Chapter 21
My date crossed his arms over his chest and declared, "Bullshit."
"What's bullshit?" I asked, my hands flat on the bar top. "What? Why?"
Riley Walsh shook his head and stared at the televisions suspended over the bar.
We hadn't met up for drinks or a game in months but the stars aligned today.
The Red Sox were in Tampa and a summer storm had dropped a dark blanket of clouds and fog over the city.
Tampa was beating the piss out of the Sox and the bar was mostly empty, two conditions ripe for a review of my adventures in dating.
"You're with two guys—at the same fucking time—and you're trying to tell me they're both decent. I'm calling bullshit on that."
"And I'm asking why you're calling bullshit," I said, more than a little indignant.
Riley went on shaking his head as if he had an eternity of frustration to work out with that one motion.
"Because, Gigi, sweetheart, I've known you for nearly five years and you've never once given me a reason to trust the guys you bring around.
If anything, you give me reason to send them on a long walk off a short pier. "
Few people were allowed to put my track record on trial without finding themselves on the receiving end of a death glare. Riley was one of them, Andy was another.
"They're different," I remarked. "I know I've said that before but it's true this time."
"You told me Peter was different." He held up his index finger, a sure sign I was getting a list out of him.
God help me. Always with the lists. "Then we discover Peter has a wife and a kid, and he's awaiting trial for money laundering.
Did you ever get paid for that last set of penthouse roof gardens? "
I groaned. "The Feds froze his assets."
"Uh huh. Yeah." He kept shaking his head. "Will they be calling you as a witness?"
"He's going to plead out," I replied. "No trial."
"That's a bright spot in the shitshow." He glanced up at the game and then back at me. "You told me that fuckbag who stole your dog had changed. You said that not too long before he stole your fucking dog, Gigi."
"And I was wrong," I admitted. "I know I've made bad choices, Riley."
He reached for his beer, getting in another head shake. "Really bad choices," he muttered. "I don't know if I can take on two dudes when this goes tits up."
"If," I argued. "If this goes tits up."
"Fine, if," he said with one more head shake. "All right, then. Tell me. What makes these two so fucking different? Why won't I be cold-cocking them one of these days?"
"Because they're—they're different, Riley," I argued.
He shifted on his stool, turning to face me. "I want to believe you. I really do. And it's not you I doubt. It's them."
I turned my attention back to the game. I didn't know how to explain that Rob and Ben were nothing like the men of my past. "Different" just didn't sum it up. But Rob and Ben weren't the only differences. I was different too.
I wasn't the same woman who'd dated a client despite a million warning signs.
I wasn't the same woman who went back to her ex after he'd "borrowed" her social security number to open credit cards and rack up tons of debt.
I wasn't the same woman who'd interpreted a collaborative professional relationship as hardcore flirting and attacked Riley's brother Sam with her mouth.
Somewhere along the way, between the dog kidnapping and the federal indictments and the online dating pleasure cruise, I'd changed. I learned—finally—that I was better than men who forgot my name and told half-truths and never texted first. I was better than all of it and I could demand better too.
"I like black cherry seltzer," I said.
"You've mentioned this," Riley answered, his eyebrow arched up. He blinked at me before glancing at the game.
"There's a brand I like that's only available in vending machines," I said. "I must've mentioned that to Rob at some point."
"I imagine you're going somewhere with this." He rolled his hand in my direction. "Proceed."
"Rob tracked down the bottling company and the distributor, and he bought a few cases of my favorite black cherry seltzer."
Riley bobbed his head. "Rob sounds like a detail-oriented guy. Cheers to him and his details."
"I'm not trying to sell you on him," I said.
And I wasn't. Really. I wanted him to understand that these guys were light years away from the douchewaffles I used to date.
It seemed insignificant but vending machine seltzer was my proof.
That move took work. That took time. Yeah, maybe he'd delegated it to one of his assistants or underlings but he was the one who marched into my office with an armful of black cherry goodness like a goddamn superhero.
If I called up all the men I'd ever dated and asked them my preferred nonalcoholic beverage, I wasn't convinced any of them would even name seltzer.
