Chapter Six
Nick
The Mexican restaurant is packed.
Rhenn and I arrive a few minutes before six, but are unable to find a parking spot within a one-block radius of the place, which results in us walking in a few minutes after our scheduled plan. I can already tell Rhenn is irritated (tardiness, and all), but it seems to fade away quickly when we spot two women in a booth toward the back.
Following behind my friend, we maneuver through the busy restaurant until we’re standing at the table. “Rhenny!” a bleached blonde woman (I’m assuming is Shelli) screeches as she stands up and throws her arms around my friend’s neck. Her very large, very fake breasts are pressed firmly against his chest, which is probably what has really put that smile on his face.
“Ahh, the lovely Shelli,” he says before kissing her neck and whispering something in her ear. When she giggles, I glance away, trying to not witness something that can’t be unseen.
“I’m Becca,” the woman opposite Shelli’s bench says, holding her hand out to me and fluttering her eyelashes.
“Nick,” I reply, her hand small and warm in my own.
“Nice to meet you, Nick. It looks like you’re with me,” she says sweetly as we glance over to see Shelli and Rhenn take their mini make-out session to the booth.
“Excellent.” I mean, what else am I supposed to say? This is awkward as fuck, and the reason I hate blind dates.
“Shelli and I were just about ready to order drinks,” Becca says, glancing down at her menu.
“Margaritas! Tequila makes my clothes fall off,” Shelli whispers as if she were sharing some state secret. The thing is, I could have already told her that. I mean, she on a date with my best friend, right? He prefers them easy and surgically enhanced.
“You don’t say,” I mumble, glancing at my own menu, even though I already know what I’m having. It’s the same thing I get every time I come here.
After we place our orders, Becca and I make a few awkward attempts at small talk, while Rhenn and Shelli eye-fuck each other over their margaritas. The entire evening just feels strained and uncomfortable. Maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I went into this with a closed mind, therefore I’m not giving this date a chance.
“Shelli is wrapping up grad school,” Rhenn says, giving me that ‘don’t start your shit’ look.
“Really? What for?” I dip a fresh, warm tortilla chip into the bowl of salsa in front of me.
“Hotel Management and Hospitality. I love everything about hotels,” she coos, her bright red lips parting widely.
“You don’t say,” I reply, fretting interest.
“And what about you, Becca? What are your post-college plans?” Rhenn asks the woman who’s apparently supposed to be my date for the evening.
“No grad school for me,” she says, dipping a chip in the salsa. “I graduated two years ago with a degree in retail merchandising.”
“Interesting. Isn’t that interesting, Nick?” Rhenn asks, shooting me another one of his looks. This one says ‘quit being a dick and acting bored.’ And maybe even ‘if you play your cards right, she’ll be riding your dick by seven.’ But honestly, that doesn’t really get me excited. Becca seems nice and well put together (nothing like Shelli who’s apparently two seconds away from offering a below the table BJ), but there just isn’t any spark. Any connection.
Well, unless you consider her lips connecting with her margarita glass as a connection. There’s plenty of that. In fact, she’s already on her second peach drink before we even have our dinners.
“Very interesting,” I say, just as I see movement across the room. When I glance that way, I find Meghan taking a seat across from some preppy-looking guy with gel in his hair. She’s wearing a pretty lavender dress with a white sweater over the top. Her hair is down in long, wavy curls, just begging for a set of fingers. Of course, it’d be a hell of a lot better fantasy if they were my fingers sliding into those luscious strands and grabbing hold.
Meghan offers the man across from her a smile, but it’s not one of her genuine ones. It’s guarded and timid, and frankly, isn’t real. Those smiles are rare, and reserved for special occasions.
What’s she doing? She didn’t mention having plans tonight, not that she needed to. But the way she’s dressed and the way he’s eyeing her like he wants to lick her from head to toe as if she were a fudge pop on a hot July day indicates this is more than just a chance meeting amongst friends. This teeters more into dating territory.
I watch a bit longer while she picks at the corners of her napkin, a nervous habit that she probably doesn’t even realize she has. When the guy across from her laughs and leans forward, his hand resting on her arm, I almost come out of my seat. Meghan tenses at the touch, her back going ramrod straight. She doesn’t appear scared, just uncomfortable. Nervous.
She slowly pulls her arm back without drawing attention to the fact she was removing it from his touch. She smiles tightly at him, nodding her head after whatever question he asked, and glances down at her menu.
“Earth to Nick,” Rhenn says, drawing my attention back to my own table.
“What? I’m sorry,” I reply, shaking thoughts of Meghan from my head.
Only it doesn’t work.
Meghan is still very much present in my mind and in this restaurant.
“We were discussing after dinner,” Rhenn says, giving me another look. I know what’s coming. It’s not my first ride as the infamous Rhenn Burleski’s wingman. It’s the reason we rode together so that when my friend and his date are ready to get to the more naked part of the night, they’d drive off into the sunset, leaving me behind to hitch a ride with the fourth wheel in this operation. And lest we forget, my friend is hoping I’ll get my dick played with tonight, so he thinks he’s doing me a great service by leaving me at the restaurant with no mode of transportation.
