Chapter Fourteen #2
She glares at me. “You know what.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
She groans, dropping her head back on the seat and staring out the window again. We’re silent again for a minute or two. Then she breaks it. “It’s just dinner. Work stuff.”
Work stuff over dinner. I don’t buy it. “And where is he taking you to discuss work?”
The next question she asks is full of the kind of audacity she’d crucify most men for. “Why does that matter?”
If I weren’t in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I would stop the car right in the middle of the road for that question.
“Why does it matter?” I ask her slowly, enunciating each word carefully.
“Do you really need me to remind you of how I know what your face looks like when you come? How your head arches back and a tiny line form between your brows as you—”
“Okay,” she squeaks, cutting me off. Her face is flaming now. “I get it. Point taken. It’s a work dinner. That’s it. He mentioned wanting to go to Delmar’s because it’s closer to the interstate and easier to get to from where he’s staying.”
Delmar’s is an Italian restaurant with dim lighting and clothed tables with candles. Hardly the place for people to go discuss work, even if it’s a convenient location. I almost say ‘huh’ for a third time before I think better of it.
Instead of telling her what I want to—which is to tell Dane to fuck right off and that I’ll figure out how to build bookshelves for her—I change my mind. “Fine.”
Belle goes quiet, her eyes skeptically roaming over my face as the traffic starts moving again. “Fine?”
I dip my chin. “Fine. It’s a work dinner.”
She continues watching me, clearly not believing my casual nonchalance so easily. “You just threw a man tantrum two seconds ago, so I’m sorry if I find your ‘fine’ to be a bit unbelievable.”
I shrug a shoulder. “You’ve got a lot to do to prep for your store opening. If he knows how to help, then fine.”
I feel her eyes on the profile of my face for a few extra seconds before she huffs out a sigh. But she obviously doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, so all she says is, “Fine.”
*
Maybe I should feel bad about using my status to get me into the packed restaurant that usually requires reservations a month in advance, but I’m too busy scouring the dining room to let that guilt sink in.
Some poor sap probably lost his reservation in order to accommodate the five massive bodies that slide into a corner booth, and I’ll try making sure they’re compensated for the last-minute change.
Moskins sees me searching Delmar’s for the familiar face with a shit-eating grin on his own.
I knew I was going to get grilled the second I asked them if they wanted to go out to eat tonight.
It isn’t like it’s rare I ask them to hang out, but I sure as hell don’t normally pick this atmosphere when I’m with these jockstraps.
When they asked, I was honest with them.
Belle is on a date.
They all agreed to tag along without a second question.
Richie has been cooped up in his house since he was released from the hospital a couple days ago.
Thankfully, his ACL tear doesn’t require surgery.
Only a lot of rest, ice, and elevation and physical therapy when the time comes.
He’s been sulking, barely responding to group texts, and I figured getting him out would be better than letting him eat his weight in the food Belle brought over to him and watching brain rotting television shows.
Jackie Dawson, Thomas Moskins, and Elliot Raymond decided to come to help lift his spirits. And to piss me off more than likely.
“On your eight o’clock, Cap,” Moskins says, sipping his water that the waitress put down in front of each of us. He elbows me and gestures with his chin toward where Belle walks in next to Dane.
Richie Head is at the end of the table, his leg extended out in front of him in a brace and his crutches leaning against the wall behind him.
He still has a solemn look about him, but there’s a little color on his face since getting some fresh air for the first time since the incident. “Is that her boyfriend?”
My response comes way too quick. “They aren’t dating.”
Jackie Dawson snickers. “Not yet.”
Moskins chuckles.
I flip them all off. “He’s here for work.”
I swear to God one of them goes ‘huh’ in just as much disbelief as I did when I heard the same thing. Because we all know a guy doesn’t bring a girl to a restaurant like this to talk about wood. Not the literal kind anyway.
And that thought makes me mad. So mad that Moskins has to pry my water glass out of my hand and set it down before I break it and slice my palm. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything about it. Small miracles.
The hostess seats Belle and Dane across the room at a small table near the window. He’s carrying a bag that he sets on the ground by his chair before sitting down.
It’s Dawson who scoffs. “He didn’t even pull her chair out for her. What a douche canoe.”