Let alone black cherry and this specific variety. It was tiny, fallible proof.
"Ben bought a renovation house," I continued. "He wanted to move his grandmother into that house. She passed away before he could finish the work."
My last few boyfriends never would've done that. Peter might've bought a building and given his grandmother a condo for free but he never would've lifted a finger to make it just right for her. And the dude before that…well, he didn't give anything to anyone.
"I'm sorry to hear about Ben's grandmother," he replied.
"They're good guys, Riley," I said. "They're good guys but I don't have to prove that to you.
I've figured out a lot of things in the past few months.
I think I get it now and…and I don't think you have to worry about me anymore.
I don't think I'm going to make those same mistakes anymore.
I know that's probably hard for you to believe since you've watched me crash and burn so many times but I believe it this time. "
Riley propped his arm on the bar and rested his head on his palm. He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw working as he studied me. "Have your brothers met these guys?"
I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, humming.
He wasn't asking after Ash and Linden as an exercise in patriarchal approval.
He knew my brothers would find extraordinary levels of amusement in this and they'd stay amused for actual decades.
"No. I don't know how to explain this to my family so I haven't. "
He tipped his head to the side as he considered this. "I'll allow that excuse, but if you do tell your family, please let me be there so I can watch them pop like pinatas."
"Only if you promise to get me out of there before my father asks whether I'm using protection," I said with a laugh. "Because that would be his only comment and you know it."
"Done." He reached for his beer and asked, "Is your mom still swiping for you?"
"Mmhmm." I nodded, grimacing. "Yeah. She's having a lot of fun so I haven't stopped her yet. I'm not talking to anyone new. I have my hands full with these two."
Wincing, he said, "I'd rather not think about you having your hands full, Gigi."
"Sorry," I replied. I wasn't sorry. I was mostly amused at Riley's newfound inability to talk about sex without growing uncomfortable. The committed life had changed him.
With his glass raised to his mouth, he paused. "Wait a second. Do they know about each other? Or are they none the wiser?"
"They know about each other." I couldn't stop the eyeroll.
"They've met. We all kept running into each other at the same places so I laid down the ground rules.
Sometimes I send group texts and just tell them I need alone time.
I mean, a girl's gotta do laundry and eat an entire box of mac and cheese and watch The Real Housewives.
I don't need them around for that. But then again, I tell them that and then get nonstop texts checking in on me because they're worried about something ridiculous.
" Still holding the glass, he smiled at me.
It wasn't a regular Riley smile, the kind with a dash of devil.
It was surprised, maybe a little…proud? That was strange and confusing.
I wasn't certain I wanted his pride. That wasn't our relationship. "What? What is that face?"
"You're running the game," he said. "You…you're in charge this time."
"Yeah, I am," I said, as if it was no big deal. "It's not a big deal."
"You're not sitting in my seat, Gigi," he replied softly.
The moment shifted, a weight sliding over us like the heavy, black clouds outside pressing the sky down, down into the city.
Riley and I didn't do heavy. If we did, we did it with a thick layer of humor.
No big emotional moments, no exposed souls.
We made outrageous bets over sports and argued about renovations and sandwiches.
This wasn't how we operated and I wanted it to stop.
If it didn't stop right now, I'd have to turn around and face the century of growth I'd crammed into recent months. I wasn't ready to look back at the path behind me. I wasn't ready for the full frontal view of my mistakes and missteps.
"Hey, you're engaged!" I yelled, swatting his arm to break the spell. "You're getting married! We haven't talked about this yet!"
"Has it been that long since I've seen you? That's old news," he said.
"Give me the whole engagement story, not just the cute pics and captions Alex posted on Facebook. She's adorable, by the way."
"She really is," he agreed. "She's at some doctor conference this weekend. She told me I could go along with her but I didn't want to accidentally see surgery photos or walk in on something bloody. But now I kinda wish I'd gone."
"Great," I said flatly. "Glad I'm such good company."
"I didn't mean it like that," he argued.
"I know, I know," I said. "Okay, I want the story. When did you pop the question?"