14. Milan Rivers
MILAN RIVERS
Ihad been standing in front of my closet for too damn long, staring at my clothes like something new was going to magically appear if I gave it enough time.
Vice had said he was coming to get me, but he hadn’t bothered telling me where we were going.
That would’ve been useful information considering I had no idea whether I needed to dress up or keep it casual.
After changing twice, I finally settled on a pair of dark jeans, a fitted top and heels that were comfortable enough to wear for more than an hour without making me regret my decision.
I had put more thought into getting dressed tonight than I wanted to admit.
This wasn’t our first time going somewhere together.
We’d had lunch. We’d gone to dinner. There was no reason for me to be standing in my bedroom acting like I had never been on a date before, even though we never called it that.
Except this time felt different.
Three nights ago, Vice had almost kissed me, and I had been thinking about it ever since.
I could still remember the way he’d looked at me before I stepped back, but what stayed with me the most was how easily he’d accepted it.
There had been no attitude, no bruised ego and no attempt to convince me I was overthinking things.
He hadn’t pushed me into something I wasn’t ready for or made me feel guilty for changing my mind.
He’d simply left.
Somehow, that had made me want him more.
I stepped back from the mirror and looked myself over one last time before reaching for my lip gloss. I had just dropped it into my purse when my phone vibrated on the dresser.
Vice: Downstairs.
I glanced at the time and smiled. At least he wasn’t late.
After grabbing my purse, I took one last look in the mirror and immediately rolled my eyes at myself. “Girl, go.”
By the time I stepped off the elevator, Vice was waiting near the entrance with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
He wore a black button-down shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, dark jeans and the same chain.
His eyes moved over me as I walked toward him, and the slow way he did it made me suddenly glad I’d changed clothes twice.
“You ready?” he asked.
I stopped in front of him. “That’s all I get? No, you look nice or anything?”
He laughed as he ran his tongue over his lips. “You do… but you already know that shit.”
I stared at him for a second. “I shouldn’t have to ask.”
“You ain’t ask. You told me what to say.”
I laughed because he was right.
This time, he was in a different ride. Instead of his truck, he was in a car—a nice expensive one at that.
I waited while he opened the passenger door then climbed inside without reminding him that I was perfectly capable of opening my own door, which I considered growth on my part.
Once Vice got behind the wheel, I fastened my seat belt and looked over at him. “You look nice.”
He chuckled. “‘Preciate it.”
The drive took us further into the city, and the closer we got to downtown, the more I tried to figure out where he was taking me, but I refused to ask. When he finally pulled into a parking garage and I recognized the building, I looked over at him.
“Bowling?”
“You got a problem with bowling?”
“No. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“What you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Another restaurant.”
“We can eat here.”
I laughed. “Okay.”
The place was nicer than the bowling alleys I remembered going to when I was younger.
Music played throughout the building, the lights were low, and a full bar ran along one side of the room.
Toward the back were private lanes with couches instead of the hard plastic seats I remembered, and I looked around as we followed an employee through the building.
“Okay. This is nice…” I said.
Vice nodded in agreement and placed his hand against the lower part of my back as we followed the employee toward our lane. The touch was barely anything, but I felt it the entire way.
Once we got settled, I sat down to change my shoes while Vice ordered food and drinks. When the server walked away, I looked up at him. “What did you order me?”
“Margarita.”
“What if I don’t like—” I threw my hands up, not trying to sound ungrateful or anything. “Thank you.”
“You like ‘em.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And how do you know?”
“You ordered one the other night.”
I paused with one shoe in my hand. I had to bite down on my bottom lip to keep from blushing as I looked away. He remembered that.
The first game started with Vice talking entirely too much shit for somebody who claimed he didn’t care whether he won. After he knocked down nine pins on his first throw, I leaned back against the couch and narrowed my eyes at him.
“You bowl often?”
“Nah.”
“Liar.”
Vice turned around. “Why I gotta be lying?”
“Because nobody who doesn’t bowl stands like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know what you’re doing.”
He picked up his ball again and winked at me. “I know what I’m doing with most shit.”
I stared at him for a second. “That sounded exactly how you meant it to sound, didn’t it?”
