9. Milan Rivers
MILAN RIVERS
Vice pulled his keys from his pocket as he headed toward his truck while I walked in the opposite direction to my car. I had barely made it halfway across the parking lot before his deep voice stopped me.
“Where you going?”
I looked over my shoulder. “To my car.”
“Why?”
“To drive it.”
He just looked at me for a second. Then told me, “You riding with me.”
“Who decided that?”
“Me.”
I sighed, already knowing this conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Arguing with Vice was like arguing with a brick wall. Once he’d made up his mind, there wasn’t much anybody could say to change it.
He opened the passenger door and stood there waiting, looking entirely too confident that I’d eventually give in. My eyes drifted from him to my car before settling back on him.
“I have somewhere to be after this.”
“No, you don’t.” He nodded toward the open door. “You rolling with me today.”
I frowned at him like he’d completely lost his mind. The man had enough going on without worrying about entertaining me all day, but no lie… the thought of spending a few more hours with him didn’t sound nearly as ridiculous as I wanted it to.
Even so, I still said, “Excuse me?”
“You told the leasing lady you were going back to the hotel to finish some paperwork. You can do that tonight.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Why were you listening to my conversation?”
“We were standing in the same room.” Vice rested an arm against the open door, looking at me like I was the one making this difficult. “You getting in or not?”
I should’ve told him no just because of the way he asked, but my car was still sitting in the parking lot and wherever we were going couldn’t have been that far.
Besides, if I drove myself, I had a feeling he would spend the entire ride behind me making sure I didn’t somehow disappear between the apartment building and the restaurant.
“You’re bringing me back to my car.”
“Obviously.”
The way he said it, like I should’ve known better than to even question him, made me look at him harder. “I’m serious, Vice. I’m not trying to end up stranded somewhere because you decided to change the plans without telling me.”
“So am I… I’ll bring you back.”
I walked toward him but stopped before climbing inside, looking up at a man who somehow managed to make everything sound like it should’ve already been understood. “You know asking works too, right? Most people usually start there.”
“I asked if you were hungry.”
“No, you asked if I was hungry and then told me you were taking me to eat. There’s a difference.”
Vice leaned one arm against the open door, completely unbothered by my irritation. “You said yes.”
“I said I was hungry.” I paused, realizing how this whole thing could look before adding, “That still doesn’t make this a date.”
Something changed in his expression. It wasn’t much, just enough amusement in his eyes to make me immediately regret saying it.
“Who said it was?”
I sucked my teeth as I stood here looking at him, trying to figure out how I’d somehow managed to embarrass myself in a conversation he’d barely participated in. “I didn’t.”
“You just did.”
“No, I said it wasn’t a date.”
“Wasn’t thinking about it being one until you brought it up.”
The amusement in his voice irritated me almost as much as the look on his face. I could feel my own face getting warm, which only made it worse because there was no way in hell I was giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’d embarrassed me.
“Good,” I said, climbing into the truck. “Then we agree.”
“A’ight… We agree that this isn’t a date.”
I looked back at him. “Why do I feel like you’re laughing at me?”
“I ain’t laughing.”
“Yes you are...”
That grin finally appeared. I knew his ass was cracking up on the inside.
Vice closed the door before I could say anything else, and I watched him walk around the front of the truck with that same damn grin on his face. I hadn’t thought this was a date when I agreed to go with him. At least, I didn’t think I had.
Now, thanks to him, I was sitting here wondering why I’d felt the need to make sure he knew it wasn’t one.
The ride started with me asking where we were going two more times and Vice refusing to tell me. Eventually, I gave up and looked out the window, although I was starting to recognize the area. When he finally pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant near Buckhead, I looked over at him.
“You could’ve just told me.”
“You would’ve had an opinion.”
“I have an opinion now.”
“Exactly.”
I shook my head and reached for the door, but before I could open it, Vice was already getting out. By the time I stepped onto the sidewalk, he had walked around the front of the truck and was waiting for me.
The restaurant was nice without feeling like the kind of place where I needed to whisper or worry about using the wrong fork.
