Chapter Twelve #2
He frowns as if he hadn’t thought of that before. “Damn. I need to quit before she’s sixteen and become a custodian or something.”
I chuckle. “That doesn’t change anything, but I like the initiative. Plus, you have time. Don’t start updating your resume just yet.”
The long-winded breath he releases tells me he feels otherwise.
But I suppose time passes at a different speed when you’re a parent.
Something I don’t want to think about from a personal standpoint before I start bawling in front of him for a second time and ruining my makeup.
I don’t want to walk into the restaurant with mascara halfway down my face.
Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat. “Are you nervous to see Olive?”
His head shake comes with no hesitation. “It will be good to see her. To see them. Her boyfriend will be with her. We played him tonight. O’Conner—left wing for Pittsburgh’s team.”
He says that like I’d know who he’s referring to. But it took me about two weeks to memorize our own twenty-three-man roster, so knowing offhand who anybody else is doesn’t seem likely.
“Good to see them together so you can move on?” I guess, because it seems like a reasonable assumption.
But the way Bodhi winces makes me question whether I’m right or not. “It’ll be good to get past this strange triple-date so everything can go back to normal again.”
I’m not sure what constitutes normal, and I don’t know if I want to ask. “Since this is a fake date, I’m paying for my dinner.”
His deadpan expression says the hell you are before he can say, “No.” The word is dry but firm, offering little room to argue.
I do anyway. “Yes. This isn’t real, and I can afford to pay for myself.”
His grip flexes around the wheel again, making his biceps bulge a little before loosening up. “This is a high-end steakhouse, Honor. I’m not going to let you pay for your own meal. The mashed potatoes alone are thirty dollars.”
For a potato and some butter? “So I’ll get the green beans.”
Although I can tell he’s amused by the quick retort, he doesn’t relent. “You’re not paying, whether you deem this “real” or not.”
Why does he say “real” that way? I don’t ask him that either. “I can afford it,” I repeat. “It isn’t like I pay a mortgage or car payment right now, and my father and Sylvia refuse to let me give them any rent money.”
Plus, there’s the sizeable amount of money I’d gotten in the divorce that’s burning a hole in my bank account thanks to Max’s game that went viral early in our marriage.
I try not to think about that, though.
“Good. Then you can keep saving it,” he replies stubbornly.
I glare at him.
He glares back. Except, his glare is playful.
“Bodhi.”
“Honor,” there’s a hint of a smile in his tone.
“This is a—”
“Fake date,” he finishes for me. “I know, you’ve said. However, I still have every intention of paying for the tab. In fact, I have a feeling it’ll be a fight between the men on who will pick it up. So you’ll have two other contenders to be mad at if they get the check first.”
While I’m not above the patriarchal stereotype that says men should pay for dinner, that doesn’t mean I expect it. Then this becomes…more. More than helping a friend with a favor. More than two co-workers going out to eat and enjoying the others company.
Something tells me neither of us are going to budge on this. “You could have asked hundreds of other girls to do this tonight, and I doubt they would have fought you on paying.”
His singular dimple pops. “I’m sure that’s true,” he agrees lightly, igniting the tiny jealous monster inside me. “But I wanted you to be here, even if you’re being a pain in my ass.”
“A pain in—” I stop myself and scoff. “I’m simply trying to be respectful.”
“And I appreciate that, but it’s unnecessary.”
“But—”
“And if we’re being honest here,” he cuts me off with a knowing look in my direction.
“It isn’t just about you being respectful of my finances.
It’s about you creating boundaries to protect yourself.
Which is fine. I won’t cross any lines you don’t want me to.
But I think you owe it to yourself to be honest about what this really is. ”
All I can do is gape at him. Because he’s…
Right. Annoyingly so.
Then I feel bad about keeping him at arm’s length because I could have said no to this. I could have easily told him I couldn’t come after all. I’d considered it a time or twelve since agreeing. I didn’t, though, because I was a little—and by little, I mean miniscule—bit excited.
Even though it’s not a real date, it feels like it is. The version of me who pined for a stranger years after one conversation with them in a dark bar is the one who said yes to this. Not me. Not the fresh divorcee with trust issues. Not the person who I used to think was logical.
