Chapter 21
Okay. Here’s the situation.
Principal Jalal was really really mad about the ants thing because apparently a bunch of teachers had already talked to her about how me and Loch Ness don’t like each other and are always playing pranks and it’s distracting for the other kids.
Mom got called in and everything and now for a “meditation” effort me and Loch Ness have to work on a really big project together and it’s due in two months.
RIGHT on my birthday.
And if we don’t get it done my party will be canceled.
I wore the red dress.
I wasn’t really in the mood to wear the red dress or to shave my whole body, put on a full face of makeup, and expend the arm-twisting strength and energy required for a Brazilian blowout. Nor did I have the time.
So I compromised.
I shaved up to my mid-thighs, settled for a lazy blowout that left a few damp roots behind, and opted for a lighter, more sultry look with the makeup. The red heels and gold earrings would mend any gaps, but I tossed a hairbrush and some makeup into my clutch just in case.
Which turned out to be the single best decision I could have possibly made.
“What’s his name again? The guy. Rachel’s boss.”
It was the first thing Dom had said to me since we’d left his house. Granted, I’d prattled off my address and squeezed in a power nap during the initial ride, and he’d waited in the car while I showered and got ready, but still. It was a long time to go without uttering a single word.
I fiddled with the hem of my trench coat—an extra layer of protection against Dominic’s blatant abuse of the AC. “No idea. Can you drop me off a block or two away? I don’t want her to see us.”
“How do you not know his name?”
“She’s mentioned it a few times; it just hasn’t stuck. Starts with a T, I think.”
There was a brief pause as the car crept through another four feet of traffic. “Do you at least know what he looks like?”
“Nope.”
“Right.” His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his lips forming a tight line.
About a minute later, it was followed up with, “So, in short, you’re meeting up with some random man in some random bar, you have no idea what he looks like, you don’t have his name or any information about him other than he’s your friend’s boss, and you’re planning on drinking. Am I getting that right?”
“Nailed it,” I confirmed sarcastically as he waved a hand to the driver behind us before backing into an empty spot.
It was a little too close to the bar for my liking, but whatever.
Not like there’d been a ton of parking options.
“I mean, other than the intentional misuse of the term ‘random,’ and leaving out the part where we won’t be alone. But, you know.”
“What if he’s a creep?”
“I doubt Rachel would be trying this hard to set me up with him if that were the case.”
“What if she doesn’t know?”
“Then I guess I’ll have to be the bearer of bad news. Can you unlock the door?” I was almost forty minutes late and couldn’t figure out how to do it myself.
“Look him up first.”
“What?”
“Look him up first, make sure he’s not on any of the lists.”
“What lists?”
His neck bent forward as he scanned the congested street. “There aren’t any schools or playgrounds within at least three kilometers of this place. Don’t you find that suspicious?”
“I find it more suspicious that this thing has a million buttons, yet none of them unlock the passenger-side door.” So far, I’d managed to crack open the window, tilt my headrest, make a portion of my seat vibrate, and turn on a fan for my legs.
“Where does Rachel work again? Her dad’s investment firm?”
My fingers stilled, my brain rewinding, trying to do the math and figure out whether he’d already left by the time the stuff with Rachel’s dad blew up. “Uh, no. She works for an accounting firm—deals a lot with nonprofits.”
It took him less than ten seconds to find it on his phone. A new one, I assumed, given its pristine condition. “Boltcher & Co.? Trevor Boltcher is the guy?”
“Yes, and I don’t know, probably. Is that the lock button?” I reached over him and pressed it. His trunk hissed open. He didn’t notice.
“He’s at least double your age.”
“Don’t be rude. He’s only thirty-something, according to Rachel.”
Dom didn’t look convinced. In fact, he was downright smug.
“Gimme that,” I said, reaching for his phone.
My cheeks heated when I looked down at the screen. They scorched when Dom palmed his mouth, failing to contain his laughter.
Double my age was a pretty generous understatement.
I whipped out my own phone.
“Alice! Yay! Are you here?”
I instinctively peeled my ear away, checking to make sure I hadn’t accidentally put her on speaker. I had not. She was just screaming.
“Listen, I can’t really hear you, but we’re the big group in the back. Right under the neon badger smoking the three-foot joint! I’m waving, can you see me? I can’t see you.”
Oh, good, she was already drunk.
“Hey, I’m almost there!” I said, raising my voice. “Just had a quick question for you—what’s his name? Your boss?”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“Your boss’s name,” I repeated, practically shouting into the speaker. “Is it Trevor?”
“Hold on just a sec.”
My fists tightened when Dom relaxed into his seat, looking aggravatingly satisfied with the unexpected turn of events.
