26. Paige
26
Paige
I ’m so nervous, I could throw up.
I tried to when I got out of my sister’s car, but she only screamed out the window, I will have your head if you puke on my tires! I believed her and got myself together.
But now I’m just pacing outside Smith’s like I own this part of the sidewalk. The least I could do is hold a sign for them so it doesn’t look like I’m raiding the place.
I’m not prepared for this date.
I thought I was until I got here. Now I know I’m not.
Things with Rhodes are shifting fast, and when I hugged him and kissed his stubbled cheek—which I have never done before—he held me in a way that wasn’t friendly at all. It made me…wonder things.
I wondered what it would be like to hug him more often.
I wondered what it would be like to fall asleep and wake up thinking of him .
And the scariest part is wondering what it would be like if we kissed—really kissed, not in a dream.
The numbers on my phone say it’s officially time to go inside. Constance circled the parking lot a few times before she told me to get the hell out . I still feel like I should run a quick marathon before heading inside to burn off some of the tension roiling in my body. Chugging a milkshake will have to do.
Opening the door, I step inside, and I’m met with the nostalgic smell of burgers and fries. I’ve been coming here since I was a kid because Smith’s has been around that long and then some. Smith sadly didn’t outlive this place, but one of his sons owns it now. He renovated the entire interior a few years back and added upgraded tables and chairs, booths, and a private party room in the back near the arcade games.
The counter at the front end of the restaurant is set up with multiple registers for ordering the best burger you can get in a fifty-mile radius, along with a milkshake that is damn near orgasmic. I’m not waiting in line long before I order an emotional support milkshake while I wait for Roger to show. I’m still forty minutes early and need something to keep me from bolting out of here and begging Rhodes to pick me up.
Speaking of . I snatch my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and send him and Amber a photo of me with my tongue hanging out the side of my mouth with the too-good-to-be-true milkshake. My glasses are crooked, and I look awkward.
I stop short when I spy a familiar person seated in one of the booths. “Don?”
He looks up and peers around, deciding whether to acknowledge me or not. There’s a plastic fork in his hand and stray pieces of romaine in his basket that shouldn’t be there.
He doesn’t eat vegetables.
Lies .
He ducks his head, averting eye contact.
“I can see you.” I stride right up to his table, not giving him the chance to vanish .
“Right.” He lifts his head and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Hello, Paige.”
“What are you doing here?”
He looks at me through a squint. “Eating.”
I point at the bowl. “That’s a salad?”
“Incorrect,” he says, “that was a salad.”
I nod like I understand then push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and start shaking my head. “You don’t eat this healthy stuff, remember?”
He sighs and drops his napkin. “Sometimes, Paige, I do.”
My lips part. “But you said—”
“I know what I said.” He holds up a hand. “I don’t owe you an explanation, but it’s not often I eat anything green. I’m an old friend of the Smith family, and they make a damn good salad.”
They really do. “Okay, so sometimes you eat things that come from the ground.”
I just needed to say it out loud.
“And sometimes you do, too.”
I nod and then determine this is the perfect opportunity. I’ve been so freaked out because I had to do this alone, but now I don’t. Don is here. He can help me. Every girl needs an emotional support ex-boss.
I’ll work on how to rephrase that later.
I quickly slide into the booth across from him. “I’m meeting someone here soon.”
“I don’t care.”
“Delia set me up with him—”
“You should leave now then,” he says, cutting me off.
“I can’t.” I lean across the table on my forearms with wide, pleading eyes.
His brows furrow. “And why not? It’s a free country. ”
“Because…I…like him.”
He pushes his empty bowl aside. “I don’t see the problem here.”
I exhale. “I’ve never actually met this guy before. Delia set me up with him, but we’ve only been texting. So, tonight, we’re meeting for the first time in person.”
“Good luck to ya,” he says, starting to slide out of the booth.
In a last-ditch attempt, I reach across the table and grip his forearm. “Please,” I beg. “I need to talk to someone, or I’m going to explode.”
“And you think I’m that someone? I’m your boss.”
“Were,” I correct. “You were my boss.”
And I miss having his snarky energy around. Randy has gone rogue by giving every day a theme to boost team spirit. Tomorrow is supposed to be Spirit Dog Day. Something about finding a dog that captures your essence.
I’m clearly a cat.
He sighs and settles back in his seat. “Alright. Talk.”
“AND THEN EARLIER, we hugged.” I slurp through my straw but only get air, realizing I finished my milkshake sentences ago. “And I kissed his cheek.”
“And?”
“And…I never kiss Rhodes. Not like that. Not like anything,” I explain. “It’s just really bad timing to be thinking about my best friend like this when I’m about to meet another guy I really like. I’ve basically been talking to three different men for the last week, and I never felt like I was cheating or going behind Rhodes’ back. ”
“That is a lot of information,” Don says, lowering his brows.
