Part 2 – May – The Gentleman
“You’re missing Sunday dinner again?” Luke’s voice on the line sounds both shocked and concerned.
My younger brother thrives on consistency and tradition. Any deviation from a well-formulated pattern is liable to drive him into a frenzy. Which is why I’ve waited an entire week to tell him I won’t be sitting at the table again tonight.
“I just can’t face him yet,” I reply. I refuse to lie, especially to my brothers. But he doesn’t need to know the whole truth. As far as he and Caleb know, I’ve been released from writing duties at the church. Which is a nice way to put it.
They don’t need to know about the club or what happened there.
And they don’t need to see what a mess I’ve become since. It feels like my life was completely derailed from the track it was on. I had purpose and direction before. Now I have nothing.
“But what about Mom?” he asks, and I wince.
My mother is a subject that literally pains me every time she crosses my mind. She’s called me every week, but I keep the details light and put on my best fake optimism.
To be honest, I never want my mother to know what my father is really up to.
“I’ll call her and apologize. It’s not like you and Caleb haven’t missed a few dinners from time to time.”
“Yeah, but you’re not me and Caleb,” he replies, and I understand what he’s trying to say. “And this is three in a row.”
As I reach the restaurant, I pause, lingering outside with Lucas on the call.
“Listen, Luke. I gotta go. I’ll call Mom later, okay?”
“Okay.” He’s hesitating, and I know he can sense that there’s more to the story, but I don’t elaborate.
In fact, I haven’t been in the mood to do much at all lately. I spent the last three weeks pretending I would get some writing done. That I would bounce back. But there has been no fucking bouncing. I feel as if I’ve landed like a lead balloon. I didn’t just lose my job. I lost everything I’ve strived to achieve. I’ll never step into his shoes now, and I’m not so sure I want to.
But I hate the idea of moving on.
Hence why I’m here at Sal’s on a Saturday morning like clockwork. Old habits die hard, they say.
As I pull open the door to the diner, the first thing I see is bright pink.
Peaches.
My heart starts pounding in my chest and my cheeks burn with shame.
But it’s too late to turn and run.
Pausing two steps into the lobby, my gaze connects with hers, and we stare at each other for a few long, tense moments.
Immediately seeing her brings back a flood of memories from that night at her apartment. And with those memories, a torrent of disgrace as I remember what came over me in that moment. Perverted, vile, depraved. I desperately wanted to lock up that incident and pretend it never happened.
And yet, I think about it as often as I try not to think about it.
“Morning, Mr. Goode,” the hostess says in a cordial greeting. “Your spot at the bar is open today.” With a smile, the girl takes a menu from the stand and starts toward the bar when I stop her.
I have no good reason for what I do next.
“Table for two, actually,” I say with my eyes on Sage.
She stares at me, her lips parted and her eyes full of curiosity.
“Oh, okay,” the hostess responds, grabbing a second menu and leading me back toward a small two-person booth near the back of the diner.
When Sage stands to follow the hostess with me, I feel a sense of victory course through my veins.
What am I doing?
We follow behind silently until we reach our seats and sit across from each other.
“I was wondering if I’d see you here again,” I say.
She smiles shyly. “Well, I don’t pull any more night shifts, and I don’t normally get up this early, so you lucked out today.”
“I guess I did.” I find myself staring at the ring in her lip and the way she sometimes bites it when she’s nervous like she is right now.
Then, from out of nowhere, I’m hit with a memory of the way I acted that night. And the fact that I owe this woman an apology.
“Sage, I’m sorry…for what happened that night.” I stammer, feeling uncomfortable.
“Which part?” she asks with one brow arched.
I lean forward, keeping my voice a near-silent whisper. “I didn’t use protection. And I left…”
“Oh,” she replies, a hint of a smile on her face. Then she leans forward to whisper in return. “I’m tested regularly and on the pill, so it’s okay. But I appreciate your apology.”
With a sigh, I sit back and let out an exhale. The relief of that information settles some of the worry in my bones. The last thing I need right now is an unwanted pregnancy with a stranger.
Sage and I are sitting in mildly awkward silence when I feel a pair of eyes on me from across the restaurant. A man, roughly my father’s age, is watching me over his newspaper, and it’s clear by the way his eyes dart back and forth that he recognizes me.
Judging by the disgruntled line of his mouth, he doesn’t approve of my company. A month ago, I might have cared.
