Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Banks arrives ten minutes early for our date. Unlike the guys I’ve gone out with before, there’s no text to say he’s arrived. Just the sound of a soft knock on the door of our dorm.
“Coming!” I call while Jess does a final spritz of setting spray over my face, then brushes my hair off my shoulders and instructs me to do a spin while she examines her handiwork.
“You look perfect. He’s going to lose his mind,” she says, her voice a quiet, pleased squeal.
I look myself over in the mirror. Jess worked magic.
My makeup still looks like me, but elevated.
She applied highlighter to my cheekbones and filled in my brows.
We tried three different dresses from her closet before landing on this one.
It’s a thin, baby-blue fabric and falls mid-thigh.
The weather’s probably still a little cold for it, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice to look this good.
I was worried it’d be too much—too short, too sexy—but Jess was right.
It’s sort of…perfect.
I tug the hem down just a bit and push my breasts up, shoulders falling with a pleased breath.
When I’m finally ready, Banks is leaning against the wall directly across from our door. He’s not on his phone or anything, just waiting. A warm, appreciative look settles on his face as his eyes wash over me.
“Wow. You look… Wow.” He steps forward and brushes my arm with his hand, pressing a kiss to the space right next to my mouth. It feels even more intimate than the kiss in the library.
He’s not wearing cologne. The scent that hits my nose is only soap. Something fresh and clean.
“You look great too,” I say, realizing I should be saying something. And it’s not a lie. Banks always looks great. Tonight, he’s wearing a black sweater and jeans. His clothes are fitted, not sloppy. Perfectly nice.
“Have fun, you two,” Jess teases in a sing-song voice. She shuts the door behind me as I step into the hall.
Banks holds out his hand, and I slip mine into it with ease. The spark is there, an ember from a fire rather than a Fourth of July sparkler, but it’s warm. Nice.
I don’t need sparks. I just need someone kind.
“I, uh, thought we could walk, if you’re up for it?”
“Where are we going?” I prompt.
He gives a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. I guess I never told you, did I? Sorry. There’s this place I love near campus. Frank’s. It’s bar food, mostly. Burgers, hot dogs, pizza, that sort of thing.” His eyes scan my face. “You’re disappointed. Not a fan?”
But it’s not disappointment spreading in my chest, it’s sadness. Thinking of her, even in passing, always makes me miss home. Miss her. “No, not disappointed at all. I’ve been a few times. It’s one of my mom’s favorite places.”
“Sounds like she has good taste,” he says, steering us to the right once we’re outside the building. “Do you have a favorite place? I should’ve asked.”
My mind immediately goes to the pizza place where Jess and I ate last weekend.
I’ve been there so often most of the staff knows me by name now.
But I’m not picky, and Frank’s has pizza too.
“I’m not really a favorites kind of person.
Like, colors and movies and shows, you know?
It changes…daily, hourly. How do people choose?
It feels like too much pressure. I mean, I like all things Italian.
Pasta. Pizza is something I never get tired of.
” I realize I’ve been rambling too long. “So, yeah, Frank’s is good.”
The smile doesn’t leave his face, but he looks uncomfortable now. I’ve said something wrong.
“What about you?” I ask. “Do you have a favorite food?”
“Burgers.” His answer is quick and decisive. “I’m easy. A plain cheeseburger and fries, and I’m set.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Plain? You monster. No sauce or pickles or tomatoes or anything?”
He chuckles, slipping his hand out of mine to check a text on his phone. Whoever it was, he doesn’t bother to respond—just drops the phone back into his pocket—but this time he doesn’t take my hand again. “I mean, I’ll eat it if it has toppings, but if it’s my choice, nope. Just cheese.”
“That sounds like torture,” I say with a groan, trying to get him to look at me. “I need all the condiments, please.”
“So what are your pizza toppings, then?”
That’s easy. “Pepperoni, banana peppers, green olives.” I eye him. “For you? Just cheese?”
