Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
AVA
The drive into town is quiet and a little awkward.
I’ve spent the last few hours readying myself for this date, to sit across a booth from Kasey and force a happy conversation that’s just flirty enough to feed any onlookers.
But what I didn’t prepare for was sitting shotgun in this truck, for the visceral memories that have been firing off since the moment he opened the door for me and I was hit with the old familiar smell of the inside.
God, this truck has seen some things . .
. Like Kasey crouched on the floorboard of the passenger seat, the skirt of my dress pushed up around my waist as his tongue made me see stars.
Or the time we camped out on the beach of Scorpion Bay, a mess of blankets and pillows crafted in the bed.
It’d been so cold that night, but he’d kept me warm with a bottle of wine stolen from the bar and his arms wrapped tight around me.
I’ve spent such a long time shoving memories of our relationship away that it’s a bit overwhelming to be battered by them all now, especially while buckled into this torn seat. “Still driving this old thing, huh?” I ask as we slow down at a stop sign.
“Yep,” he says, his gaze focused on the road.
He’s got one hand wrapped around the top of the steering wheel and the other on his knee, his pointer finger rubbing absentmindedly against the seam of his Wranglers.
That’s all I get from him until we’re parked in the lot in front of Mustang’s Pizza, when he turns off the ignition and peers into the restaurant through the dusty windshield. “Looks busy,” he says.
Indeed, it does. Nearly every table is occupied, mostly with teenagers. I wonder if there’s a new version of us curled around each other in a booth somewhere in the back. “Looks the same.”
“Mhm.”
“Well, busy is good. If we’re going to do this we might as well make an impression.” I don’t mean for the words to sound so clinical. But then again, I guess that’s how they’re supposed to sound.
“All right,” he says. His chest fills and expands with a deep breath before he lets it out with a sigh. “Hang tight.” He doesn’t look at me, and my stomach knots.
I watch him push out through his door and round the truck to mine, opening it with a wide smile plastered to his face, the expression utterly ridiculous.
To anyone who might be looking, they’d think he was happy as a clam.
But I can clearly see the lack of light in his eyes, the wariness in the pinch of his jaw.
At least his eyes are on me. We just have to make it through a couple hours of pretending.
When he holds a hand out, I smile back. “Thank you,” I say, letting him support my weight as I work to step down in my heels. The dress I’m wearing is tighter around my thighs than the ones I used to covet, so it makes getting out of his truck much more difficult.
People are staring before we even make it to the door, heads turning all throughout the restaurant to catch a glimpse at us through the window.
Most of the teenagers look away again without much thought, likely not knowing or caring who we are.
But there are a handful of older folks who know plenty, and their stares linger.
Inside, a young hostess directs us to a two-person table against the wall, and Kasey pulls my chair out before I sit down in it.
The chair shifts beneath my weight, rocking on a loose leg—everything in here looks as though it were preserved in a time capsule, and none of the furniture has been replaced.
“Careful,” Kasey warns, moving to sit in his own seat.
“I’m sure falling on my ass would make your whole night,” I say in jest, picking up the large plastic menu.
“No, it wouldn’t,” he grumbles, looking at his own menu. “What kind of pizza do you want?”
My stomach rumbles on the spot. I haven’t eaten anything since a piece of toast this morning and have been fighting back nausea for the last hour. “Something with a lot of meat,” I say back, finding the list of options. “Pepperoni, sausage . . . oh, maybe jalapenos and mushrooms too?”
Kasey’s brows pinch. “You hate mushrooms.”
“Not anymore,” I say.
I sense his attention, but I keep my focus on the menu.
When our server comes by to take our order, Kasey asks for a large pepperoni and sausage pizza with jalapenos and mushrooms, and two Cherry Cokes.
My heart squeezes that he remembered my favorite soda—I haven’t had one in years.
Tobias kept our fridge stocked with nothing but bottles of water and two-liters of tonic for his nightly serving of gin.
“Do you still come here often?” I ask Kasey as the server—a boy who looks not one day older than sixteen—walks away with our menus.
He shakes his head. “Hardly ever. I don’t spend a lot of time in town anymore. Just the feed store now and then.”
