28
Saturday, July 12th
Blake
Bonnie Boden looks exactly how I’d expect my mother to look after taking a last-minute trip to NYC to spend the day shopping and have lunch with me. Her hands are full of bags from various luxury stores, and her skin is tanned in the way you only get if you live in Southern California.
“Blake!” she greets with a huge smile when she spots me in the back of the fancy French restaurant she secured a reservation for yesterday when she was busy making her big New York plans. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, darling,” she says when she reaches the table, and I stand up like the gentleman she and my dad raised to take the numerous bags from her hands. “I swear, I don’t know how you tolerate this city on a daily basis.”
I nearly laugh. She’s so far removed from the daily toleration most New Yorkers deal with it isn’t even funny. She has a driver, a steady stream of money, and access to reservations at Maison Fleur , the kind of French restaurant where the lighting is soft, the linens are pristine, and every waiter wears a pressed black suit. It’s intimate without trying too hard—exactly the kind of place my mom loves.
Her light-brown hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, and her cream pantsuit is unwrinkled. She adjusts her oversized sunglasses, and her blue eyes are bright-eyed in a way that says she probably slept like first-class royalty on her red-eye flight here.
Hermès, Louis Vuitton, Cartier, the logos read like a who’s who of luxury brands as I set the bags under our table’s unoccupied side.
“How are you?” she says, leaning forward to press two European-style kisses to my cheeks.
“I’m good, Mom.” I pull out her chair for her to sit down and don’t even bother asking her how she’s doing because I know it will lead to a lengthy rant about whatever inconveniences she’s faced in the past eight hours.
Once she’s comfortable in her seat, I sit back down in mine across the table. A menu is already in her hands, and it’s not long before she’s gesturing for a server to come over to our table.
I give him my order—a steak and vegetable combo—and my mom goes into her usual diatribe of asking him a hundred questions about the menu.
I love my mom. Really, I do. But I also know she’s an acquired taste for most people. She’s bossy and particular and direct. Not to mention, she was born and raised with a silver spoon in her mouth, paralegaling in her early days as a gateway to marrying a lawyer.
And land one, she did.
Both of my parents are great in their own right, even if they’re a little too much when they’re together. I’ve always had a good, close relationship with my mom, and when it comes to advice—whether about friends or girlfriends—she’s never steered me wrong.
“What is the white sauce on the escargot made out of?” she asks the server, and he doesn’t hesitate to answer her question.
“Butter, cream, garlic, parsley, and thyme,” he answers. “It’s a very nice accompaniment to the dish.”
“Okay.” My mom nods and hands him her menu. “I’ll take that. And a glass of your best Chardonnay, please.”
The server heads off toward the kitchen, and my mom moves all her attention back to me.
“Let me guess,” she says with a secret smile as she glances down at my attire of a Dragons Football T-shirt and jeans—clearly out of place in this fancy French scene. “You had football this morning.”
“That’s pretty much the story of my life.” I smirk. “But I did manage a shower before I headed here.”
“Well, I certainly appreciate that, Blake.” She grins.
“Didn’t want to scare any of the clientele in this swanky place.”
She rolls her eyes. “If I’m going to do lunch in New York, Blake, I’m going to eat good food.”
“And I gave you a great pizza recommendation.”
“Pizza?” Her laugh is of the hoity-toity variety. “You know me better than that, darling.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “I guess I should just be thankful you chose a restaurant close to campus.”
“Exactly,” she says as the server sets down her glass of wine in front of her. She takes a sip, and my phone vibrates inside the pocket of my jeans. I pull it out to find a text message from the one girl I haven’t stopped thinking about since I left her apartment this morning. The one girl you technically never stop thinking about.
Lexi: I just saw you this morning, and I have two mandatory meetings with my professors today. I have to make a little time in my schedule for things other than you right now and get back to you when I can.
Her response is in relation to the text I sent her five minutes after I walked out of her apartment door: When can I see you again?
Me: You’re not going to sleep at the lab, though…we could plan on that.
Lexi: I thought standard booty calls came in after 2 a.m. It’s not even three in the afternoon.
It feels like an alternate universe for a brilliant girl like Lexi to even type the word booty call. But damn, it sure does make me want to laugh.
Me: No booty call, babe. I just want to see you. Not sure if you know this, but I really like seeing you. Can’t get enough of it, actually.
Lexi: I should be home around nine.
Me: I’ll be there.
Lexi: That text was factual, and yet, somehow, you turned it into an invitation.
I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of my lungs, and when I glance up, my mom’s curious eyes are locked on me. Her perfectly sculpted brow arches, but I just flash her an apologetic smile before looking back down at my phone.
Every so often, Lexi’s boldness zings you with that sharp, dry wit of hers. And when it hits, it’s like a curve ball out of nowhere.
Me: You didn’t invite me? Because it felt like it.
Lexi: I think you’re just making assumptions based on what you want.
Me: And what do I want, Lex?
Lexi: I don’t know, Blake. What do you want?
Me: You.
My mom clears her throat, and I glance up from the screen of my phone with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”
But I also send one last message.
Me: See you at 9.
My mom watches me closely as I shove my phone back into my pocket, and her eyes never stop assessing my face until I reach forward to take a drink of the water I had the server bring me before she got here.
“What?” I eventually ask, and my mom’s face splits into a knowing smile.
“Who were you just texting with?”
“Just…a friend.”
“A friend makes you smile like that?” She arches that brow, her tone teasing. “Because that looked like more than a friendly smile, darling.”
“Is this your way of asking me if I’m seeing someone?”
“ Are you seeing someone?”
“I am,” I admit, but when she starts to open her mouth—no doubt ready to bombard me with a hundred questions—I hold up a hand. “But we’re keeping our relationship on the DL.”
“The DL?”
“Down-low.”
“What in the world does that mean?”
“It means we’re not telling anyone about it yet.”
“And why would you do that?”
Her question catches me off guard. At first, I understood the secret-keeping, but at this point, I’m just going along with it because I’ve been asked to.
It’s not what I want. It’s not even who I am.
Truth is, I’ve been so wrapped up in spending time with Lexi that, outside of football, I haven’t even considered the other things our relationship has made me give up.
I haven’t been attentive to my friends or my teammates—other than Lexi, I haven’t spent much time with anyone at all. Ace alone has sent me at least fifty texts this week, begging me to hit up some random party or club with him. I’ve said no every time, even knowing he’s neck-deep in his I-just-realized-I’m-in-love-with-my-best-friend crisis. It’s a dick move, and I don’t like the weight of the realization as it hits me.
“It’s just all really new,” I finally answer, hoping it’ll be enough to stop her from digging further, but my mind doesn’t quiet. I don’t want to hide in the shadows of our apartments anymore. I want us to be out in the open. Official.
I deserve to be treated as though I’m real, and my friends deserve my honesty and respect.
“Do you like her?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I like her.”
That’s the whole problem with my newfound bravado. I love her.
“So…do you think this secret relationship is going somewhere?”
“It definitely has potential.” In fact, it has so much potential, I’m dead certain I don’t want to be with anyone else. Ever.
The server arrives with our food, thankfully pulling my mom’s attention away from her interrogation, but it’s too late for me. I’m down the rabbit hole with no escape.
I want to be with Lexi. And I want the whole fucking world to know it.
Which means I have to find a way to convince her to feel the same.
No matter what it takes.