“I don’t mind pepperoni or sausage,” he says, “but to be honest, I’m not a big pizza guy.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously?”
“I know.” He guides me across the street, one hand resting gently against the small of my back. “Monster, remember. I just like what I like.”
“And what do you like, exactly? Tell me some of your favorite things.” I’m really trying here, but I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Upset him somehow. I’m not good at this.
“You’re going to make fun of me,” he says, his voice light. “I want to hear more about you.”
“I swear I won’t.”
He watches me, measuring my expression like he’s waiting for the ice to crack and reveal the lies hidden beneath. But I won’t tease. I forget I don’t have that sort of relationship with Banks yet. I don’t want him to think I’m being cruel.
“Okay. What do I like? Let’s see. The color red.
Anything related to history. Tom Hanks movies.
Order. Itineraries. Goals. Vanilla ice cream and spreadsheets.
I’m your typical, boring Type A.” He rattles the list off like he’s in a rush to get it over with just as we reach Frank’s.
He holds the door open for me, but before I pass through, I stop to look at him. Really look.
“I don’t find that boring,” I say, holding his eyes. “Did I…do something wrong?”
His gaze falters, then he lets the door close so we’re standing there on the sidewalk in silence.
He draws in a slow breath. “No, you didn’t.
I’m sorry. I just—I know what I like and what I want.
I’m not self-conscious about it, but it’s an issue for some people.
Exes. My dad. When I get something in my head, when I want something, I go after it. ” His eyes flick over me.
“Like your degree.”
“Among other things. I just…I don’t want to lead you on, Opal. I really like you, and I want to keep getting to know you. But I also won’t pretend to be someone I’m not. And I hope you won’t either. We don’t have to be perfect matches. We can just have fun. Whatever that means to you.”
Warmth spreads through my fingers. “I don’t need you to be anything you’re not. Really. I’m not looking to get married, Banks. And I want you to focus on the things that matter to you. That’s not an issue for me.”
A corner of his lips ticks up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry if I said something wrong. I tease because it’s sort of my thing—”
“You didn’t,” he cuts me off. “I just… I get single-minded about the things that matter to me. I like plain cheeseburgers because I can eat them with one hand while I’m studying.
I go to Frank’s because it’s not far from campus, and when I find a place I like, I stick to it.
But I’m mad at myself for not asking where you’d like to go.
I get like that, and it’s been an issue in the past. So please don’t get offended if I forget things or bail on dates because I’m studying and I forgot about our plans.
It’s a me thing, you know? And I’m working on it, but I’m also not…
really trying to change, if that makes sense.
I am who I am, and I like who I am. I just want to be upfront about it.
Not that I think we’re serious or anything—I can’t be serious because I’m leaving after I graduate and going back home.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t respect you.
I do. I really, really do. I think you’re fascinating, Opal.
And obviously beautiful. And I’d like to keep getting to know you, if that sounds good to you?
I just don’t want to lie to you about what that’ll look like. ”
Everything he’s said washes over me, and I try to process it quickly.
It’s not ideal to be told you’re going to always come in second to his education, but at the same time, what else did I expect?
What sort of monster would want to be put first over his future?
I’m just a random girl he’s taking out on one date.
He deserves to focus on his life without me pressuring him, being needy.
If anything, I should be taking notes. Learning from him.
This is the most put-together, grown-up man I’ve ever met, and I’m glad he’s telling me this now. He’s not playing games. I don’t have to guess what he’s thinking or what he wants.
It’s new and fresh and…probably exactly what I need.
“I don’t need you to be anyone else,” I say finally. “And I have a life too, you know? I’m okay with letting this be whatever it’s going to be.”
The worry on his face evaporates. “Good. Okay, good.”
And it is.
Good.
Both the date—the food and the conversation—and the kiss at the end of the night. Banks is perfectly good, and for this new, grown-up version of me, that’s exactly enough.