The waitress scurries over to pour us coffee and take our orders, and the moment she’s gone, I turn my attention back to Sage. Why did I want to sit with her today? What on earth am I trying to gain here?
And why the hell haven’t I been able to stop thinking about her since the day we met?
“How’s your…?” She points to her cheek, and I lift my fingers to mine, feeling the scar there. It’s mostly healed but still pink and fresh.
“It’s good. Thanks to you.”
She shrugs in response.
“So, how are y—” I start to ask before she quickly cuts me off.
“I’ve been thinking.” The words scramble out of her mouth, and I notice immediately the flustered expression on her face as she gazes up at me.
“Okay…” I reply carefully.
“It’s going to sound crazy, but I just have to get it out, or I’ll regret it.”
“Go ahead. Say whatever you need.”
Her ring-covered fingers are grasping the coffee mug tightly, squeezing it nervously. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since that night. Which is why I’m here. I figured you might come back on Saturday mornings, and I didn’t have any other way to contact you that would be discreet enough.”
Discreet enough?
“I assume you and your father are still on the outs,” she says, leaning forward to keep it quiet between us.
Glancing around, I make sure no one is listening as I nod.
“And you’re still pretty mad at him and would like to see him suffer a little? Maybe even…ruin his reputation?”
My heart starts to pound a little faster. I lean forward. Here I just wanted a nice breakfast date in hopes that she and I could start over and I could right my wrongs. But she’s manipulated this entire meeting for what…a revenge scheme?
“I’m not interested in outing him if that’s what you’re implying. I’ve thought about it, and I think it would do more damage to my—”
“No,” she says, cutting me off again. “I can’t out him. I can’t out any of them. It would cost the workers at the club too much. It’s not their fault.”
“True,” I reply with hesitation. My curiosity has me laser-focused on every word Sage is saying. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I already know that whatever it is she’s suggesting, I won’t comply with. I’m not interested in revenge or making my father’s downfall my goal in life now, but I am dying to know what she has in mind.
She looks down at her fingers as she chews on her lip, and I wait for her to continue. When her eyes cast upward, they are renewed with purpose.
“You can’t control how he’ll react or what he’ll do. Same with Brett. All we can control is what we do.”
My brow furrows as I stare at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Your family has a good reputation, right?” she asks, and something about Sage mentioning my family makes me slightly uncomfortable. Swallowing that discomfort, I nod.
“Yes.”
“That’s what gives Brett all his power.”
My forehead creases even more as I lean in. “I don’t follow.”
She sits back in her chair as she tries to recompose her argument. “If everyone knew how slimy the Goode boys are, no one would be surprised to hear that Truett himself owns a sex club. And if no one would be surprised, then Brett has nothing to hold over your dad’s head. And if Brett has nothing to hold over his head, he never gets the deed back, and it’s out of his hands forever.”
A heavy breath passes my lips as I stare at her. At that moment, the waitress delivers our plates to the table, but neither of us moves to eat. The space between us lingers in silence as her words hang in the air.
I replay them, briefly wondering if Sage is entirely out of her mind or a manipulative genius.
When a few moments have passed, and I’m still mulling over what I think is a major reach in conclusions, I grab the bottle of ketchup from the tray by the wall.
As I pass it to her, I mumble, “Did you just call the Goode boys…slimy?”
At that moment, I can’t help but compare this meal with the last one I shared with a woman, the day Lucy came to dinner. It’s wildly unfair how there’s something here where there really shouldn’t be.
“Hypothetically,” she replies, taking the bottle and immediately dousing her eggs with the sugary red mess.
“My brothers are not slimy,” I reply as I cover my waffles in syrup.
“It sort of doesn’t matter. If only one of the Goode boys is in the public eye…”
“And that would be me?” I say, finishing her sentence.
With a mouthful of biscuit, she nods. “Mm-hmm.”
“You want me to…be publicly slimy in order to tarnish my family’s reputation, therefore exposing my father for the snake he is and…I got lost at the end there.”
Her shoulders slump in disappointment. “Okay, it’s a reach. I know.”
When I chuckle, lifting my coffee cup to my lips, I watch for a hint of a smile on her face. As she glances back up at me, I catch a tiny flinch in the corner of her mouth.
“What should I do first?” I ask, teasing her. “Rob a bank? Mug a nun? Sell drugs on the corner? It’s a valiant concept, but I don’t think any of those things are going to hit your boyfriend where it hurts.”
