Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Joey
DFW @BodaciousBuckaroo211
Today is a good day. #lovinglife #Icompleteme
6 ?4 ?210
I read Buckaroo’s post again, then close the app without replying. I have a feeling that last hashtag was a dig at me and my initial argument with him last year, but I don’t have the time or the headspace for our beef today.
I have a date.
Shit. Is it a date? Or just dinner between friends? Are we even friends? I mean, he brought me sweet tea and fixed my cabinets. Dallas obviously wants to be friends. Maybe that’s what this dinner is all about. Making friends with his neighbor.
I’m overthinking. Again.
I need help.
Grabbing my phone, I pull up my text thread with Twila. I can’t handle the enthusiastic arguments that would ensue should I text the group chat. Not today.
Me: I need some help.
Twila: Video chat?
I tap the icon at the top of the screen that looks like a video camera, and a couple of seconds later, my best friend’s face appears on the screen.
“What happened? Did he fix your cabinets, or did he fix your cabinets ?” she asks, deepening her voice and waggling her eyebrows with that last bit.
“Shut up,” I say with a laugh, then sober. “I need your opinion.”
“Hit me with it,” she says, instantly serious.
“Well,” I say, pausing to take a deep breath, “he fixed my cabinets, literally speaking, then he asked if I had plans for dinner.” Twila’s eyebrows lift comically high, and I shake my head to cut off whatever she’s about to say. “He said he doesn’t feel like cooking and wants to try one of the restaurants in town. He just doesn’t want to eat alone.”
She’s shaking her head before I even finish. “No. No way. You’re not second-guessing this into something it’s not. It’s not him needing restaurant suggestions or trying to avoid eating alone. It’s a date , Joey. It’s definitely a date.”
“How do you know?” I ask, ignoring the trickle of excitement that slithers through me at her words.
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “He came over with the excuse of needing to borrow sugar, Jo. When’s the last time anyone borrowed sugar from a neighbor? The grocery store is less than a mile from your apartment building, not to mention the various grocery-delivery apps at his disposal. He didn’t even need to leave his apartment. No. It was an excuse to see you.”
“But––” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Then he offered to come back and fix your cabinets. For free.”
“He was just being––”
“Don’t interrupt me,” she says, holding up a hand, and I sigh. “And now he wants to take you to dinner? He’s coming up with reasons to spend all day with you, Joey. Turn off that anxious brain of yours and open your eyes. It’s a date.”
And suddenly, I’m even more anxious than I was before. If she’s right, and this is a date, I don’t want to dress too casually. But if she’s wrong, and this is just neighbors grabbing food together, I don’t want to make it totally obvious that I thought it was a date.
Oh, God. I might hyperventilate. Maybe I should just cancel. Stay home. That’s the best course of action, right? I’m safe here. Secure.
“Breathe, Josette,” Twila says firmly, reminding me I’m still on the video call with her and she can see my face while I freak out. “It’s going to be fine.”
I nod erratically before taking a deep, cleansing breath and repeating, “It’s going to be fine.”
“Good. Now face me toward your closet so I can help you pick out something cute to wear.”
This. This is why I reached out to my best friend. She knows how to calm me when I’m spiraling. And she has a much better fashion sense than I do.
Twila ends up choosing a pair of dark-washed jeans with slightly flared legs, a pretty lilac blouse that compliments my coloring, and a pair of brown ankle boots that sport chunky heels. She makes me promise to wear make-up, a pair of dangling earrings, and to leave my hair loose and wavy before ending the call so I can shower and get dressed.
When I finish and look at myself in the full-length mirror hanging on my closet door, I have to admit, she’s a genius. The jeans make my legs look longer and the boots give me and extra couple of inches of height. The blouse brings out the green in my hazel eyes, and my long brown hair looks shiny and healthy.
I look good. Damn good.
A knock sounds on the door, and my moment of confidence shatters. Shit. What am I doing? I should text Dallas and tell him I’m sick.
My phone chimes right on cue, and when I pull it from my pocket, I see a message from Twila.
Twila: You’ve got this, girl. Slay.
Glancing at myself in the mirror once more, I stiffen my spine. I’ve got this.
I flick off the bedroom light on my way out of the room, ignoring the pounding of my heart as I stride toward the door. It’s just dinner. No reason to panic.
I pull open the door before I lose my nerve, then freeze when Dallas’ eyes go wide. His gaze rakes me from head to toe and back up again before he clears his throat.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a bit breathy.
“Hi.”
“You look…you look really pretty.”
“Thanks,” I breathe, my face heating at the compliment.
His eyes focus on my cheeks for a moment before his smile grows, those damn dimples making themselves known before he crooks an elbow in my direction. “You ready to go?”
“Sure,” I say, stepping out and locking my door before hooking a timid hand around his corded forearm.
Our building is downtown, so we decide to walk as we step out into the warm evening air. Dallas asks me where we’re going, and I mention a kitschy pizza place down the block. I decided earlier that pizza was a good choice. Casual enough so that if this isn’t a date, my choice won’t make things awkward.
Only somehow, it does.
Dallas clears his throat and slows his pace. “Do you mind if we go somewhere else tonight? I’ve ordered pizza four times this week because it was easy and accessible, and I’m kind of burned out on it.”
“Of course,” I say quickly, panic rising up inside me.
I didn’t consider a second option when I decided on pizza. Where should we go? Fuck .
“We can do pizza next time,” he says when I take too long to recommend an alternative.
Next time? There’s going to be a next time? WHY would there be a next time?
Shaking off the intrusive thoughts, I clear my throat. “What are you in the mood for?”
