10. Vivian #3
“Oh, did I now?” I quirk an eyebrow even as my mouth tugs into a grin. His eyes darken as his grip on my arms tightens. Before I can say anything else, Derrick presents us with our drinks.
“Two old-fashioneds for two heroes,” he toasts.
“Thanks, man,” Michael says, and lifts his glass in appreciation.
He clinks his glass against mine. “To you, my lady. Me haces feliz .” His eyes never leave mine as he takes a sip.
Translations don’t matter because the warmth in Michael’s eyes is hotter than the warmth of the alcohol quickly spreading through my body.
His hand lightly caresses my cheek as he whispers, “I’ll show you later. ”
Leaning into his touch, I confess, “Thank you for being here. And for not freaking out.”
Michael’s eyebrows raise, but I don’t elaborate. Not yet, anyway.
Turning to Derrick, I raise my glass to him. “To you as well, Derrick. You were great with Raelynn. How did you know how much tea to give her?”
“I’ve watched Claire enough times to know how much the princess needs. At least for the first round.”
“Still, I really appreciate you. Claire has enough going on with this place, and it’s not like she can be here any less.
” I stop. Derrick doesn’t need to worry about his job any more than I should be worrying about mine, but the reality is that if this place doesn’t see a bigger profit soon, we might all be looking for new work.
“I want to help her.” He sighs, nodding toward the kitchen and Claire’s office. “But I don’t think she’s open to it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “Are you hearing things in back of house?” His charming disposition leads people to confide in him, bartender role notwithstanding. It wouldn’t be surprising for that trust to extend to co-workers. Are people talking? Do they know this place is in trouble?
Derrick’s eyes close for a moment and his forehead wrinkles, making him appear older than his twenty-two years.
“I’ve heard some things. A few of the cooks got worried when their hours got cut.
” His face tightens. “I also told them to keep their mouths shut if they didn’t want to end up working somewhere else. ”
Bold move of him, speaking up like that when he’s the newest person here, but I respect that he didn’t just stand idly by.
“I’ve got some ideas I’d like to share with Claire, but you know how hard it is to get her attention.
” Derrick looks at me meaningfully and Michael’s hands tense on my body.
If I needed any confirmation of how Derrick feels about Claire, this is it.
“Maybe you could help me?” He runs his hand through his hair, making it stick up on end.
I laugh and point out the cowlick that’s sprung up.
“Um, Derrick, might wanna smooth that down.” He turns to look in the mirror and laughs at his appearance, and Michael relaxes behind me even as he presses closer.
He has nothing to worry about. Better yet, an idea that might work out for both of them just hit me.
“Listen, let me talk to her. I think I can find a way for you to get some one-on-one time.”
Derrick’s smile could light up a small city. “Yeah?”
“She’s my best friend. I’m sure I can twist her arm. Or you can do the twisting, if you can score some NSYNC tickets. They’re coming to Phillips Arena next month.”
Both Derrick and Michael’s faces twist in disgust, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. Clearly they are not boy band fans, but that’s okay. Claire is a sucker for Justin Timberlake, and that’s all that matters.
“Are you for real?” Derrick asks.
“As a heart attack.” I smirk at him. “Girl needs a night out, and if you play your cards right, maaaaybe you can tear her away from her secret crush, aka JT.”
His face blanches. “She actually likes that guy?” Michael’s shoulders shake, barely containing his laughter, and Derrick appeals to me. “Exactly how is this supposed to help me if I take her to a concert with her celebrity crush? I’ll never be able to compete with that,” he says despairingly.
I chuckle as I respond. “Relax, D. The point is to get her somewhere she can chill out and have a good time. She’s been dying to go, but I won’t inflict that kind of pain on my ears for anyone.
” I smirk as I recall her begging me. “She doesn’t want to go alone, and honestly I’d rather she have someone around who can protect her. ”
At that, his chest puffs out and I smother my giggle.
“Besides, you have nothing to worry about. JT is just a crush. Maybe while her guard is down it’ll be easier to see what’s standing right in front of her.” I level him with a look of my own and he nods. “I’m not sure how you’re gonna get tickets though unless you find a scalper—”
“Not worried about it. I’ve got connections.” Before I can inquire further, he scoops up two menus and leads us to table 23. “Enjoy, friends,” Derrick says as I look back at him in wonder. What in the Sam Hill was he talking about?
