Chapter 17 #2
I break a rib off the rack on my plate. He’s still sitting here, and I haven’t eaten all day.
I was too worried about talking to him to stand the thought of food.
My stomach is no longer churning quite so violently, and now that it’s not, I’m starving.
He might still leave and never speak to me, but right now he’s here, which makes me feel a little calmer.
“I was expecting you to be like them. I’ve never talked to any of them directly, but I saw them during Katie’s trial and, not only did they have zero remorse for what they’d done, but every single one of them wanted to rub it in her face.
It’s like they all knew they were going to get away with it before the trial was even over, and they were gloating.
It was like that the whole time. I didn’t show up every day since it was in Seattle and I had to work, but whenever I was there, that’s how it was. ”
Our server sets two fresh drinks on the table, scoops up the empty glasses, and disappears without saying a word. This might actually be the best restaurant service I’ve ever had.
“Can you eat something?” I nudge Mark’s food a little closer to him. “Please. I’m starving, and if you don’t also eat something, it feels like you’re staring at me, watching me eat, and it’s uncomfortable.”
“You don’t like to be watched,” he states.
“It’s not my favorite thing ever. The same way you don’t like people knowing more about you than you know about them. And for the record, I still haven’t Googled you, or read your Wikipedia page, or whatever it is that’s out there about you.”
“Why not?”
“Because even though I lied to you about not knowing who you were when we first met, everything else I’ve told you about myself has been real. My feelings for you are real. And I’m a big proponent of trusting people regardless of how absurd it might seem for me to say that right now.”
He finally picks up his fork and takes a bite of food. “What exactly did you know about me before you saw me in the bookstore?”
“I knew you were the Black Bears’ head coach, and I knew you were the youngest—or one of the youngest—head coaches in the NHL, and that’s pretty much it. Oh. I knew you were from Louisiana too. People love to mention that. I think they think it makes you seem exotic.”
Mark rolls his eyes.
“So where do we go from here?” I ask.
“Is this why you wanted to meet me here? Why you didn’t want me to pick you up?”
“Yes. I figured there was a good chance you’d want nothing to do with me after I told you, and I didn’t want you to be stuck driving me home if that were the case.”
“What about that day in the hallway with Garret Fischer?” He’s frowning again, and it’s making me uneasy.
“What about it?” I ask, setting the half-eaten rib down. It’s impossible to say whether the food is good. I definitely ruined dinner for both of us, despite trying not to.
“You must’ve recognized him.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“But he didn’t recognize you?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea. You would know better than I would.”
“No. I don’t think he did. So you recognized him and, what? You were just going to let him introduce himself and shake your hand?” I hear the challenge, or maybe it’s skepticism, in Mark’s question.
“Honestly, I don’t know. You stepped between us before I could figure out how to respond. I might’ve punched him in the face if you hadn’t.”
“But then you played it off like you had no idea who he was and accused me of being jealous,” he says, sounding offended all over again.
“Okay. Yes. I did play it off like I had no idea who he was. That wasn’t why I said something about you being jealous, though.
Or at least it wasn’t the only reason. It was that, plus the way you asked about Vaughn, plus your comments about not sharing well, plus your vague statements about the way your last relationship ended, plus your overall vibe, which I already told you.
But for the record, I would like to apologize.
I clearly jumped to an incorrect conclusion. And I like your overall vibe.”
He says nothing in response to that.
“I’m sorry I lied to you about recognizing you.
I never expected to like you as much as I do, and if I could go back to our first meeting and change it, I would.
I know trust is kind of a big deal to you, and I would understand if you didn’t want to keep trying it—this, whatever we’re calling what we’re doing—with me. ”
“Why did you agree to go on a date with me?”
“You want the full list of reasons or the short version?”
“Give me the full list.”
I sigh. “You’re going to have the hugest fucking ego by the time we’re done talking. You’re going to be so insufferable,” I gripe.
He doesn’t smile, but his lips twitch upward. He says nothing, though, and merely waits for me to continue.
“Fine. First, look at you. You’re freaking gorgeous.
Who wouldn’t agree to go on a date with you?
Second, I liked that you argued with me.
I liked that you thought you could tell me what to do.
That you thought I would listen just because you said so.
And when I didn’t, when I argued with you, it turned you on, which turned me on.
I knew if I slept with you, it would be fun.
Third, you kept flirting with me the entire time we were together, so you were clearly interested in me too.
Fourth, you obviously had something going on with your job that day, but instead of rushing off to deal with that, you told them you were busy.
You stayed at the hospital with me and then took me out for pizza afterward.
Fifth, when I sat across the table from you in the pizza parlor and told you I was pretty sure you were already hard for me, instead of denying it, you asked me out on a date.
Of course I fucking said yes. I’m not a masochist.”
“Yeah. Well. That hasn’t changed,” Mark grumbles.
“What?”
“My reaction to sitting across from you in a restaurant.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Are we playing Truth or Dare now?”
“Haven’t we been playing Truth or Dare since we met?” he counters, and yeah. I guess we have.
“Okay,” I agree.
“Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
Mark simply tilts his head and waits. I slip my foot from my shoe—knowing the tablecloth will obscure what’s happening—and stretch my leg out under the table, running it up his, until it’s resting on the chair between his legs.
He’s rock hard and his eyes flutter shut as I begin stroking him with my foot.
He really is a bastard, and I really can’t get enough of him.
We’re back at Mark’s house. I’m lying on his chest as he runs his fingers up and down my spine, and we’re both sheened in sweat.
There was a moment at the barbecue joint, when my foot was on his cock, where I thought he might come in his pants.
And then our too-observant server showed up with to-go boxes and the check.
I’m certain my face has never been redder than it was when I passed over my credit card to pay the bill, but Mark looked totally unperturbed.
“What the hell would I say to her if we met? Sorry doesn’t exactly cut it,” Mark says, breaking the silence.
“To Katie?” I ask, startled by his words.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Sorry is a pretty good starting point.
Not because she thinks it’s your fault. She doesn’t.
She knows it’s not anyone’s fault except for theirs.
But it’s hard to go wrong with empathy and compassion.
She may not want to meet you once she finds out who you are, though.
I’m honestly not sure. Again, not because she holds you responsible, but…
” I trail off, unsure how to end the sentence.
“Yeah. I know. I get it.”
“Are we… okay? Should I talk to her?”
“Yeah, Alyssa. We’re okay. Just…”
“I know,” I murmur, already aware I can’t keep that promise.
I’m definitely going to lie to him again.
I just hope he won’t find out. Once the last three are dead, I won’t have any more lies to tell.
“I’ll talk to her and let you know if she still wants to meet you. Sometime after Halloween, right?”
“Yeah. I’ll make any night we don’t have a game scheduled work.”
“Okay.”