2. Reid
TWO
REID
I had plans to head back to my apartment thirty minutes ago, but I haven’t been able to pull myself away from this woman.
She’s funny. Quick-witted and smart. Gorgeous and a total knockout.
And when she dropped a comic book title into casual conversation like she was talking about the weather?
My heart almost fell out of my chest.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I have a dopey smile on my face or big cartoon heart eyes. If Dallas and Maverick, my two best friends, could see me, I’m sure they’d give me hell for grinning so hard.
I don’t even care that she probably lied about her name. The silver necklace with the letter A resting against her collarbone tells me Claire isn’t what she normally goes by, but I don’t give a shit.
I motion to her empty glass. “Can I get you another drink?”
“A drink sounds great.” She smiles big and bright. There’s a dimple on her left cheek. I noticed it the first time she laughed, and it’s as distracting as the bright red lipstick on her mouth. “What are you having?”
“Gin and tonic, which I realize isn’t as badass as your whiskey neat.”
“Thank my father,” Not Claire says. “It was his drink of choice, and I’ve taken it upon myself to carry on the family tradition. At least three fingers. No ice. It’s the only way.”
“Shit.” I run my hand through my hair at her use of the past tense. “I feel like a dick for bringing up a hurtful memory, and I’m sorry for your loss.”
“He passed a long time ago. Therapy is a game changer, and I like talking about him.”
“Cheers to paying people to sort through our shit so we don’t have to do it alone.”
“You go to therapy?” She quirks a playful brow. “Care to share what for?”
“My childhood wasn’t particularly fun,” I say. “My dad wanted me to play baseball. I wanted to sit in front of a computer and learn to code. Add in yelling and being told I wasn’t man enough because I didn’t know how to put on a baseball glove, and there’s a lot to unpack.”
“Shit,” she echoes. “Now I’m sorry.”
“Call it even?”
“Okay.” She smiles again. “If you say so.”
The bartender comes over, and we order another round of drinks. Once we’re topped off with fresh alcohol, she raises her glass in my direction.
“What are we toasting?” I ask.
“To nights ending better than they started,” Not Claire says, and she clinks her drink against mine.
“That’s a little premature. I still have time to ruin your evening.”
“Not possible.” She hides her grin with a sip of the amber liquid. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.”
“How’d you end up here in the first place?”
“Dating app fail. You don’t want to hear the whole story. I’ll sound pathetic.”
“Try me,” I say.
“One night, I was feeling lonely after a couple glasses of wine and a night out with friends who are in relationships. I downloaded the dating app where I matched with Tweedledee, agreed to meet up with him, ingested mozzarella sticks that I’m sure are going to give me food poisoning, and now I’m here talking to you.”
“If you end up with your head in a toilet, I’ll hold your hair back,” I tell her.
“Go on. Tell me I’m pathetic.”
“I won’t. I understand the loneliness.”
“You do?” she asks.
“Yeah. I used to be the guy who was always in a long-term relationship while my buddies avoided commitment and fucked around. I was even engaged once upon a time. Somehow, in a weird twist of fate, my two best friends are locked down in serious partnerships with women they adore, and I’m the one who is single. I thought I’d be the first one to get hitched. Had my vows written and everything. Now I’m not sure it’ll ever happen.”
“I don’t know about marriage, but it would be nice to find someone to have a decent conversation with. Like this.” Not Claire gestures between us. “This is tolerable.”
“Every man loves to hear he’s tolerable.”
She nudges my side and gives me a pretty smile. “You know what I mean. Why couldn’t you have been on the other end of the dating app?”
“I don’t do dating apps.”
“You don’t?”
“I like to keep my private life private.”
“Do you work for the CIA?” she asks.
“No, but I did almost hack into their database when I was a teenager,” I say. “How about I tell you one of my bad date stories to make you feel better?”
“I’m offended it took you so long to offer,” Not Claire says.