Good times.
“So what are the plans?” I ask, knowing that I’m not going to like them.
“Well, Shelli and I have…someplace to be.” The insinuation is so evident that the deaf man down the block could pick up on it. “And since you rode with me, I figured Becca could take you home.”
Called it.
“That’s not necessary,” I reply just as our food is delivered to the table. “I don’t want to put Becca out.”
“It would be no problem,” she chimes in, offering me a friendly, half-drunk smile over her glass. One that says she’d be up for a round of bedroom aerobics if I’d offer. To confirm my suspicions, she reaches over and rests her hand on my thigh.
Tensing in my seat, I reach for my fork, ready to dive into the food. The faster I eat, the sooner we’ll be finished with this double date from Hell and I’ll be home with a beer and Sports Center. Becca removes her hand, grabs her own fork, and begins to eat her dinner.
Conversations are had around me, but I don’t pay them any attention or actively participate anymore than the occasional grunt or head nod. My mind keeps wandering (and my eyes too) over to where Meghan sits with some guy. I can already tell I don’t like him. He’s too preppy, too pretty in his pressed blue jeans, for her.
I continue to watch her body language, not really liking what I see. She never really relaxes or seems to be enjoying herself, and a few times, I even catch her spinning the ring that she still wears on her left hand. Sure, the guy in front of her probably has no idea, what, with her fake smiles and bright green eyes, but I can tell. She’s not herself. I know this because she’s my friend – my employee – and it’s my job (as a friend) to know these kinda things.
Our dinner is cleared away as hers is delivered. She slowly picks at her food, moving it around on her plate as if she weren’t hungry. This isn’t Meghan. My Meghan loves Mexican food. It’s why we order takeout at the office from this place at least once a week.
“Is that who I think it is?” Rhenn asks, drawing my attention to his face. But he’s looking off to my left in the same direction as Meghan’s table.
“Who’s that?” Becca asks, peering around me to get a good look.
“Ex-girlfriend?” Shelli asks, glancing at her friend with wide eyes.
“No, she’s my dental hygienist,” I answer, looking around for the waitress so I can get the check.
“Oh, that’s right, you’re a doctor!” Shelli exclaims, leaning forward and setting her store-bought boobs on the table.
“A dentist, really,” I reply, though not out of necessity. I’m honestly not sure Shelli knows the difference.
“Yes, a doctor,” Becca replies, her hand sliding up my arm, her nails digging into my forearm. “That’s so sexy,” she adds, whispering in my ear.
Before I can reply, I see Meghan get up from the table, excuse herself, and make a mad dash toward the ladies’ room like her ass were on fire. The guy she’s with turns and watches her go, the gentle sway of said ass hypnotizing most of the men in the room.
I completely understand.
But I’m not focusing on her ass right now. I need to find out why Meghan is so upset, and what in the hell she’s doing here tonight with the guy who looks like he could model sports coats and expensive watches for a living.
“Excuse me, please. I’m going to use the restroom,” I say, dropping my napkin on the table and dislodging Becca’s nails from my arm.
I make my way to the opposite side of the restaurant and slip down the short hallway that leads to both restrooms. Waiting outside the door like some crazy ex-boyfriend stalker, it only takes Meghan a few minutes before she reappears in the hall and almost walks into me.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, taking a step back. That’s when realization sets in. “Oh, hey. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here with friends,” I tell her. “I saw you across the room and you looked, I don’t know, upset, I guess. I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”
“Oh,” she says, offering me a sad smile, her eyes filling with tears. “I…” she starts, but stops.
“Are you okay? Is it the sport coat model? Did he do or say something to upset you?” My protective big brother instincts flare to life, though this crazy attraction I feel for Meghan is anything but brotherly.
She gives me a look. “Do you mean Adam?”
“Adam. Joe. Richard. Does it matter? Do I need to go have a word with him?” A word that involves respect and ladies and why I’m about to throw my fist into his pretty face.
“No,” she says, her eyes dropping to her shoes as if they were about to share the location of buried treasure. “He’s nice, actually. We went to school together.”
Watching her try to find the right words, it all starts to click into place. “You’re on a date. With the suit coat model. And you’re upset about it.”
When she glances back up at me, the tears in her eyes almost bring me to my knees. Her tears are my undoing. I’ve never been affected by tears until they were hers. “He’s a nice guy, but it just feels…wrong.”
Nodding, without thinking, I pull her into a hug. We’ve hugged before, but with each one I feel myself slipping further and further into the deep end of the pool. Soon, my leg is going to be caught in the drain at the bottom and there’ll be no way out.
“I’m proud of you for trying,” I tell her, taking a subtle whiff of her hair and committing it to memory like a creeper. And I am proud of her. She’s putting herself out there for the first time since Josh’s death, and even though I’m not a fan of the douchey model wannabe at her table, I’m glad she has finally taken this step toward moving forward.
“Thank you,” she mumbles, pulling back and noticing the wet mark on my shoulder from her tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“Ehh, don’t worry about it. No one wears tears like I do,” I quip, making her smile. A real one. I love that smile.