“Ex,” she corrects me. “And you’re right. None of those things would.”
When she takes another bite of her breakfast, I get the lingering suspicion that she has some idea of what would hit her boyfriend where it hurts.
I don’t say a word as she chews and swallows, chasing it down with her coffee. “I’m waiting,” I say with a smirk.
“For?” she teases back.
“What would work. You have an idea, don’t you?”
My eyes get caught on the delicate movement of her fingers again, especially as she sweeps her pink waves out of her face and places her chin in her hand, resting her elbow on the table.
“Oh, that’s where I come in.”
I fight a smile again, watching the way her full lips pout theatrically.
“Go on,” I reply, sitting back and crossing my arms, doing my best to keep my expression stern and serious.
“Well…what would upset your family’s squeaky-clean reputation more than me?”
A scoff bursts through my lips.
“What on earth do you plan on doing to my family?”
“Dating you, of course.”
I’m reaching for my coffee cup, my arm frozen in midair. Dating?
A lot of thoughts start to swirl through my mind at this moment. The first one is me questioning if Sage is using this elaborate plan as a strategy to get me into bed—again. Although I guess there wasn’t really a bed involved at all the first time. But that’s where things feel muddled and wrong, so I breeze past that thought and directly into the next.
Does she really think so low of herself that she believes dating her would ruin my family’s image?
Do I?
For the past month, I’ve thought about Sage and never once did I make an attempt to contact her. I know where she lives. I could have easily visited that Laundromat to seek her out, to take her on a date, to let myself indulge in staring at all the things about her that fascinate me. Or endeavored for a repeat of what happened in her apartment last month.
But I haven’t.
Because even I know that Sage is a round peg and I’m a square hole.
Or is it the other way around?
“Relax, I’m not talking about real dating,” she says when she notices the expression of contemplation on my face. She’s probably thinking I’m panicking on the inside, which I guess I am. But not for the reasons she thinks.
“So, what are you talking about?”
“Being seen together,” she replies, sipping her coffee.
I glance around the diner. “We are being seen together.”
She lets out an adorable huff. “I mean somewhere your family and the public will actually see us. Somewhere that makes a real statement. Don’t y’all have, like, balls and galas and shit?”
I snicker. “We sometimes have galas and shit. We have a charity dinner in three weeks.”
“Perfect!” she chirps. “Just imagine the look on your father’s face when you show up with me on your arm.”
“What makes you think dating you will ruin my reputation?” I ask with scrutiny.
“Well, first of all, I’m a full-blown atheist. I couldn’t give two shits about church or God or any of that. Second of all, look at me.”
My brow furrows. “And?”
She gestures to her tattoos and the piercings on her face. “Are you going to pretend you’ve ever dated anyone who looked like me?”
When I don’t answer, she makes a raised-brow expression. “See, I’m perfect for that gala in three weeks.”
Putting my hands up to stop her, I feel my anxiety rising the more excited she gets about this plan. “Now, just wait a minute. I’m not on board with this idea…yet.”
“Of course,” she replies, her posture slouching. “I mean, think about it. It would drive both of them insane to see us together.”
“You’re right about that,” I say, focusing my eyes on all the little things about her that I like. Her nervous little habits and all the delicate lines of her tattoos. “But do you think it’s enough? One charity dinner?”
Her tongue peeks out, running over the ring in her lip. “Well, I have some other ideas too, but we can start small.”
The waitress approaches the table to check on us, placing the check face down. I snatch it up before Sage can even move.
As I feel the breakfast coming to an end, my mood dampens. It dawns on me now just how long I was looking forward to this chance encounter happening, living just in the hopes she’d be here. I had no idea all of this would come about. There was no way for me to know she’d have a ridiculous plan for me to almost immediately shoot down.
Because I know already I’m not going through with this. Maybe if she had asked me last week, when my anger was still fresh, I’d have jumped at the opportunity. But now, I realize that once I open this can of revenge, I won’t be able to close it back up again. I’ll never be able to get back the man I was before I embarked on something so calculating. Lying to my family. Becoming someone I’m not.
And maybe worst of all—kissing any chance of reaching my father’s level of success goodbye. If that’s even what I want anymore. I’m a mess, and the last thing I need to do now is jump into a fake relationship with a girl I barely know—no matter how much I want to.