He didn’t, and I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed. Yet, it’s Raymond who counters the fact. “If this is just a work thing, he’s not obligated. Do you pull out Coach Hoffman’s chair?”
Dawson throws his balled-up straw wrapper at him. “No, dick. But it’s what gentlemen are supposed to do.”
Raymond makes a thoughtful noise. “Didn’t know you knew what that was. Pretty sure I saw you scratch your balls in public the other day when we were checking into our hotel for the away game.”
Dawson’s cheeks turn pink. “I was adjusting myself. Why were you looking at my dick anyway?”
I tune them out as they continue bickering.
Dane and Belle are talking. Smiling. It’s hard to tell from here, but his smile looks a lot bigger than hers. More genuine. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.
“What’s the move?” Moskins asks after the waitress comes back and asks us for our orders. Only two of us even bothered looking at the menu, so they threw out some random appetizers and told her to come back while we look at entrees.
I hold my menu, pretending to scan it. Then I glance up from the top to check on Belle as if she’ll pull out the bat signal at any second. This is ridiculous and I know it.
I finally turn my head toward him. “There is no move. We’re just…keeping an eye out.”
The snort from him is loud, and I’m pretty sure two of the other assholes I invited also snicker at my reply. Moskins levels with me with arched brows. “Nobody just stalks somebody on a date and does nothing. We’re here to crash it.”
“I—” I start to refute the statement when I stop myself. Because yeah. I’m here to crash it. I don’t have a plan though. “I didn’t really think it through behind getting a table.”
Dawson throws a hand over the top of the booth cushion. “Head is probably an expert in this shit since he’s locked himself away to watch sappy rom coms for the past week.”
Head’s eyes snap over to him. “Fuck off. I haven’t watched rom coms.”
Dawson grins. “Defensive.”
I sigh loudly. “Can you not cause a scene?” I tell them, eyeing the defenders until they quiet down and relent.
I notice that only one drink is delivered to their table.
Something that looks like a beer for Dane.
Belle usually likes wine, so I’m not sure why she’s skipping out.
Her favorite thing to pair Italian food with is a Riesling or Moscato.
An idea pops into my head that maybe I’ll look back on and think is petty, but I don’t think about it when I flag the waitress down. I flash her my best smile. “Do you mind sending a glass of Moscato over to that woman by the window? The one in the green sweater with short brown hair.”
Her eyes flicker over to Belle before returning to me. “Sure. Six ounce or nine?”
Once that order is in, along with our dinners, I lean back in my seat. Head and Dawson are grinning now, and Raymond shakes his head with a small smile as I watch the waitress go over to the bar to place the drink order in with the bartender.
“Savage,” Dawson says with an appreciative nod.
Shaking it off, I drink my water and gesture toward Head. “How are you feeling? Did the doctor tell you when you can start PT?”
Head’s gaze drops to his leg, scowling at where it’s extended in front of him.
“I’m supposed to start phase one on Monday.
They’re telling me I won’t be able to go back for at least six weeks.
I’m lucky it wasn’t worse, or I’d be out for longer.
They’re saying I could be back in skates around three months. ”
We all knew he wouldn’t be playing the rest of the season. Even with our last few wins, it doesn’t look like we’ll get anywhere close to the semi-finals happening in just under two months.
I tell Head the only thing I can. “At least you’ll be able to train over the summer and start next season.”
All he does is press his lips together and offer me a stiff nod in acknowledgment. I get it. He’s pissed that he can’t finish the season out, but at least it’s not permanent. We’ve all been there.
Our waitress collects the wine glass from the bar and walks it over to Belle’s table.
I don’t know what she tells them, but Belle’s spine straightens as she searches the room.
It takes her less than five seconds to spot me, which is impressive considering the number of people here.
All five of us wave, catching Dane’s attention too.
The waitress walks away, dealing with her other tables for the night oblivious to the dirty look I’m getting because of the gift.
Moskins laughs. “Do your balls hurt? It looks like she’s trying to rip them off with her mind.”
I don’t break eye contact from her the entire time. It isn’t going to be me who backs down from this. I notice the way Dane looks between Belle and me, his eyes travelling back and forth before he says something that snaps her out of the stare down.
Dawson says, “I’d be so pissed if I were him, but he looks…fine. Are we sure this isn’t work related? He’s carrying a man purse. I don’t know how many men are willing to carry something like that outside of work.”