Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
SIERRA
We’ve been at the restaurant for going on two hours, and I’ve been plotting my escape for at least seventy-five percent of that time.
I’ve ruled out excusing myself to go to the bathroom then bolting instead, because it wouldn’t make any sense for me to take my jacket to the bathroom and I’m certainly not leaving it behind.
I’ve thought about faking a stomach ailment, but Jared has ordered dessert, and it feels unfair to not let him eat it when the end of our date is already so close.
I could text Petra. We have a plan for situations like this.
If either one of us texts the other an “X” and nothing else, it means we’re in a situation we need help getting out of.
The person receiving the “X” text message will call the sender and explain a fake emergency that the sender needs to come help with.
I’ve never had to put this plan into action before, probably because I was engaged when we conceived of it.
It was really more for Petra’s benefit, since she was the one going out with different guys almost every night.
But now I feel like I might end up being the first one to put it into play.
From the moment we got in his car, Jared gave me a slimy vibe—it’s like he’s a different person tonight than he was when I met him last weekend.
That whole text exchange in my entryway, the way he ran a lock of my hair through his fingers, and told me he wanted more time with me.
My stupid heart held out just an ounce of hope that he was a good guy, that this date would be surprisingly good, even though I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.
Instead, I feel like all I’ve done is listen to him name-drop all night.
I didn’t know he was a snowboarder, but apparently he is and he’s in awe of me living with Beau right now and keeps talking about snowboarding and how good Beau is, and what other pro snowboarders he knows.
There’s so much name-dropping going on that I don’t even want to mention what I do for work because he’ll probably pepper me with a bunch of questions about the athletes, or he’ll continue with the one-upmanship he’s currently engaged in.
Of course, he’s also completely talking to my chest. I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off the goods since we sat down.
I know this dress is low-cut, so a glance here and there wouldn’t be unexpected.
But honestly, this is ridiculous. He needs to learn a little self-control, like the kind I have to show when Beau walks around in nothing but gray sweats.
I don’t stand there with my eyes focused on the outline of his junk, no matter how hard it is to tear my eyes away.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Jared says as he sets down his glass and finally looks up at my face. He’s now finished his third scotch. He’s comfortably relaxed, while I feel high-strung and edgy, like a live wire about to snap.
I give him a small, close-lipped smile. “Sorry, I think I’m just tired. The puppy got me up at the crack of dawn today, and I’m really not a morning person.”
“Ahh,” he says, as if that explains everything.
“The trick to getting up early . . .” he says, then lectures me about a variety of ways to embrace being a morning person.
I half listen to him drone on, hoping I’m nodding and “uh-huh-ing” in the right places, while I think about how to best get my phone out of my purse and discreetly send Petra a text.
I’m afraid that if I pull out my phone and send a text, then immediately get a phone call, he’ll be suspicious. Who cares what he thinks? Just get up and walk out, I can practically hear Petra’s voice telling me. Slap some money on the table to cover your food and your drink, and leave.
And even though I know that’s probably the best thing to do, I can’t quite bring myself to do it.
I don’t think of myself as a people pleaser, per se, but I hate to offend people.
It’d be so much easier for both of us if I got called away from our date because of some emergency Petra needed my help with, and I pretended like I was sorry to go.
I want to go home and curl up on my couch in my pajamas and have one of those brownies I made before I left, but I don’t want to have to endure a horribly awkward scene to get there.
I reach my hand down into the purse that’s hanging from the back of my chair and fish around for the pocket holding my phone while pretending to be hanging on Jared’s every word.
But then my phone starts buzzing angrily and I pull it out with the tips of my fingers. Beau’s name flashes on the screen.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell Jared, “I have to take this.” I slip out of my seat and rush toward the side of the restaurant where I saw the hallway to the bathrooms.
“Hey.” I sigh as I answer. I’m about to tell him he’s my hero for his well-timed call, but he starts talking a mile a minute.
