I wish I could say Payne’s behavior was the worst part of the night, but that was only the tip of the iceberg.
And Lee doesn’t even realize it.
When we passed a homeless man on the way into the restaurant, Lee pulled me close and whispered that they should keep the footpath clear because it’s a “nice, family area.” He didn’t stop touching me until we took our seats, despite me moving away, and he keeps pointing out he’s paying. Like, a lot.
We’ll get the banquet platters. Don’t worry, Beau, I’m paying.
Why don’t you get a cocktail? It’s on me.
Make sure you leave room for popcorn. I’ll buy us the biggest one.
I can’t help comparing it to how Payne didn’t fight me on paying for the tour. How he doesn’t push me to take money, even after he offered me rent now that he’s working, and I told him I’d prefer for our agreement to stay the same.
It makes him look comfortable with me.
With Lee, there’s no connection, which is probably all on me, but I can’t stop picking at the little things he does.
He brought me to a Thai restaurant, which is fine, but then proceeded to order for the both of us, and the dishes he chose were the hottest ones on the menu. I don’t like spicy food. At all.
So while I pretend to like his selection so he’s not offended, in reality I push it around my plate and eat as much plain rice as I can stomach. He also never. Stops. Talking.
I’d noticed it at Marty’s, but I put his control of the conversation down to nerves and the fact I wasn’t saying much. But we’re on a date. Why am I here if he doesn’t actually want to get to know me?
I hate small talk and discussing things about myself, but I also know it’s an important part of the getting-to-know-you step that needs to be ticked off before we can move forward.
So far all I’ve worked out is that Lee talks with food in his cheek when he gets excited, cuts me off when I take too long to answer a question or get my words out right, and thinks people who eat blue cheese only do it to look superior.
I mean … I don’t get the appeal, but I’m not going to judge people for it.
“Where are our cocktails?” he grumbles. “You know, I’ve been noticing lately there are less and less servers in these places. The government keeps taxing the business owners and raising minimum wage, so they can’t employ enough people to do the jobs. Whereas if there were enough servers focused on good service, I’d tip more than generously.”
“Yeah, but not everyone does that.”
“Well, with service like this, what do you expect?”
The server shows up with our cocktails, saving me from a reply.
“Tell me about this book thing,” Lee says.
I blink, surprised he’s actually asked at all. The problem is “book thing” is a very broad topic, and I have no idea where to start. My feet bounce under the table. “W-what did you want to—”
“You’re an author, yeah? How did you get into it?”
That, I can work with. “I read a lot as a kid, then decided to try my own. I won a competition to meet with a literary agent, who gave me some awesome pointers on my book and asked me to resubmit if I made the changes he suggested. At the time I thought it was cool he was interested at all, so I did as he said, resubmitted and …” My book went to auction, had multiple bids, and sold for a lot more than I would have ever guessed. The translation rights came quickly, and then the movie was optioned, even though last I heard there was no movement there, which is typical.
“Wow, that’s really cool.” Lee takes a bite of sizzling beef. “So you’re a real author, then?”
I pause. “A real author?”
“You know, with a publisher. You’re not just out there, throwing whatever up online.”
“You mean self-publishing?”
He scoffs. “Can they even call it publishing? I swear, half of those books are barely legible.”
“Have you read any?”
“Nope. I don’t need to.” He gives me what I’m sure he thinks is a charming smile, but there’s a chunk of basil caught in his teeth. “But I’m sure you know this already.”
I don’t at all. I want to point out all the ways he’s wrong and that self-publishing has benefited authors and readers more than anything, but the confrontation gets caught in my throat. I’ve actually been looking at the mismatched snippets I’ve been writing and wondering whether to “throw” those up online. My publisher would never accept them. Even as part of a coherent story, they’re too niche.
“What do you write?” he asks.
“I thought I already said.” I did. I mentioned it at least once this week when he messaged to ask what I was doing. “Fantasy.”
“Ah, nice. Like Game of Thrones?”
I’m so sick of that comparison. So I decide to fuck with him. “More like Harry Potter. Or Twilight.”
“Ah.” Now he doesn’t look so impressed.
And I hope he never plans to read my books because I say, “Oh, yeah, it’s the full-on chosen one trope. Barry Trotter is obsessed with Eddy Carlisle, and they go to magic school together, and—oh, there’s dragons. And a giant centipede. And at one point, Eddy’s decapitated, and Barry has to do a spell to stick his head back on, but it always chooses the most random moments to pop back off and roll across the ground.”
The people at the table beside us are looking at me in horror, and Lee’s clearly confused, but I’m past caring.
“That sounds … interesting.”
“Sells like hotcakes.”
He clears his throat. “There’s a market for everything, isn’t there?”
“Including dinoporn.”
“Dino …” He scrambles for his drink. “Umm … that’s fascinating. Hey, did I tell you about that time at work Marty and I had that battle with the office across the street? Where we’d send the other—”
“The most disgusting lunch dishes you could find, and the ones who bowed out of eating it first had to pay for the others to go on a golf retreat?”
“A couple of times, huh?” He tilts a bashful expression my way.
Like, six, but who’s counting?
“So what’s the deal with Payne?” he asks. “I know you said you’ve never dated, but he was … I don’t want to say rude, but …”
But he was rude. Payne wasn’t happy to see Lee, and that should piss me off a lot more than it does. Payne doesn’t know Lee, so the only reason I can think of for him to not like Lee is me. It makes me hopeful that there’s something there even when it really shouldn’t. Because if he’s jealous, even the smallest, slightest bit jealous, that means I might actually have a chance. One day in the future when he’s moved on from his divorce, could something actually happen?