The background chatter and music suddenly died. “Hey, sorry. Bathroom’s a lot quieter. Can you repeat what you were saying? Are you here yet?”
“Almost, just thought I’d call ahead and double-check something. Did you say your boss’s name was Trevor? I can’t remember.”
“What? No, nono, Trevor’s his dad. Super-sweet guy, but very old and very married.” I shot Dom a hah, see? look, but he still didn’t seem convinced. “Tristan is the one I’m setting you up with. Slightly less sweet, but much more age-appropriate, and a little…”
She paused just as a black Cadillac with fully tinted windows pulled into the spot in front of us.
“Um… severe-looking, you could say? But in a quiet, hot way. Like he’s always decked out in a tailored suit and looks a little angry all the time, but he’s just… I don’t know. Observant? Shy? It’s hard to describe.”
The door opened. A man stepped out.
He was wearing a dark, crisp suit, his salt-dusted beard trimmed to striking perfection. Without missing a beat, and as though he could feel the weight of my unabashedly curious stare, his eyes cut to mine.
He was really handsome. In an intimidating, stern daddy sort of way. I offered him a small smile. It wasn’t returned.
“He’s a little hard to get a read on and takes a while to warm up to people, but I really think you’ll like him,” Rachel continued.
The man adjusted his cufflinks, turned around, and strode into Underbite like he owned the place.
“Anyways, you’ll see what I mean in a bit. His last meeting ran late, but I think he’s almost here.”
I smiled. “Perfect, sounds great. See you in a bit.”
I hung up, slipped my phone into my bag, and plucked the lid off my lipstick.
“What are you doing?”
“That was him,” I said by way of explanation before yanking down the passenger mirror.
“Who was him?”
“The guy who just came out of the Cadillac. Suit. Beard. Tall.”
“The constipated-looking one?”
I didn’t dignify that with a response, too focused on freshening up my makeup.
“He’s barely younger than the dinosaur we were looking at.”
“He’s in his late thirties at most,” I argued in between lip pats. “Plus, I’m digging the salt-and-pepper beard. Maybe he’ll let me—no, make me—call him daddy.”
Dominic looked like he might start choking. “You’d hate that.”
“Shows how much you know. I’ve got a major thing for older guys.”
“Since when?!”
“Since the first time I rewatched Twilight as an adult and realized Charlie was the best part.” I ran my fingers through my hair, fluffed up the roots. “Plus, there’s something really attractive about big, burly men who look like they’d be really proficient at chopping wood, you know?”
“Pretty sure I’m bigger than him.”
“Not relevant. You’re not a contender for the future father of my children.”
“I… the future what—” He cut off when I tugged my coat open and slipped it off. I didn’t need it—would make more of an entrance without it.
Rachel was right about the dress. I shouldn’t have doubted her for a second.
“Okay, I’m good to go. Can you unlock the door now, please?”
When the silence that followed stretched for a half minute too long, I stopped preening and made the fatal mistake of turning my head.
My heart dropped.
Pain—fresh and heart-achingly genuine—unfurled in his eyes as he looked me up and down. It was like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath and making me nauseous.
Even though it was bullshit.
There was no real reason for him to act like this. There was no real reason for him to be hurt, or to look at me like that, or beg me for a fucking kiss like he was convinced his life depended on it.
He’d rejected me.
He’d left me.
I’d been in love with him for years. Truly, deeply, unfathomably, miserably in love.
And it was shit like this—the tortured glances, the little acts of jealousy—that had convinced a small, pathetically naive and hopeful part of me that maybe those feelings weren’t entirely one-sided.
He’d known. He’d figured it out and turned me into the butt of the fucking joke.
Imagine if Rachel hadn’t told me, and I’d shown up to that game wearing his hoodie. Imagine if I’d spent the entire hour and a half trembling with nervous excitement and disbelief, thinking he’d chosen me.
Imagine, then, that the ref would’ve blown the final whistle, the crowd would’ve hollered and cheered as the players ran to their partners to celebrate the long-awaited moment. Phones would’ve been out, pointed at us from every angle.
And he’d have sprinted right past me, climbed the bleachers, and kissed Harper.
Imagine how much they’d have laughed.
Imagine how much he’d have laughed.
So fuck him. I wasn’t doing this again.
“What?” I asked, hating how tight my chest felt. “You have something else you wanna say?”
He glanced away with a half blink, his throat working as he unlocked the doors. “Text me when you’re done and want a ride home. I’ll keep my ringer on.”
And had I not been so busy trying to fight back tears, maybe the bitter, vindictive little snake in my head wouldn’t have won, and I wouldn’t have struck so hard. “Don’t bother. I’m not planning on going home tonight. Not with you, anyway.”
I slipped out of the car, slammed the door shut, and left.