For once, Saturday night is something I’m looking forward to.
nine
. . .
for once, saturday night is something i’m looking forward to.
“You sure?” Beau asks Delane for what feels like the millionth time, but maybe it just feels like that because I’m still not hearing what I want to hear.
Delane rolls her eyes. “I’m sure. I have plans.”
He raps his knuckles against the desk. “Okie Dokie. Well… we’ll see you when we get back.” Beau, followed by Atticus, files out the door and piles into his Tesla. We’re meeting Beck and Goldie for lunch–Beau and Beck’s kids are with their grandparents–and Delane doesn’t want to go.
Well, she didn’t say that . She just said she has plans. And I’m over here ready to say I don’t want to go either because she’s not. But that’s weird and something a boyfriend does, so I make my way to the door, holding it open with my foot as I glance back at her. “You sure? ”
She waves me off. “Go. I have plans. Have fun.”
“I’m the third wheel without you,” I pout, earning a grin from her.
“Sorry.”
“Get your ass in the car, or we’re leaving without you. Goldie has shit to do,” Atticus shouts out the open car door. Ducking my head down, I pull my baseball cap around my eyes and leave, not looking back at Delane the way I want to.
Inside the car, Beau asks, “what’s she doing for lunch?”
I shrug.
“Thought you’d know since you two are… getting close ,” he says, choosing his words carefully as he peers at me in the rearview.
“I don’t know where she’s going,” I say, carefully choosing my words. I don’t want to lie to Beau, and I don’t want to lessen the way my relationship with Delane is growing one eye pinched shut. “You want me to bring ‘em for you to take to him?”
I nod. “He could use clothes.”
Beau flips his visor up as he makes a left-hand turn. “You know, we could just take him shopping and get him a whole new wardrobe.”
I shake my head. “I’ve thought about that. Making it seem like the program sponsored it, but if I get caught, they’ll turn me loose. You’re not allowed to do that.”
“Why not?” Atti asks with irritation, which is how I felt about that rule when I first heard it, too.
“They think it’ll make people sign up for the program for the wrong reasons.”
“Lame,” Beau deadpans.
“But we can give him hand-me-downs,” I clarify, slapping Atti’s arm from behind. “So bring them. Please.”
“Will do.”
Beau turns into the restaurant parking lot and parks. Inside, Goldie and Beck are waiting at a table, huddled together, wearing smiles, sipping from mugs.
I watch Beau slide into the booth next to his wife, wrap his hand around the back of her neck possessively and seal his lips to hers.
They share a kiss where their mouths open and close together, tongues visible as they do.
He moves his lips to her ear, tucking the blonde hair back as he whispers private words.
She smiles at whatever he’s saying, and I watch his hand slide from her neck to the side of her torso, where his thumb very lightly strokes her breast for just a moment.
She flushes with pink and moves her hand beneath the table, presumably on his thigh .
Atticus takes a spot in the half-circle booth next to Goldie, taking her face in his hands for an aggressive greeting kiss. They share no sweet whispers, but when they part, Goldie says, “I have to go back to work after lunch; quit making me wanna play hooky.”
Then their smiling happy heads turn toward me. “Hi, Miller,” Beck says cheerfully.
“Hey, Miller,” Goldie chirps, stroking Atti’s thigh beneath the table. I hope it’s his thigh.
“Hello, ladies,” I greet, pulling up a chair to sit awkwardly on the other side of them.
“Where’s Delane?” Goldie asks, bottom lip in a pout, head cocked.
Her long dark hair is down, and I notice how Atticus pushes it back, so the ends don’t drag through her glass of water.
He tucks it behind her ear and places a very soft kiss on her neck before picking up the menu and devoting his focus to it.
Their casual intimacy has me jealous. I’d pass on a million-dollar lotto ticket for Delane to love me the way Beck loves Beau, the way Goldie loves Atticus.