Logical people don’t go on dates with attractive professional hockey players who play for their father. Whether the dates are real or not. They just…don’t.
“You’re in your head,” he notes.
Which, again, he’s right about.
“Stop doing that,” I mutter, more to myself than him.
He hears me and chuckles.
Sighing, I settle into the seat and close my eyes for a second. “It’s not you,” I tell him after a few moments of silence. “I have some stuff to work through.”
All he says is, “That’s fine.”
And when I look at him—really look—I can see he means that. There’s no pressure. No ultimatum or ulterior motive. He’s okay with taking this at my own pace, with letting me keep him at a healthy distance.
I swallow. “Okay then.”
“Okay.”
We share another look. His is softer than before. Comforting. “Okay.”
His eyes glimmer. “You said that already, honey.”
Damn him and that nickname. And damn my traitorous heart for reacting to it.
The rest of the drive to the steakhouse is quiet.
*
Olive is taller than my five-foot-three by a solid five inches, if not more, with bigger boobs, a prettier smile, and makeup skills I lack despite all the times my mother made me wear it and told me I could get a boyfriend if I put a little more effort into my looks.
I was eleven. She spent more time helping me with eyeliner and mascara than she did with my spelling tests or math homework.
“You can either have brains or beauty,” Mom tells me, holding my eye open against my protests to apply the black liner pencil in the water line. “Hold still, Honor! You won’t look pretty if I accidently stab you. Do you want to be pretty or smart?”
I’d told her I wanted to be both, and she scoffed as if I told her it was my life mission to become a unicorn when I was older.
Olive Henderson is definitely both brains and beauty, with a captivating personality that could encapsulate anyone in a ten-mile radius. It’s no wonder Bodhi had it bad for her.
Our hair is around the same length, although hers is dirty blond to my copper red, and her eyes are a captivating color of mint green that I’m envious of because my caramel brown hues are boring by comparison. We’re both bigger women, with a healthy amount of curves that I find oddly…endearing.
Because Bodhi liked her—wanted her. He wanted her body and her time, and while that causes an unjustifiable amount of jealousy to settle into my gut, it also gives me hope that there are people out there who will want me too.
People unlike Max, who slowly fell out of love with me as my body and mind and soul changed, who will accept me for… me.
The damaged version.
The healed version.
And every version in-between.
I find myself enthralled by Olive and her addictive laugh as she hounds her brother over shared childhood memories, smiling along with the rest of the table. Except, Bodhi isn’t looking at her at all.
He’s looking at me.
He’s smiling at me.
And when I notice, I offer him a tiny smile in return that only makes his grow bigger as he drapes as arm over the back of my chair.
“Sebastian tried teaching me how to skate, but I looked like a baby giraffe learning how to walk for the first time,” Olive says. “I’m not much better now, even after Alex has given me some lessons, so I’m always impressed when people can do more than hold onto the wall.”
Sebastian, who seemed surprised but welcoming when I showed up beside Bodhi, snorts. “The ice was the one place you didn’t follow me onto. It was nice.”
Olive throws her balled up straw wrapper at his face. “Hey! You invited me to join you and your friends all the time.”
“Because Mom wanted me to,” he informs he, making her hand fly to her check in mock shock. “I was practically the 24/7 babysitter. Didn’t mean I loved it.”
“My whole life has been a lie,” she says dramatically, putting a hand on her chest.
He grabs her straw wrapper and tosses it back at her, but she catches it before it smacks her in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him, which he returns while lifting his middle finger up to wave at her at the same time.
I laugh at their antics. “This is how I’d be if I had siblings,” I say to no one in particular.
“Did you like being an only sibling?” Bodhi asks, not paying attention to the innocent insults that Sebastian and Olive toss back and forth.
My smile falters as I think about what life was like when I was younger. “Not really. I always thought it’d be nice to have someone else who understood what I was going through, but it was probably better that only one of us had to deal with my mom.”
It would have been less lonely if I’d gotten a sister or brother to share the misery of trying to clean up the bathroom after she’d drink herself sick. Or to figure out what to cook whenever she’d go MIA without getting groceries first. Misery loves company, after all.
But it also would have meant that someone else had to deal with her mess, and I wouldn’t have wanted that for them.