“I was getting back into dating after a breakup, and I had been seeing this girl for a couple weeks. She invited me to her place, and when we got upstairs, she excused herself to the bathroom to freshen up. She told me she started her period and needed tampons, so I said I’d grab her a box from the drugstore down the street.” I swirl my drink around in my glass, reminiscing. “So I get there, pay for the tampons, and head back to her apartment. When I walked inside, she was making out with a very naked guy on the couch. At first, I thought it might be a threesome thing, but then I found out that in the fifteen minutes I was gone, her ex-boyfriend had shown up from out of town, begged her to take him back, and ended up bare-assed where I had been sitting minutes before.”
“Oh my god.” Her eyes widen. “You went out and bought tampons for her and she repaid you by straddling her ex-boyfriend? What did you do?”
“I stood there while she explained what was going on, said, ‘I got you regular and super plus.’ Then I left. I think they ended up getting married.”
“At least someone had a happily ever after. What did you do with the tampons?”
“I put them under the sink at my apartment in case anyone ever needs one. Haven’t dated since.” I chuckle and take a much-needed sip of alcohol. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes,” she says. “Between commiserating over bad dating history, the drink and the cheesecake, I feel like a new woman.” She cuts off a bite of dessert and holds the fork out to me. “Do you want some?”
“I’m actually allergic,” I say.
Her mouth pops open. “Shit. Shit . I’m so sorry. Is it airborne? Through ingestion? Why didn’t you say something? I would’ve?—”
Before I can think about what I’m doing or why I’m doing it, I lean forward and close my lips around the fork. She makes a soft sound when I lick away the crumbs, and I wonder how I could get her to make it again.
“I’m kidding,” I say. “It’s delicious.”
“You can have more if you want.”
“Only if you?—”
A cheer echoes through the bar, interrupting us. I turn my head to the door where a group of women are stumbling through. They’re wearing tiaras, sashes, and bright pink dresses. It looks like a bachelorette party, and their high-pitched screams make me wince.
“Did it just get really loud in here?” Not Claire yells, and I nod.
“Yeah.” I bend over and wrap a hand around the leg of her stool, dragging her closer to me. “There. Now I’ll be able to hear you.”
Her thigh presses into mine, and her fingers brush across my knee as she gets settled in her seat. I get a whiff of her perfume when she leans forward. It smells like the rainstorm we had two nights ago, with a hint of honey and pretty white flowers.
Hyacinths, maybe.
I like it.
“Too close?” I ask.
She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip. “Just right.”
“Good.” I reach past her and grab her drink and plate, moving them in front of her. “You’re not driving home, are you?”
“No. I took an Uber in case I needed to drown my misery with a couple of drinks. I might walk back, though. I love DC in the late summertime.”
“Are you from the area?”
“No. I moved up here a few years ago when I took a new job,” she tells me.
“A job in marketing,” I say, repeating what she told me earlier.
I’m not sure she’s being honest about her career either.
The woman is gorgeous, with long brown hair that hangs down her back and big brown eyes. Her skin is tan, her smile is soft, and there’s this presence about her. Like she can light up any room she’s in without having to try. It makes me wonder if she really spends all her time behind a computer in an office.
“When this opportunity came up, I jumped at the chance to accept it. It’s a higher profile position than what I was doing before, and I’m good at it,” she says, and I admire her confidence.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Thirty-one. How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
“What was the Great Depression like?” she teases.
“Someone has jokes,” I say.
“Consider it payback for telling me where I belong in the house.”
“I deserve that.”
The night stretches longer. The bar gets louder, and we inch closer to each other. At one point, Not Claire is almost in my lap, and when she stands up to use the bathroom, I have to rest my palm on her waist so she can slip past me.
“Sorry.” My fingers hook in the belt loop of her jeans and give a gentle tug. “I’m stuck.”
“It’s okay. Close quarters.” She folds her hand over mine. I see a tattoo on the inside of her left middle finger. It’s a sunflower, and I wonder what it means. She frees me from the denim and smiles. “There we go.”
“Thanks. Want me to order you something while you’re gone?”