I’d expected Vice to take me somewhere unnecessarily expensive just because he could, but this place felt comfortable.
Nice enough for a business meeting, casual enough that nobody seemed out of place.
The hostess greeted him by name the second we walked in and led us to what she called his usual table.
On the way there, several people stopped to speak, and Vice greeted each of them like they’d known each other for years.
He never stopped long enough to hold a full conversation, but it was obvious he wasn’t just another customer.
By the time we sat down, I found myself looking at him a little different.
“What?” he asked.
“You know a lot of people.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been coming here for years.”
“That woman at the front called you Mr. Blackwell.”
“That’s my name.”
I laughed, already knowing he was going to make me work for every answer.
A server came by to take our drink order. Vice ordered without looking at the menu while I settled on a lemonade before taking another look around the restaurant. Everybody seemed to know exactly who he was, yet he acted like there was nothing unusual about it.
When we were alone again, I looked back at him.
“You don’t drink?”
“Sometimes.”
“I meant alcohol.”
“So did I.”
I sighed. “See, this is what I mean. Every answer you give creates another question.”
“Maybe you just nosy.”
“Maybe you don’t know how to have a normal conversation.”
“I was having one before you started interviewing me.”
Despite myself, I smiled and told him, “I’m trying to get to know the man who apparently controls where I live now.”
“I don’t control where you live.”
“You told me where I couldn’t live.”
“Different.”
“Only to you…”
The conversation drifted from there, turning into another pointless debate over whether he was being overprotective or I was being hardheaded. Neither of us was willing to admit the other had a point, and by the end of it, we were right back where we’d started.
The server returned with our drinks, and we placed our orders. Once she walked away, the conversation settled into something easier. Vice asked how I liked being back in Atlanta, and for once, the question didn’t feel loaded with anything else.
“It’s taking some getting used to,” I admitted. “I thought coming back would feel more familiar than it does.”
“How long you been gone?”
“Ten years… Ten long, long, long years…”
“That’s a long time.”
“It is. I visited, but visiting isn’t the same as living here. Everything changed while I was gone.”
“So why come back?”
I ran my finger along the top of my glass, already knowing there was no way to answer without mentioning Evan. “I needed a fresh start.”
Vice leaned back in his chair. “From your ex?”
My eyes moved to his. “You really don’t miss much, do you?”
“You said you were with him ten years.”
“I don’t remember telling you that.”
“You mentioned it at the hospital.”
I thought back to that night and vaguely remembered saying something about having spent ten years with the wrong man. At the time, I’d been exhausted and still trying to process everything that had happened with Sam.
“Well, yes. Evan had something to do with it.”
“What happened?”
I smiled a little. “I thought you didn’t care about my ex.”
“I don’t.”
“Yet here you are asking questions.”
“I asked why you moved back.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it ain’t.”
I shook my head. “You really do have an answer for everything.”
“Most things.”
I took a sip of my lemonade before deciding how much I wanted to tell him. The strange thing was, I didn’t feel embarrassed about what Evan had done anymore. Hurt, yes. Angry whenever I thought about it too long, definitely. But embarrassed? No. I hadn’t been the one lying.
“We were together for ten years,” I said. “I thought we were going to get married, but apparently, he was going to get married. Just not to me.”
He looked genuinely confused. or just surprised. “What?”
I laughed, but there wasn’t anything funny about the memory. “I found out two days before his wedding.”
“To somebody else?”
“No, Vice. To himself.” He just stared at me. “I’m sorry… That was rude.”
“I’m used to it from you...” That made me laugh for real. Then he leaned forward. “How the fuck you find out two days before?”
“A mutual friend called me. She thought I knew.”
“And you didn’t.”
“Clearly.”
“What he tell you?”
“That it wasn’t what I thought.”
Vice looked at me like the answer offended him personally. “What the fuck else could it be?”
“Exactly…”
Our food arrived before he could ask anything else, giving me a chance to move away from a subject I didn’t particularly want to spend lunch discussing. I had already given Evan enough years of my life. I wasn’t about to give him an entire meal too.
Vice seemed to understand that because he let the subject go.
For the next twenty minutes, we talked about almost everything else.