I’d wait my whole life to find out.
“He’s protective of me,” I lie. Though … it’s not really a lie, is it? Protective might be a strong word, but Payne has my back a lot.
“I think he has feelings for you.”
I almost laugh because Lee doesn’t need to worry about that. And not only because I don’t have feelings for Lee, but if Payne wanted anything with me, he already knows it’s on the table. “Payne’s my roommate. That’s it.”
“Well, I won’t pretend that’s not a relief.” He tries for a smile again, but I’m not feeling it. I’m not feeling any of this. I should be. I should be focused on him and not picking at the things I don’t like, but looking for the things I do like instead.
So, Lee has some outdated thoughts when it comes to publishing—that’s not a big thing. All it would take is a quick Google search to show him where he’s mistaken. And the food thing? Next time I’ll tell him I don’t like hot things.
I remind myself I need to make an effort, but I can’t stop thinking of Payne. Is he actually waiting up? What’s he doing right now? If I was at home, would I be cuddled up next to him, his heavy arm resting in my lap as I draw over his skin? Before I can stop myself, I find myself asking Lee the same question I asked Payne the other day.
“So, hypothetical. If a twenty-five-hundred-pound dragon jumped from the top of my apartment building, would it have enough time to unfurl its wings and take flight, or would it crash to the ground, creating a massive crater?”
Lee opens his mouth, then snaps it closed again. “Umm, Beau? Weren’t we talking about Payne?”
“Oh, I thought we were done with that.”
He gives me a pitying look. “I’d like to continue with it, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, but dragon question first.”
“Why? Is it important?” And then he gives me the look. The look that clearly says he worries about my sanity. The look I get at least once over the course of a date and is usually the sign I take that it’s time for us to take off, hook up, and call it a night. But I don’t want to hook up with Lee.
“I, umm, need to piss.” I drop my fork onto my almost full plate and head for the bathrooms. I need any excuse to get out of here, so when I reach the hall for the bathrooms, I pass them and turn another corner, where I pause to pull out my phone.
My first instinct is to call Marty, but Lee is his friend, and he’ll only encourage me to give him more of a chance. So instead, I hit Call on Payne’s number.
“’Lo?”
“Payne?”
“Ohh … it’s Bo-Bo …”
Jesus fuck. “Are you drunk?”
“Bit tipsy, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll buy you another bottle of scotch.”
That’s not the part I’m worried about. “Do you have someone over? Or are you drinking alone?”
“Alone. But why are you alone? Where’s Liam?”
My lips twitch. “Lee?”
“Is that his name?”
“You really expect me to believe you forgot it?”
“I didn’t forget. I just don’t care enough to remember.”
“Of course.” I tilt my smile toward the floor.
“Wait. Why are you calling? Where is he? Did he do something?”
“Do something? Like what?”
“I dunno. Upset you or something? Because you don’t need to change for him. You shouldn’t be changing or improving for anyone, especially a douche like him.” Payne hiccups a laugh. “Did you see the gold clip on his blazer? Who does he think he is, a fucking sea caption?”
Caption? Payne is way more than tipsy. It’s sort of adorable. “Can I tell you why I called now?”
“If the sea captain hurt you—”
“He didn’t,” I assure him before he can go off on another rant. “But the date blows. Can you call in like five minutes with an emergency?”
Payne snorts. “Why can’t you tell him you’re not interested and leave?”
“You must underestimate the number of awkward situations I’ve sat through.”
“You need to learn to be more assertive.”
“Sure. Of course. But tonight, can you?”
“Call?”
“Yes.”
“With an emergency?”
“Exactly.”
“There’s no way he’ll believe that.” Payne burps loudly, and it’s in this exact moment I have to question my taste in men.
“Yeah, but it’s not like he can call me on it, can he?” And with any luck, he’ll think it’s Payne being overbearing again.
“Yeah, not doing it. I promised I wouldn’t interfere again.”
“Come on, Payne, please?” I inject a little flirtiness into my tone, feeling bolder since he’s been drinking. “I’ll thank you later.”
His hum is gravelly and reminds me of what he sounds like when he comes. “How exactly?”
“Make the call and find out.”
There’s silence for a moment, and I’m so worried Payne has passed out.
“Maybe.”
“Uh, what?” I laugh, because this isn’t a “maybe” type scenario.
“I will maybe call you.”
“Can’t you just give me a yes or no? Preferably a yes?”
“If I call, you get your excuse and can blame someone else instead of telling poor Lucas—”
“Lee.”
“—the truth, and then, what? Continue to string him on for the rest of your lives? Or I give you the opportunity to be assertive and tell him you’re leaving.”
“You give me way too much credit.”
“Nope. I give you the exact right amount of credit, which is a shit load more than you give yourself.”
“I can’t do it.” I inhale deeply and confess, “I didn’t even want to come on this date at all, but I couldn’t say no when he asked.”
“Wow. Can’t wait to be there for your wedding day.”
“Payne … I can’t. I really can’t.”
“Fine. Then I guess you just have to hope I’m a nice guy.”
I smile. “I know you are.”
“Someone’s about to be sorely disappointed, then.” He hangs up before I can respond, and I’m left staring at my phone. Does that mean … is he not going to call?
Fuck, I’ve been gone too long to call him back, so I fire off a text on my way back to the table.
Me: Please don’t let me down.