“I think I’m all set,” she says, and I try my best not to look disappointed. “But maybe you’d like to walk me home?”
“Yeah.” I bob my head. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” Her eyes sparkle, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t make out with any ex-girlfriends while I’m gone. I’ll be disappointed.”
She heads for the bathroom, and when she turns a corner and disappears down the hallway to the back of the restaurant, I shove my glasses up my nose, confused.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do now. Do I kiss her? Walk slow so she understands I don’t want to say good night yet? Hint that I’d like to come up so we can talk a little more?
I grab my phone. Dallas and Maverick will have the solution. They’ll tell me what to do.
There are nearly a hundred notifications on my screen, an alarmingly high number for a Friday night. I see a dozen text messages in the group chat with my friends. Eight alerts from ESPN. A missed call from my boss and an email from Shawn Holmes, the head coach of the DC Titans football team where I work as the social media manager, with three words attached: call me asap.
I hit his contact information and tap my foot on the floor.
“Reid,” he answers. “There you are.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m out and didn’t see your email. What’s going on?”
“Busy night over here. We’re drafting a press release about a free agent we’re bringing in.”
“Wait, what ? A free agent? When did this happen? I didn’t know we were going after anyone.”
“Surprise,” Shawn says. “He had a lot of offers, so we moved fast. He’s finishing up the contract right now, and we need to be ready to announce his signing.”
“I can be home in thirty minutes, and I’ll get something up. Who is it? Must be pretty important if you’re working late on the weekend.”
“It’s Griffin Harrison.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Dead serious,” Shawn says. “His parents live in DC, and he’s signing a two-year deal with the intention of retiring as a Titans player.”
“This is huge, Shawn. He’s been with Los Angeles his entire career and is a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame.”
“Why do you think I’m calling you? We want to announce it before the Thunderhawks share their latest roster addition. This is a race for tickets, and if we can get our press release out first, we can make the club a lot of money.”
“What are the Thunderhawks doing?” I ask.
“Signing Malcolm Jeffries at quarterback.”
“The Super Bowl champ from two seasons ago? That’s a big move.”
“A big fucking move,” Shawn says. “There’s three weeks until the preseason starts, and this is the most activity we’ve seen all summer.”
“I’ll head home right now and get something going.” I jump off my barstool and cradle my phone against my ear. I reach for my wallet and see Not Claire’s half-empty glass. Regret hits me and I drop my head back, a groan brewing in the back of my throat. “Dammit.”
“Everything okay?”
“All good,” I say. “I’ll let you know when the post goes live.”
“Great. Thanks, Reid. Talk to you soon.”
We hang up, and I weigh my options.
I can’t rush out of here without telling her I’m leaving. That would be a dick move. After the night she’s had, I don’t want her to hate me too.
I know I need to leave, but I really don’t want to.
If I work fast, I could get a post drafted in five minutes and send it Shawn’s way. A simple caption. A link to purchase tickets. Some fancy fonts and bold letters. It wouldn’t be my best work, but it’s cruel of the universe to make me pick between my job and the first woman I’ve enjoyed talking to in years.
I scan the restaurant and spot her heading my way. There’s a pep in her step. Her nose is buried in her phone, and the grin she’s wearing is bigger than any I’ve seen from her all night.
A flash of jealousy hits me.
I wonder who has her smiling like that.
“Hey,” she says when she gets close. “I’m so sorry, but I need to head out. A work thing came up, which is such a bummer, because I was having a lot of fun with you.”
“I was too.”
“Maybe I’ll run into you at another bar after another shitty date one of these days,” she says.
“If you see me wearing Crocs, don’t ask any questions,” I say.
She laughs and squeezes my arm. “It was great to meet you, Reid.”
“You too. Get home safe.”
I watch her move through the crowd of people. She looks over her shoulder when she gets to the door, and her gaze meets mine.
I lift my hand in a wave. Not Claire wiggles her fingers then disappears, and I feel like the smallest human on the planet.