I’d give it all up to have Delane with me, her hand on my thigh, my lips discovering soft places on her neck, dropping sweet nothings in her ear.
My chest aches, so I focus on the menu, reading the entire thing twice but not actually knowing a single thing they serve.
“She had plans,” Beau finally supplies after I say nothing.
“Bummer,” Beck says, “I was looking forward to seeing her.”
“Hi,” a pleasant, somewhat high-pitched voice calls to our table.
The four of them look up at someone standing behind me, so I twist in my seat to see who the voice belongs to.
A waitress with hair much like Goldie’s, except it’s pulled into a long braid, her eyes are wide and green, and her face is bare with a smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose.
“How’s everyone doing today?” she asks, the black leather guest pad pressed against her hip, both hands centered on the top, holding it there.
“Good, how are you?” Beck responds, her face full of happiness. Her arm works beneath the table, and another wave of jealousy crashes down over me. I’m glad Beau is happy and that they have each other. And I shouldn’t feel bad about their happiness.
“I’m great,” she says, surveying the table with a smile.
From above me, she looks down, and her smile broadens.
She rests a hand on the back of my chair, her thumb brushing my upper back.
It sends a shiver down my spine, and I want to inch forward in the chair to get away from the subtle touch, but I don’t.
I recognize that if it were Delane’s thumb grazing my back, I’d be inching forward just to get my lap under the table.
“Where’s your other half? She on her way?” she asks, her voice a little flirtatious, and it occurs to me that she’s trying to find out if there is another half.
“It’s just us,” I say, motioning to the table.
Her eyes stay on mine, and I start to feel uncomfortable with her hovering over me in what feels like a moderately predatory way. “She’s not on her way or there’s not a she?” she asks, batting her eyes at me. This woman is bold. I don’t even ask women out this way.
Atticus clears his throat, and my eyes jump to him in time to see Goldie loop her arm through his, tightening her hold to get him to shut up.
“Uh, no, she,” I reply awkwardly, feeling the extreme discomfort of this conversation in front of a table of my friends seeping into my face .
“That’s surprising,” she smiles down at me, moving her thumb so that she grazes my back again and again. Reaching beneath my chair, I tug it toward the table and give her a small smile.
“Well, we’re on our lunch breaks, so we should get to ordering,” I say, turning my focus to the laminated menu. She starts with Goldie and works her way around the table, and once she’s flipped her paper to the other side, pen hovering over the notepad, she smiles down at me.
“Cutest for last,” she says in a quiet tone, but I know they can hear her.
I put in my order and work on shaping the bill of my hat as she collects menus and finally disappears into the kitchen.
Goldie smacks the table top as soon as the waitress is out of our sight. “Miller! That waitress totally wants you!”
Beck nods fervently, her eyes wide with excitement. I may not know women well, but in general, it seems like they enjoy playing cupid. The thing is, I feel like I’ve already got an arrow stuck in me with Delane’s name on it, and I’m realizing that more and more.
“She totally wants you, Miller! Ask her out!” Beck adds.
“I’m pretty sure if you don’t ask her out, she’s gonna ask you,” Atticus adds after dropping his arm behind the booth, around Goldie’s shoulders.
“She looked one minute away from hopping in your lap and having her way with you,” Goldie teases as Atticus’s fingers knead her shoulder mindlessly as if he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
I want someone to mindlessly touch that way, and I cannot for the life of me picture myself touching the waitress that way.
I can see my arm over the back of my couch, touching Delane’s shoulder. I can see her getting sleepy as we watch a movie and lowering her head into my lap, my arm draped down her side, fingers stroking her rib cage as she dozes off.
Every part of that fantasy can change except Delane. We can be on the floor, in a bed, or in a car. We can be arguing, listening to music, laughing over anything—but it’s only my fantasy if Delane’s there.
“Not interested,” I say, running my finger around the rim of my glass.
“She’s so cute, though,” Goldie whines.
“Get her number at least,” Beck offers.