“And that dream…” I lean back against the booth with a huff.
“Let’s not revisit that.”
“Well,” I gesture with wild hands, “what do I do?”
“You tell them all no .”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Wait…that’s it? Why would I do that?”
“Because saying no is fun, and it sounds like you could use a break from all these nuthead men anyway,” he says, surprising me by pulling out a comb and using it on his mustache. “Get a dog.”
“I’m a cat person.”
He shrugs. “I said what I said.”
“That isn’t helpful at all.”
The small comb disappears back into his pocket. “I’m not going to ask you what your heart tells you to do. That would be ridiculous. Hearts lie all the time. But it sounds like you should meet this guy in person and tell him you need some time to figure out what you want.”
There’s enough energy swirling around my body to launch a missile. I picked the wrong person to ask for advice because now, I’m actually considering it. Maybe I should tell Roger I need some space. And even though I may want my relationship with Rhodes to be different, I should probably take more than a few minutes to figure it out.
The Itch that’s been bugging me to scratch it is back, climbing my spine one vertebrae at a time. I reach a hand back to scratch the phantom touch, but it’s hard to reach and even harder to figure out where it is. I just know it won’t go away. It’s been months. What is it? Why is it bothering me so much? Is it the pressure of finding a guy I could potentially spend the rest of my life with? I want that so badly. But am I even ready to settle down? I have nothing to offer. Nothing to show for the last ten years of my life.
Oh no .
I think Don is right.
I need some time to think.
It’s probably too soon to meet someone when my head is an unsolved crossword puzzle.
I sigh and place flat palms on the table. “I need to leave, run far away. He’s going to be here in…” I look at my watch, “ten minutes.”
Don looks past my shoulder. “Are you sure?”
I check the time again on my phone this time in case I got it wrong. “Yeah. That’s what we agreed on.”
“It looks like he’s here now.”
My face immediately heats. “Oh shit!” There’s no time to leave now. I clap a hand over my mouth and start to speak even though it’s muffled. “What does he look like? Is he cute? Does he have a good hairline? Please tell me he either has a full head of hair, or he’s bald.”
Don waves then says, “He’s got hair alright. Decent hairline, but he looks familiar.” He drops his hand. “And he’s walking over here.”
I can’t force myself to look. I’m too nervous. But I do manage to ask Don, “How do you know it’s him? You don’t know what he looks like. Or do you? Did Delia tell you?”
“No, I just know—”
“Hi,” the new voice says.
My head turns about as smoothly as a rusty gear. Then my shoulders relax, and I slump further back. “Rhodes. Oh my damn.” I clutch my chest. “I thought you were Roger.” I look behind me at the door. “He’s going to be here in ten minutes. You both should go.” I let out all the air in my body then eye him. “Wait. Why are you here? ”
I flip my phone lying face down on the table to see if he sent a text I missed. Worry starts to claw at my throat. I must have missed something. It’s got to be an emergency if he’s here.
“Is it your dad?” I ask in a rush, navigating to our text string to confirm I didn’t miss something big. “Is he okay? Are you?”
“Paige, it’s okay. My dad is fine.” The moment I look back at him, he’s eyeing Don in a way that has my gaze bouncing between them.
Rhodes clears his throat. “Paige, can I talk to you? Over…” He peers around. “Anywhere else?”
Don scoots out of the booth. “Here, son, take this seat.” He claps Rhodes on the back, but my best friend doesn’t move to sit down. Standing straighter, Don grabs his empty bowl and giggles behind a clenched fist. “You might want to get something to drink first. This is about to get interesting. Almost hate that I have to go. You know, retirement and all.”
Rhodes waves, but he looks like he’s staring at a moving bus ready to hit him.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “I wasn’t kidding that Roger is going to be here any second, and it might be a little soon to meet the friends.”
“I…” He says nothing after this, and he still hasn’t sat down.
I study him, clocking his black Star Wars T-shirt he’s had since high school, the sunglasses he has hanging from the neckline, and his faded black jeans he always wears with a stitched back pocket. I know because I stitched them. This is his go-to comfort outfit; I know that much. He wore it when he took his driving test, during college finals, and again every time his dad went to physical therapy.
And, apparently, right now.
“Why are you wearing that?”
He looks down at his shirt. “I like this outfit.”
“I know.” It comes out a bit breathless .
Then I realize what is on his head: the backward baseball hat .
Why is he wearing that? Roger told me he’d be wearing a backward…
I point at his head. “That hat…”
Rhodes doesn’t make a move to touch the hat, remove it, spin it around and show me the Seattle team logo Roger told me he’d be wearing, but the navy blue shade of the team is near damning. I don’t need him to show me.
“Rhodes,” I manage to say, meeting his eyes.
He sighs but keeps his eyes locked with mine. “Paige, I have to tell you something.”