Capture

So distracted by my dismay, I almost didn’t hear Martin’s whispered, “Fuck me…”

I turned to look at him and found his eyes moving in a slow, stunned sweep up and down my dress—or rather, my body in my dress—and I cocked my head to the side. “That means you’re surprised, yes?”

“Jesus Christ, Kaitlyn.” His eyes lifted and searched mine, then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “This dress makes you look like you’re naked under that black lace.”

I shook my head and whispered back, wanting to defend myself, “I’m not naked, though. It’s just skin-colored silk. Here, stick your finger through one of the holes.”

“Oh God,” he groaned and leaned away, shaking his head and gritting his teeth, his eyes on the floor as the maître d' approached.

I grimaced, wondering if my dress was obscene. I tried to stop my blush before it started and took a step back, letting Martin deal with the man while I dealt with my embarrassment. I wished I’d changed, but it was too late now.

Hell, I wished I’d stayed in the closet.

Soon we were being led to a very private table, completely hidden from view by several cleverly placed screens. Martin’s hand was on my back and I felt stiff and unsteady. The maître d' moved to pull out my chair but Martin frowned at him, then stared him down until he backed away. Martin moved to pull out my chair; as he did, he looked fierce and a tad frustrated.

I took my seat hurriedly then accepted the offered menu, only half paying attention as the maître d' recited the chef’s specials. I was too busy looking for prices. There were none. My stomach sunk.

Then we were alone.

I glanced up at Martin and found him concentrating on his menu. He was frowning and his eyes were darting over it too fast to be reading.

“Are you upset?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

He moved just his eyes to mine, his jaw set.

I continued, explaining, “I honestly thought the dress was fine. Sam told me it was fine. You know I’m not so good with dresses. This is the fourth dress I’ve owned in my entire life. The first time you saw me in a dress it was borrowed and—”

Martin lifted his hand and waved away my explanation. “Kaitlyn, it’s…it’s not the dress. I mean, it is the dress, but it’s not the dress. Everything is fine. You look beautiful.”

I twisted my lips to the side. “Is it obscene?”

He gave me a half smile, it was shaded with regret. “No. It’s great. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I was just…surprised. You look very different tonight.” His eyes swept down then darted back up.

I tried to return his smile. “You expected jeans and a concert T-shirt? Or my tuxedo?”

His half smile turned into a full smile, though it was small. “I was hoping for the red pants.”

I sighed my relief and laughed, feeling better, seeing he was being sincere and wasn’t upset.

The grin disappeared from his face when I laughed and he stared at me. I felt my smile wane as I stared back. All sound was replaced by the rushing of my blood through my heart.

Martin opened his mouth, was about to say something, but then the waiter appeared and broke the odd moment.

Our server repeated the specials and asked for our drink orders. I indicated that the tap water in my glass was perfectly fine. Martin frowned at me then ordered a bottle of wine for the table. It had a lot of consonants and sounded really expensive. I was surprised when I wasn’t carded.

When the man left, Martin considered me for a beat, then said, “Dinner is on me tonight.”

I was sipping my water when he made this proclamation, so I swallowed quickly and shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. We’re splitting it right down the middle.”

“I’m not asking, Parker.”

“Don’t be silly. We’re f-friends. Friends split checks.” I stumbled over the word friends because it felt deceitful. I didn’t want to be his friend. I tried not to wince at the uncomfortable pang in my chest caused by my dishonesty.

He huffed. “Then who doesn’t split checks?”

“I don’t know. Everyone should split checks. I’ve never not split my check.”

“Even on dates?” His tone was aloof as he asked the question, but I noted his eyes narrowed slightly.

I considered how to respond, because I hadn’t been on a date. I didn’t consider the dates my gay high school boyfriend and I had gone on to be dates; besides Carter and I had always split the check.

Martin and I had never gone on a date, and I’d turned down all offers from others since. I thought about being evasive and saying, Yes, even on dates, because that wasn’t technically lying.