His grin widened. “I was talking about bowling.”
“Sure you were…”
By the time my drink arrived, I was already losing bad enough that I had stopped checking the score. I took a long sip of my margarita while Vice stood beneath the screen looking at the numbers like he was playing in a professional tournament instead of beating a woman who hadn’t bowled in years.
“You might wanna pick that up,” he said.
I lowered my glass. “Pick what up?”
“Your score…”
“You know, I was having a good time.”
“You still having one.”
“I was...”
Vice laughed as I stood and grabbed my ball. I took my time lining up my shot, determined to at least knock down enough pins to shut him up, only for the ball to roll directly into the gutter.
Vice didn’t say a word.
I slowly turned around and found him sitting there with his lips pressed together. “Don’t.”
“I ain’t say shit.”
I walked back toward the couch and picked up my drink. “I’m starting to understand why you’re single.”
Vice leaned back and looked at me. “Oh, so you been thinking about why I’m single?”
“No.”
“You brought it up.”
“I made an observation.”
“Sound like you’ve been thinking to me.”
I took another sip instead of responding, which only made him laugh.
The server brought our food not long after that, and for the next two hour, we ate, drank and talked between turns.
By the time I finished my second margarita, I was feeling good enough that I stopped caring about how badly I was losing.
The alcohol had loosened me up just enough to make everything funnier, including Vice’s unnecessary celebration every time he knocked down all ten pins.
“One more game,” I announced after losing the second one.
Vice looked up at the screen. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to win.”
“You ain’t won yet.”
“I was warming up.”
“For two games?”
I pointed at him. “See, this is why nobody likes playing with people like you.”
“People who win?”
“People who likes to throw their wins in your face.”
Vice laughed, and I found myself staring at him a little longer than I should have.
I liked seeing him like this. Relaxed. Laughing.
There was always something serious sitting behind his eyes, even when he smiled, and I knew a lot of it had to do with Sam.
Losing someone didn’t disappear because you went bowling for a few hours, and whatever his cousin had been involved in before he died was still hanging over Vice’s head.
Tonight, though, he seemed lighter, and I liked knowing I might have something to do with that.
“You good?” he asked.
I realized I was still looking at him and quickly reached for my drink. “Yeah.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes stayed on me for another second before he let it go, and I was grateful because I wasn’t sure I could explain what had been going through my mind without saying more than I was ready to admit.
The third game went slightly better, although not enough for me to actually win. I blamed the margaritas. Vice blamed my lack of skill, and by the time we left, I was still accusing him of somehow cheating.
“How the fuck you cheat at bowling?” he asked as we walked through the parking garage.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure you figured it out.”
“You lost three times.”
“You don’t have to keep saying it.”
“You keep accusing me of cheating.”
“Because you’re too happy about winning.”
Vice opened the passenger door and waited for me to climb inside. “You want me to be sad?”
“I want you to be humble.”
He laughed as he closed the door.
The ride back to my apartment was quiet.
Music played low through the speakers while I rested my head against the seat and watched the city pass outside the window.
Maybe it was the drinks or the fact that I’d spent the entire night laughing more than I had in months, but whatever it was, I felt good.
When Vice pulled into my building’s parking garage, I glanced over at him. “I had fun.”
“I know.”
I laughed. “You really have to stop saying that.”
“I just know you had fun… That’s all, and so did I.”
He parked near the elevator and turned off the truck. When he reached for his door, I didn’t bother telling him he didn’t have to walk me upstairs. I already knew he was going to, and honestly, I didn’t mind.
We rode the elevator up together, and the closer we got to my floor, the more aware I became of him standing close beside me. The two margaritas had worn off enough that I wasn’t drunk, but I was still relaxed and less inside my own head than usual.
When the doors opened, we walked toward my apartment, and I unlocked the door before turning around to face him. For a few seconds, neither one of us said anything.
Three nights ago, we’d stood almost exactly like this.
The only difference was that I knew what I wanted now.
“Thank you for tonight,” I said.
“You welcome.”
“And even though you cheated, I still had fun… a lot of fun.” Vice smiled and said nothing as he stared down at me. I cleared my throat and said, “Goodnight, Vice…”
“Goodnight, Milan…”