“Slow down,” I say. He’s in a car and with the road noise and the speed at which words are flying out of his mouth, the only thing I caught was Winston.
“I can’t understand you. What’s going on? ”
“Winston got up on the counter and ate the brownies you made,” he says. There’s real fear in his voice.
“Okay,” I say slowly, not understanding why he’s so upset.
“Sierra,” Beau snaps. “Dogs can’t have chocolate.” He says that like it’s a well-known fact. But I’ve never had a dog, and I didn’t know that.
“Why not?” I ask.
He pauses. “Because it can kill them.”
“What?” I shriek, and I can see heads at the tables nearest me turn. I mouth Sorry and turn away, my back to the restaurant as I face the bathroom doors.
“Yeah. It’s incredibly dangerous. And I don’t know how long ago he ate them because I was working out and he wandered away and he must have eaten them when I wasn’t looking. Fuck,” he growls out. “Red light.”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I took your car and I’m on my way to the emergency vet. When I called, they told me to bring him in as soon as possible.” He tells me which one he’s headed to, and I tell him I’ll get a cab and meet him there.
I’m shaking by the time I get back to the table. “I’m so sorry,” I tell Jared as I drop my phone into my purse. “I have to go. My puppy ate a bunch of brownies and is really sick.” My hands are so unsteady I almost drop by coat trying to get it on.
“I’ll drive you,” Jared insists.
“No!” I exclaim. “I mean, that’s okay. Beau’s on the way to the vet with him and I’m going to meet them there. There’s nothing you can do, so I appreciate the offer, but no thank you.”
I reach into my purse and grab my wallet, intending to give him some money for my half of dinner, but he holds up his hand. “I’ve got it,” he says, then his eyes slip from my face back down to my chest. “You go take care of your puppy and we’ll try for another time.”
Oh God, I do not want to leave this open-ended.
He clearly has no idea how not-good of a time I’ve been having.
I open my wallet. “I appreciate the offer,” I tell him, “but I think one date was enough.” I drop a few twenties on the table and rush out the door, my arm already up, looking for a cab and hoping there’s one nearby so I don’t have to wait for an Uber.
When I fly through the glass door of the veterinary clinic fifteen minutes later, I’m surprised to find a totally empty waiting room, save one lone figure sitting hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
He looks up when I approach him, and I’m greeted with hollow eyes and pale skin.
Beau couldn’t look less like himself if he were in a costume.
I sink into the seat next to him. “So what happened?”
He leads me through the progression of events, ending with finding Winston almost passed out on the counter.
“It was some scary shit,” he says, lifting his head to look at me.
“His eyes were half-closed, and he was panting like he’d just run a mile in five seconds.
He couldn’t even lift his head up, and his tongue was just hanging out of his mouth.
When I put my hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat, it was so fast I was afraid it was just going to burst or something. ”
I can’t help the squeak that escapes my lips at the thought. Beau looks over at me right as my eyelids lose their battle with the tears I’ve been trying to hold in.
“Hey,” he says, his voice deep and soothing. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me to his side. My cheek is pressed up against the zipper of his open jacket, but I don’t even care.
“I’m so sorry,” I say as I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my mitten. “This is all my fault, and I wasn’t even there.”
He pauses and pulls his head away from where it rests against mine. “Sierra, this wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes it was,” I say, then swallow after my voice breaks. I’ve had a ten minute cab ride over here to think about what Beau said—Winston ate the brownies that I left out on the counter. “If I knew the first thing about dogs, I would have known not to leave chocolate out on the counter.”
He wraps his other arm around me and leans back in his seat, so I’m comfortably cradled in his arms. I feel his chin when it meets the pom on top of my winter hat.
“You left them on a counter,” he emphasizes.
“Three feet off the floor. Hell, I watched you do it and would have done the same, even though I know dogs are allergic to chocolate. Why would any reasonable person think Winston could get up on the counter?”
I pull away and look at him. “Wait, how did he get up there?”