But it was stupid and childish and I didn’t want to play games, even though I’d just spent ten minutes inadvertently eavesdropping while hiding in the front closet of my apartment during which my roommate drilled him with twenty inappropriate questions.

Distressed by this thought, I revealed, “I’ve never been on a date.”

He was staring at me again. I stared back and gave him a tight smile.

“You haven’t....? Since we broke up?”

I shook my head. “No. There’s been no one.”

“What about that guy in your band? Adam?”

“Abram. And no. We’re not dating. We haven’t dated.”

He nodded thoughtfully and he shifted in his seat. “I think he’s interested in you.”

I shrugged, getting a weird premonition I was about to say something monumentally stupid in an effort to be honest, but without the wherewithal to stop myself. I was still caught in the tailwind of my earlier evening calamities.

Calamities paired with my abandoned confrontation plans meant that there was no telling what would erupt from my mouth.

“Oh?” I said, reaching for my water again.

I could feel it coming; it was like the shark in Jaws…circling…circling.

“Yeah. If you gave him even a small sign, I bet he’d ask you out.”

I replaced my glass. “Well, I can’t date anyone right now.”

“Why not?”

Oh God, I was going to say it. Oh God.

“Because I’m still in love with you.”

There it is!

Time slowed, then screeched to a halt.

I’d surprised him.

Hell, I’d surprised myself.

Of course I wanted to tell him, but not like this.

Not like this.

Not. Like. This.

NOT LIKE THIS!!!

Then all at once, time lurched forward.

His mouth parted slightly and his eyes widened; they moved over my shoulder and searched the screen behind me. I’d caught him completely off guard. I could see he was shocked, stunned speechless.

Meanwhile I was feeling the aftereffects of handing him my heart. I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. I was so definitely and definitively NOT PREPARED!

I felt immediately bruised and dirty. As well, I was experiencing honesty and courage remorse. The words hung out there, like underwear with skid marks on a clothesline.

The waiter returned at just that moment and asked if we were ready to order. Martin blinked furiously then turned his attention to the man and I saw he’d mostly recovered. He cleared his throat before gesturing to the menu to ask a question.

I stared at him while he ordered an appetizer, my stomach falling further with every calm syllable from his mouth. Meanwhile the single word running around my brain was: escape. Escape. ESCAPE!

Martin’s eyes lifted, connected with mine, and in that split second I could read nothing of his thoughts—probably because mine were in such turmoil.

The waiter turned, poised to ask me if I wanted anything. Instead I stood abruptly, my chair almost falling backward.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Martin first, then turned to the waiter. “I’m sorry, where is the ladies’ room?” My voice was higher pitched than I would have liked, but I wasn’t going to complain because the fact I could speak at all was a miracle.

The waiter smiled politely and had just finished his instructions when Martin stood as well, drawing my attention to him.

His eyes were narrowed, like he suspected foul play, and he said, “Kaitlyn…” His tone held a warning, and he paired this with an almost imperceptible head shake.

I gave him a tight smile, not quite making eye contact because…devastation.

I nodded noncommittally as I darted out of the privacy screens. “I’ll be right back.”

But that was a lie.

There was no way in hell I was going back.

In that moment I knew with a sudden, implacable force that I had been right. I would never be able to be just friends with Martin Sandeke. I would never be able to see him and not want everything from him. I would always be drawn to him. I also knew that being with Martin wasn’t necessary for my happiness, but I could never be happy as just his friend.

I was passionate about him, and I couldn’t be unselfish or reasonable or calm where he was concerned.

As I threaded my way through the twists and turns of the screens, I felt the first stinging tears behind my eyes. Finally I made it to the front and I plucked my coat from the rack by the front door, then bolted out of the restaurant.

My feet didn’t hurt, but they would, because I was going to have to walk at least four blocks to find a taxi.