“So, you’re meeting friends?” she asks, turning those hypnotic green eyes my way.
“Yeah, Rhenn made plans with a woman, who ended up bringing a friend, which is why I’m hiding out in the bathroom hallway with you instead of enjoying the rest of our dinner.”
“You’re on a date, too. I’m sorry, you should get back,” she says, brushing any remnants of tears off her pretty face.
“Did you hear what I said? I’m hiding out in the hallway with you.”
“That’s weird,” she laughs. “What’s wrong with her? Buckteeth? Lisp? Black olives in her teeth? Oh, wait. Is she picking her ear wax with her pinky and wiping it on her napkin?”
“Gross. What kinda women do you hang around with?” I gape with wide eyes and my mouth hanging open.
She laughs again. There. That smile right there.
“I was just trying to figure out what was wrong with her for you to be hiding out in a hallway with me instead of enjoying your date.”
“Well, she’s probably perfectly nice, but I’m just not feeling it.”
Meghan glances around my shoulder toward the dining room. “We should probably get back out there. We both have dates waiting for us.”
“I’ve been gone long enough now that the only way out of this mess is to fret digestive issues.”
She laughs. “Oh God, me too! He’s going to think I’ve died in the bathroom with stomach troubles, isn’t he?”
I offer her a big smile in return. “Probably. At least you don’t have to worry about the second date. Come on,” I say, indicating the doorway that leads back to the dining room.
When we round the corner, I find our table empty, the busboy working to clear what was left of our dirty dishes. Glancing around the room, I don’t find Rhenn or Shelli anywhere. What I do find is Becca sitting in the seat that was vacated by Meghan, the douchey sport coat model, who I know now as Adam, leaning over the table, eyes riveted on Becca’s chest.
“Plot twist,” Meghan whispers, her delicate little fingers gripping the back of my shirt.
“I suddenly feel like the third wheel. Again.”
“Should we just slip out the back door or do I walk over there and pretend that woman isn’t picking at the cheese left on my Taco Salad?”
“Slip out the back. We definitely sneak away,” I tell her, just as Becca glances up and sees us standing there.
“Hey!” she exclaims, waving wildly and causing her boobs to bounce. Adam definitely notices.
“So the date crasher is your date? Seriously?”
“Agreed. Plot twist,” I mumble as we start to walk over to the table.
“I thought you got lost,” Becca coos, sending a flirty glance to the man across from her.
“Yeah, sorry. I ran into my friend Meghan. She had stomach issues.” I can hear her gasp behind me and feel that soft, delicate hand grab a hold of tender flesh right at my waist. When she twists, it makes me jump.
“I thought you were the one with stomach issues. I found you practically doubled over in the hallway, groaning in pain,” she replies, her green eyes lighting up with a wicked glimmer.
“You may be right. I think we both ate something that didn’t agree with us,” I reply, glancing down at the horrified woman who was considered my date for the evening.
“We should get home. Alone. Not together. We don’t live together,” Meghan says, sending Adam an apologetic look. “Sorry to cut our evening short, Adam. It was so great catching up with you. Next time you’re in town, give me a call.”
“But I don’t have your number,” he says as I pull her toward the back door.
“Thanks for dinner,” Meghan replies, her hand tucked into mine, completely ignoring his statement about not having her number. We’re so close we can practically smell the fresh air.
“It was nice meeting you, Nick. I know Rhenn left you without a car, but if it’s okay, I might stay here with Adam and have a drink.” Or sex. The way they’re looking at each other, sex is definitely on the table tonight.
“Yep, sure, fine. Nice to meet you,” I say, just before we make a break for it and hit the parking lot.
When we reach the outside, we both stop and break into fits of laughter. “Our dates are going to be bumping uglies very soon,” Meghan says through her giggles.
“Definitely. I bet parking lot sex is on the menu tonight,” I add, glancing at the smiling, happy woman next to me. “Hungry?”
“Starving. I didn’t eat much of my dinner,” she confesses, even though I already know.
“Hamburger from the drive-in or foot-long hotdog from the beach vendor?”
“Foot-long. I definitely need a foot-long.” Suddenly, she realizes what she said and starts to blush a deep shade of fuchsia. “Hotdog. I mean, I need a foot-long hotdog.”
“Not helping,” I laugh, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her into my embrace.
“I can’t believe I said that. So embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face pressed firmly into my chest. I stand perfectly still, afraid to move or even breathe. Meghan is in my arms and I’m not sure it’s the right move or not, but I don’t want this moment to end, so I just hold her and revel in the way her breath penetrates my shirt and warms my chest.
Suddenly, she stills. When she pulls back, dropping her arms to her sides, she gives me a sheepish look laced with embarrassment. “Sorry about…the hugging…thing,” I say, desperately looking to get back to our easy camaraderie from just a few minutes ago.
“Oh, no problem,” she shrugs her shoulders and glances over to where her car is parked. “So…food?”
“Definitely.”
Together, we make our way to her vehicle and head toward the best little food shack in Jupiter Bay. For foot-longs.
And I won’t watch her eat it, allowing dirty thoughts to penetrate my brain.
Yeah.
Good luck with that one, buddy.