“What are my options within walking distance?” he asks, and his voice is so light and calming, I feel myself relax a bit.
“Well, there’s a sub shop and a burger place that way,” I say, pointing to our left. Jerking my thumb in the opposite direction, I add, “and a Chinese buffet, a taco shop, and a buffalo wing place down there.”
Dallas meets my eyes as his face lights up. “Do you like tacos? Please say yes. I don’t know if we can still be friends if you don’t.”
My throat threatens to close up at the word “friends,” but I paste on a smile and nod before forcing out, “Of course, I love tacos.”
Don’t you dare be disappointed, Joey Barnes. Being friends is fine. Better, even. At least now you can relax and enjoy dinner without any pressure or confusion.
When we reach the small taco shop and order at the counter, Dallas insists on paying and tells me to grab a table. I find a clean one near the windows and slide into the booth, watching as he takes the receipt and heads toward the hot sauce bar. I observe him as he fills small plastic cups with every type of sauce available, then pops on the lids and stacks them before bringing them to me with a smile .
“I wasn’t sure which kind you prefer, so I got them all,” he says as he sets them on the table.
“I like the green,” I reply with my own timid smile, and he nods.
“That’s my favorite, too. I’ll go grab some more.”
He’s gone before I can say a word, and I feel myself relax a bit. Having the same taste in hot sauce isn’t the highest on the list of things we might have in common, but it’s a start. I watch as he fills three more cups with the green sauce, and as he turns back toward me, the lady behind the counter calls his name. Dallas swings in her direction and sets the sauce cups on the red tray with our food and drinks before thanking her and heading back my way with a wide grin.
“God, this smells good,” he says as he slides into the booth across from me. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
“Thanks for buying,” I say as he plucks two pollo asado tacos from the tray and sets them on the table in front of me before passing me a Styrofoam cup filled with soda.
“It’s my pleasure,” he says, and a shiver runs down my spine at that last word.
Did his tone deepen as he said it? Or did I imagine that?
Dallas grins down at his food as he picks up a taco and dribbles sauce over it. He seems completely focused on taking a big bite, so I must’ve imagined the double-entendre.
Of course, I did.
We’re friends. He said it, himself .
Dallas glances over at me after chewing his bite and swallowing, his gaze questioning. “Is your food okay?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” I mumble and pick up a taco.
Adding a drop of sauce to the end, I take a big bite. I couldn’t stop the moan that vibrates in my chest if I tried. God, this is good. I feel eyes on me, and when I look at Dallas, he’s staring at me with an inscrutable expression. When our eyes meet, his tongue darts out to wet his lips before his gaze shoots down to his food.
That was…weird.
“So, do you eat here a lot?” he asks after the silence stretches between us for too long.
“Yeah,” I say on a laugh, whatever tension I was holding onto draining out of me. “Callie and I grew up on these tacos, and they deliver, so we order them at least twice a month.”
“I can see why,” he says. “This is delicious.”
“Better than pizza?” I ask with a smirk.
“Oh, you still owe me a pizza night. You’re not getting out of that. But, yeah, tonight it’s better than pizza.”
“What did you do for fun in L.A.?” I ask before taking another bite.
Dallas shrugs. “I worked a lot, and when I was off, I mostly stayed home.”
“Really?” I blurt.
“You’re surprised?”
“A little,” I say. “I mean, you’re kind of an outgoing person, and I imagined you at nightclubs and beach parties and stuff like that.”
Those devastating dimples make another appearance as his eyes light up. I blush as I realize I just admitted I’ve been thinking about him and what his life was like before now. Before I can backpedal, he clears his throat and shakes his head.
“I did a lot of stuff like that when I was younger, but not so much in the last few years.”
“How old are you?” pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Twenty-seven,” he answers without hesitation. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
He nods and takes a drink of his soda. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”
Laughter bubbles up my throat. “I mostly stay home, too.”
“Except on girls’ nights,” he says with a soft smile, and I nod.
“Except on girls’ nights. But those are usually at my sister’s apartment, so it doesn’t really count as going out .”
“Sure it does,” he says. “You leave your place, right? You’re going out.”
My smile hurts my cheeks as I pop the last of my first taco into my mouth and chew. Raven always says nights at Callie’s don’t count whenever she hounds me about getting out more. I argue that they do, in fact, count, and having Dallas unknowingly support me in the argument makes me feel…light. Happy.
We sit and chat for a long while after we finish eating, then Dallas tosses our trash before going back to the counter to order two churros. I keep reminding myself that tonight isn’t a date as we stroll back to our apartment building, eating and talking and laughing. We’re just friends. This isn’t romantic, no matter how romantic it feels.
The ride up the elevator is quiet, and when we step off, Dallas walks beside me. He stops next to my door, watching as I pull my key from my pocket and twist it in the lock.
“Josette,” he says, and I turn to face him with raised eyebrows. “I had a really good time tonight.”
“I did, too,” I say softly.
“Good,” he breathes, then clears his throat. “Well, uh, goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight,” I reply, wasting no time as I twist the knob, push my door open, and slip inside.
I lean back against the wood to close it, then spin around to peek through the peephole. Dallas remains frozen, staring at my closed door for several long beats. Then his shoulders fall, his posture bending before he spins and walks to his own apartment. Unlocking the door and stepping inside, he turns to look at mine again for a long moment, then shakes his head before closing himself inside.
I turn and lean back against the door before sliding down onto my butt. That was…weird. Was he hoping for a kiss? My heart skips at the thought, and I mentally talk it down.
No. No way.
Dallas Westfield just wants to be friends.