Todd dropped my hand once we were inside the bar. I wondered if the way he’d so possessively taken my hand outside had more to do with Court than how happy he was to see me. Still I was excited.
I understood that appearances were part of the package with Todd. He wasn’t malicious or ostentatious on purpose, sometimes it was just a side effect of the way he’d been raised. He’d grown up with a family who prided themselves on being perfectly put together. He’d admitted once that his father had actually inspected his outfit each night before dinner.
When I thought of the ratty play clothes my mother had insisted I wear at home – to preserve my school clothes – I’d felt a mixture of sadness and jealousy. Sadness because my best memories had been made when I was wearing those dirty clothes that were a size too small and filled with holes.
I was jealous for obvious reasons – what kid hadn’t wanted to own a closet full of nice clothes? To stand out for looking nice. That’s a desire that starts early on and I’m not sure it ever leaves us. If it does, I wasn’t there yet. I tried to stay in the not pathetic enough to draw attention to myself zone. So, I hadn’t looked ratty enough to draw attention and I was smart enough that I’d floated through school being mostly invisible.
“What are you drinking?” Todd asked as he tapped his credit card on the bar to get the bartender’s attention.
He didn’t look at me as he spoke, instead he bobbed his head around in that impatient way people do to draw attention to themselves without shouting ‘Hey you’ or waving their hands around. When it was clear that the bartender wasn’t running over to take his order, he looked over my head – eyes scanning the place to see who was here and who wasn’t.
It was petty to compare him to Court, but it occurred to me then, that in the entire time I’d spent with Court tonight he’d never once looked past me. He’d only been interested in me.
“I can’t stay, Todd.” That got his eyes back on me and suddenly I had his undivided attention. I continued, “I have interviews tomorrow morning and I’ve already stayed out longer and drank more than I should have.”
The disappointment on his face only lasted a second until his buddies surrounded us, all vying to get the attention of the bartender who I was starting to think was avoiding them on purpose.
“What time are you done tomorrow? Do you want to grab lunch?”
“My interviews go until late afternoon. What about dinner?”
“We have a team dinner tomorrow. How about Friday?”
“Sounds great,” I said just as the bartender finally made her way to Todd. He waved to me as he spouted out their order and I slipped away. I moved toward the door in a haze of confusion. Why was I leaving? I’d been perfectly content to blow off the interviews at the beginning of the night, but now it just felt irresponsible and wrong. I wasn’t even all that sad about leaving Todd.
Back at my apartment I slipped off my heels and groaned at the ache in my feet. Court had been right yet again – those shoes were only meant for one thing and it wasn’t walking.
The alcohol was still buzzing through my body and although I knew I needed to crawl into bed and try and get as much sleep as possible, it’s not what I did. I wanted to talk to Court.
I’d felt guilty about the way things had ended tonight. His manners had been impeccable as he’d graciously left without making a big deal of it. Still, I’d seen the way he’d looked at me tonight. I was almost sure there was something more to his interest in me than helping me with Todd.
Phone in hand, I plopped onto my bed and pulled up our text exchange. While I stared at the screen trying to figure out what to type, it buzzed in my hand.
Court: Good luck on your interviews tomorrow, 8B. Let me know how they go.
Me: Thank you.
I was still torn on what to say next when his reply came.
Court: That was quick. You home already?
Me: Yes, just walked in.
How did we move forward from tonight? I didn’t want to ask him about relationships or talk about Todd, I wanted to ask about him. Who was Court Adams?
Me: What’s your schedule tomorrow? Are you at the career fair all day?
Court: Yep, 8-5. It’s gonna be a long ass day. You gonna stop by and say hi between your interviews?
Me: While I would love to see you all professional, I don’t think they’ll let me in to see you without an interview.
Court: You could just say you want to see me in a suit again.
My cheeks hurt from smiling as I texted back.
Me: Such ego.
Court: Come by, I’ve got an open slot around eleven. I’ll give you the whole spiel on why you should work for my company and I can test your interview skills.
Me: I don’t think you’d want me for whatever it is that you do there.
Court: It’s not so much about degree. It’s a lot of on the job training since each client has different needs. Being comfortable analyzing numbers also comes in handy and we’ve already established that you’re good at math.
Me: Yes, I am.
Court: I have the sudden urge to type 80085 on a calculator right now.
Me: BOOBS, seriously? How old are you again?
Court: Some things never get old. Sweet dreams, Bianca.
Me: Night, Court.
As I started to set my phone on the night stand I thought of an earlier conversation we’d had tonight and quickly typed out another text.
Me: You never said whether or not your parents ever call you Courtney?
Court: Don’t know. I never met them.
My fingers stilled over the keys and I squeezed my eyes shut as if I could erase the words I’d written with telekinetic power. Leave it to me to put my foot in my mouth after such a great night. I wanted to know more, but it didn’t feel like a texting conversation. Besides, I needed to think on how to broach the topic.
Me: Well, I like Court – it suits you, very royal and distinguished sounding.
Court: You’re still drunk.
Me: Yes, but it’s still true.
Court: Get some sleep sweet girl.
And I did.