Michael waits to sit until I’ve taken my seat opposite him before grabbing my hand and lacing our fingers together. “Well, that was interesting.”
“Yeah,” I muse. “I have no clue what that was about.”
“He seems to have a good head on his shoulders. And you just gave him the ‘in’ he needed.” Michael winks at me, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. This connection, the way he needs to always be touching me feels soothing instead of suffocating. Another first.
“Hmm,” he says as he flips the menu over, looking at the long list of entrees on the back. “This isn’t going to work.”
I arch a brow at him. Sure, it’s not my great-grandmother’s recipes or anything like that, but we still make some damn fine barbeque.
What I don’t expect is for him to get out of his side of the booth .
“Scoot over,” he says, gently sliding me further into my side.
These can seat three full-grown adults across so there’s plenty of room, but I’m so surprised that I comply without thinking.
He quickly sits down next to me, so close that our thighs are pressed together.
“That’s better.” He eyes the menu again and rubs his hands together.
“So, what’s your favorite thing on here? ”
I sit there gaping.
“What? I was lonely.” He smirks.
Shaking my head, I can’t help but grin back at him. Michael:1, Vivan:0. But not for long …
“You are a smooth one, aren’t you?” I quip over a sip of my drink.
“Tell me. Is it working?” He wiggles his brows at me, and I laugh at the unexpectedly cheesy gesture. He continues to peruse the menu, and drapes his arm over my shoulder.
And that’s when the pain hits.
The backs of the booths are a little too high, and I wince as his arm rests right on top of a particularly sore spot directly between my spine and shoulder blade.
Guess the long nights this week, plus the stress of making sure Raelynn was okay is catching up with me, and I can’t hide my sharp inhale at the sudden ache.
I had hoped he didn’t hear, but Michael’s eyes fly up from the menu and latch on mine.
His eyes narrow. “What’s wrong, mi amor?” he asks softly. He looks me over carefully, as if he’s trying to locate the source of the pain.
“Nothing, I’m good.”
“Vivian…” He huffs out a breath of frustration, and I eye him warily. We’ve shared so much in just the past few days. I feel like I can tell him almost anything, like I can trust him with all the broken parts of me. And I’ve never had that kind of security before.
But this is a literal pain point with me.
Doctors don’t even know if fibromyalgia is real, or at least not much has been written about it.
Even my own physician wrote it down with a question mark when he couldn’t figure out what was causing all the aches and fatigue and sleepless nights.
I’m grateful he didn’t give up on me. Didn’t just sweep it under the rug or tell me it was all in my head.
He worked tirelessly to find a combination of treatments so I could live a normal life.
Or at least what passes for normal these days.
I’ve accepted that this painful condition is part of my life now, but it’s not easy explaining it to others. Even when I tried to talk about it with close friends, their heads nodded yes but their eyes belied their skepticism.
What if Michael looks at me like that? Will he understand that even though my body looks normal, there are days when I can barely get out of bed? “Tell me,” he commands, his eyes fiercely pinned on mine.
If I’m going to stand a chance with this guy, I’ve got to be open and honest. Remembering the words I could’ve sworn I heard out loud that night— If you miss out on this, you’re missing out on something big —I take a deep breath and will myself to be transparent.
“So, you know how I told you about that car accident?” He nods.
“A few years ago, I started having a lot of pain out of nowhere. First I couldn’t sleep, and then I had this creepy crawly sensation on my legs.
” Thank you, restless legs syndrome, one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced in my life .
“Then my muscles started to hurt, like really bad cramps and soreness. It doesn’t happen all the time, but when it hits—”
“Fibromyalgia?”
“Wh–what?”
“Do you have fibromyalgia?” he asks again. “Because that’s what that sounds like.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “My mother has it.”
“Y-yes,” I breathe out, staring at him. We talked about seemingly anything and everything, but this didn’t come up. Not that I blame him, given how I feel about opening up about my health issues.
“Where does it hurt the most right now?”
“My… my shoulders.”
He immediately removes his arm, cursing under his breath.
“Hey, it’s okay, you didn’t know,” I tell him softly.