“Too busy working?”
He shrugs. “That,” he says. “And also, if I want to blow off some steam, I don’t want to do it here.”
I smile. “How does Kasey Bennett blow off steam these days?”
He gives me a knowing look.
I laugh. “Do any of them ever stick around?”
“Who?”
“The girls you sleep with,” I say in a whisper.
He clicks his tongue. “Ava, I’m not answering that. That’s not even what I meant.”
I laugh again. “Yeah right.”
The server comes back with our drinks and drops two straws in the middle of the table.
Kasey picks them both up, ripping the paper from everything but the tip, and dunks one in each of our glasses.
“We’re supposed to be focusing on you tonight,” he says blandly, looking around to make sure no one’s listening. “You owe me some specifics.”
I internally groan, dreading this conversation.
Not because I’m scared of the truth, but because of how it might change the way Kasey looks at me.
I know it shouldn’t matter, but . . . it does.
He knew a version of me that was so confident, so headstrong.
I guess maybe I’m a little ashamed of how far I’ve drifted away from that girl.
“There’s a guy . . .” I say, looking at the wall instead of at him.
Kasey snorts.
I crumple my napkin and throw it at him. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Let me guess,” he says, eyes sparking with challenge.
He smiles like he’s teasing, but I think it’s just for show because he’s got that look he used to get when he was frustrated.
Sharp gaze, tense jaw. Even his fingers curl halfway to a fist before he releases them again.
“You thought you’d mess around with someone who had something you wanted: power, money, maybe a slick new Jaguar—”
“I drive a Range Rover,” I interrupt. “Jaguars are ugly.”
“—and you thought you could keep control of the relationship, thought you could get what you wanted and get out before things got messy.” He lowers his voice as someone walks by our table, headed for the bathroom.
“But then you realized you were right smack dab in the middle of a mess you helped make.” His grin is lethal. “Am I close?”
I want to smack him, but his read on the situation is annoyingly spot-on. “Guess some things don’t change, huh?” I quip as I try to shove away my shame. “I was always pretty shit at dating.”
“You weren’t shit at dating, Ava. You just liked to play games. Liked to win. But you also had a habit of picking assholes who knew how to outplay you.”
“You weren’t an asshole.”
“We weren’t a game,” he counters roughly.
The words clang like a falling hammer. I pull my soda closer and rip the paper hat off my straw, sucking down a long sip.
“Anyway,” I say. “Tobias works at the same firm as me. I was in consideration to make partner for months, and I thought he was going to be supportive about it. I worked my ass off to prove myself to the other partners.” I think that’s what hurts the most, how close I got to finally being recognized for my ability.
To earn something for myself. “Turns out he went behind my back and called a meeting with them to downplay my impact.
He convinced them he was better suited for the opportunity, that they needed another strong man at the helm.
“And then, when he got it, he tried to gaslight me into believing he was better than me. Tried to convince me I never had what it took. I knew it was bullshit, but what could I do? He’d already won.
So I ended things. Packed up my shit from our apartment and left.
I crashed with a friend and did my best to ignore him, but .
. .” I trail off, trying to find the right words.
Kasey’s gaze is sharp enough to cut glass. “What happened, Ava?”
I know I should tell him everything—I need to give him the whole truth. But I can’t do it . . . not yet.
“He just . . . he wouldn’t leave me alone.
He kept showing up, kept trying to talk me into getting back together.
It became too much. He showed up at my friend’s house one morning and caused a scene in the front yard.
I tried talking to one of the partners about his behavior and was essentially told that’s what happens when you sleep with coworkers.
So I decided to cut my losses and leave. ”
“This guy was actively harassing you and they didn’t do anything about it?”
I shrug. “He’s one of them now, right? Having to formally discipline your newest partner wouldn’t look good for the firm. It’s easier to blame me.”
Kasey’s jaw tics.
The server comes by holding a large pizza pan with a towel. He smiles as he sets it down on the stand in the middle of the table. “Peppers or cheese?” he asks.
“No thank you,” Kasey clips, eyes still fastened to me.
The server’s smile slips before he scampers off.
“What does any of that have to do with this?” he asks.
“This?”
“Us.”