vanessa and I are made to sit next to each other while Blythe takes the other seat beside our dad.
To pour salt into the wound, our stepmom side-eyes me as she mutters something to Vanessa about my dress, and my sister simply shrugs.
The exchange is more than a little weird, and by Blythe’s expression, it’s obvious she isn’t the one who lent me what I’m wearing.
I want to thank Vanessa, but she won’t even look in my direction and appears all too relieved when the Comptons, a couple in their late forties, arrive.
A few minutes later, some more of Blythe’s friends and their husbands join us, and I just keep praying someone will take the free seat next to me before the remaining party members arrive.
Or rather one in particular, but my plea goes unanswered as I spot Lauren, already knowing who will be strolling in behind her.
“Sorry,” she says under her breath to my brother as she takes the seat beside him. “My car was acting up again. Is Jase here?”
The tightness in my chest eases as Derek shakes his head, and she sighs, looking at her watch. Jase isn’t technically late yet, but with the way Blythe is stealing continual glances at the restaurant’s entrance, the two are obviously both nervous about him showing up, albeit for different reasons.
“I saw his bike in the lot. He’s probably at the bar,” Derek reassures her.
Lauren whispers something I can’t hear, and he reaches over to plant a kiss on her cheek before getting up from his seat, no doubt to look for the jackass.
I’m too preoccupied looking around the room, expecting to see Jase in the crowds, that I don’t realize who takes the available chair beside me.
Not until I settle back in my seat do I see the person, and my instincts are shitty at best. I immediately anticipate seeing Jase’s smug smile beaming back at me.
Only…it’s not.
I’m very much receiving that look, but it sure as heck isn’t from Jase.
It’s Patrick Bouchard.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
Like his twin sister Olivia, light-to-medium brown hair accents flawless tanned skin and light green eyes.
It makes for a striking combination, and with a perfect, porcelain white smile and lean yet muscular build, he’s never short of admirers.
Particularly the MILF variety, if the eyes currently on us are any indication.
“Well, if it isn’t our favorite Baby Birdie.
I almost didn’t recognize you.” He slings his arm over the back of my chair, and the asshole plants a kiss on my cheek.
Every instinct in me screams to claw out his eyes and tongue before scrubbing my face with bleach, but from anyone else’s perspective, it probably looks like he’s being affectionate, greeting an old friend.
That’s the thing about Patrick. He has that quintessential All-American charm that could rival any teen heartthrob.
Everybody knows he’s a shameless flirt, but he has a way about him that makes it seem playful rather than smarmy.
Unless you’ve seen his uglier side. Now, all I can see is an artfully placed mask of the creep hidden beneath.
Even worse, I see my dad has left the table, his back turned to us as he’s lost in conversation with one of his former football colleagues, and Blythe is all but throwing visual daggers at me, the message implicit.
Don’t you dare make a scene.
Patrick didn’t even directly participate in “the incident,” as Blythe always referred to it, so if I slap him or flat-out run from the restaurant, it will only make me look crazier in the eyes of my father and sister, winning me absolutely zero brownie points.
“Awww, but how could I ever forget that lovely face?” The asshole chucks me under the chin, and, once again, it sounds playful and even admiring, when in reality he’s referring to the glare I’m leveling at him.
When Mrs. Compton asks how we know each other, Patrick is fast on the uptake, declaring that I’m “the one who got away.” The ladies at the table giggle their idiotic heads off, except my sister who’s whispering something to her boyfriend.
Thank God someone’s hand claps down on Patrick’s shoulder, but where I was hoping it would be my brother’s, the voice confirms the exact opposite. “I believe that’s my seat.”
Patrick and I both turned to see it’s none other than Jase, and just as the former begins to announce his arrival with a certain name starting with R-I-V, Blythe raises her voice loud enough to drown out the rest as she declares, “This is Lauren’s brother, Jase.”
And she just keeps talking like that, making sure he doesn’t get the chance to introduce himself properly as he shakes everyone’s hand at the table. Jase looks equal parts annoyed and like he might laugh because, to anyone actually paying attention, it looks weird.
Almost as weird as Jase appearing out of nowhere.
Seriously, he didn’t come through the entrance to the restaurant, and the only other way is from off the terrace.
The view looks out onto the golf course, and seeing what he’s wearing, he sure as hell isn’t coming back from there.
Jase may be in head-to-toe black and wearing a button-up dress shirt, but he’s still wearing jeans.
The country club’s dress code strictly forbids blue jeans, and though wearing black ones isn’t against the rules, it is still frowned upon.
But never are you under any condition supposed to wear denim out on the golf course. Ever.
So what the hell was Jase doing? Slinking along the side of the building for shits and giggles? I look to the terrace door where I suspect he just came through, only to find a certain someone stepping through it.
“Ali.” Wes’s face immediately lights up when he sees me, and he excuses himself from his fellow golfers as the other guys go to find a table.