Chapter Eight
Jacket
I worry that Bella won’t much care for my choice of diner. Not that there’s much option for fine dining in this town.
“Boho vintage restaurant,” I say when we arrive.
It’s only a couple of blocks past the bodega so we don’t have to worry about who’s driving.
“Perfect,” she says and I think she means it.
Or she’s making out she likes it to fit in with what I want and I really hope that isn’t the case. After fantasizing about her for months, I really want to know the real woman. I want her to be straight with me.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” the waitress comes over to take our order.
“I don’t believe so,” I say.
For once it’s true, I don’t recognize the girl and I know we never hooked up last time I was in town. But I see Bella looking between me and the waitress and not much liking how the girl’s trying to flirt as she takes our order. I make sure to blank my face like she doesn’t exist. It’s true anyway. I don’t have to pretend because there’s no other woman but Bella in this room or this universe.
“So what do you do in LA?” I ask, determined to know more about her finally.
“Oh, I don’t like to talk about it much,” she says, looking down at her coffee.
“Why not?” I press her although I get that, because god knows I’m exactly the same, anything to avoid bringing that to mind. “Working with toys every day must be fun.”
Her eyes fly up to my face and I realize too late that I screwed up.
Shit.
“How do you know that?” she snaps.
“You told me you work with toys,” I say, digging frantically for the justification. “Last time we ran into each other.”
“I never tell anyone what I do,” she insists, her frown one of mistrust.
“Well it was late at night and you were a little stressed that your car broke down. Perhaps you let it slip.”
Her face relaxes just enough that I can too. She’s still doubtful but my story seems plausible enough that she can’t fight me on it. Shit, I hate lying to her but what do I do, come right out and announce she’s dining with her stalker?
“Why are you trying to hide what you do for a living?” I ask, still curious.
“Because as soon as guys find out, they just want free samples and to use me as a test dummy. You can imagine all the lame jokes and come-on pitches I get.”
I can’t really. The only toys I’m used to are the kind that are booby trapped and I’m not gonna ruin this fantastic night by saying that. So perhaps that does make us the same in a way, each hiding our professions so as not to be subjected to a bunch of questions. Or sympathy.
“I’m bored of trying to smile through it and pretend I haven’t heard all the stupid comments before,” Bella adds.
“I get that,” I nod and receive a huge smile in return.
So I guess she’s not bored in my company. I’m not in hers either, far from it. It doesn't come easy to me, hanging out with a woman, doing the chit chat thing. I find my mind wandering real fast and itching to get back on the road. With Bella, it’s really comfortable. I could sit across the booth from her just looking at her.
“But you must like kids right?”
“I guess so,” she says, warily. “I’ve mostly been more of a dog person.”
I laugh. “And I thought the choice was between cats and dogs all this time.”
“Oh yeah it is. I just mean when it comes to being responsible for someone else, a dog seems easier to manage.”
“Not so much fun with the toys though.”
She frowns at that and I wonder what I said wrong now.
“I mean, you know, your toys are good for children, they don’t really work with dogs.”
Her face falls into a horrified stare that I can’t ignore.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
“You aren’t serious right?” she whispers, deadly serious now. “You can’t be, but that kind of thing isn’t something to joke about.”
“What?” I really don’t get it.
“Kids and sex toys in the same sentence.”
“What? No, Jesus, fuck.” How did I get that so fucking wrong? “You play with sex toys? I mean work. You work with sex toys?”
“Shhh,” she hisses, laughing again as she looks around to see if anyone overheard.
I can relax again. She’s cool. But Christ, that was close. My heart is thudding that maybe she believed I’m some fucking perv. There was me suddenly worried she got the wrong idea, when I asked if she liked kids. I didn’t need her thinking I was already inquiring about a future together. Instead I end up in a way worse fucking hole.
“I thought you worked with real toys- kids toys. Jeez-uss.”
“It’s okay. Honest mistake. Anyone could have made it, what with me being so obscure.”
“Man, I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
She nods and her hands relax on the table, fingertips lightly touching. It’s all I can do not to reach out and take them both in mine. I trip hold her gaze and she returns my curious glance.
“No problem, really. But….”
“What?”
She doesn't want to say, thinking about how to bring something else up. Christ what now? I really want to take her hands in mine but that would be way too forward. Wouldn’t it? Maybe not after what I just did to her body in a public washroom but somehow the hand thing seems way more intimate.
All this talking and holding hands -I’m way out of my depth here.
“What?” I repeat. “Tell me before I implode again.”
“Well… I have a little favor to ask you. In return for letting you off the hook.”
“Yeah, anything.”
I know as soon as it’s out of my mouth that I should have heard the deal first.
“Come to my sister’s wedding.”
“Ah.”
Shit.
“As my date, just a plus one, that is, not like a real date.”
She’s starting to stumble over words and her cheeks are burning hotter pink by the second. Presumably because she’s noticed my face collapse into a look of utter panic. At least that’s what it feels like must be happening.
“You know, weddings aren't really my thing.” I mumble, looking down to avoid the hurt in her face.
She’s lost all the smiling contentment from one instant to the next. I wish I could make that better, put it back to how it was a minute ago. But I can’t do weddings. I cant do any social occasion where the social snipers are waiting to bait me. But more than any other, it’s weddings I can’t stand. I hate the fake chit chat. I hate everyone asking me when it’s my turn, what I’m doing, where I’m living, how I’m adjusting. Endless fucking questions everywhere you turn.
And I never know when one could set off a chain of detonations inside me and send me off into a place I have no control.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” I say.
“Right,” she says, freezing over faster than the fucking ice age.
Shit.
“I’m just not a social animal,” I tell her, “All the questioning.”
I’m attempting to unroll the explanation in my head, making sure it’s honest and not some social excuse I deliver. This girl deserves to hear the truth from me but I need a minute to work up to it. Now would be a great time to take her hands in mine.
Yeah, do it. I reach across, wiping my palms up my thighs first to make sure there’s no cold sweat lingering on them. And that one extra second of hesitation blows my chance. If I learned one thing under fire, it’s never to fucking hesitate.
“You know, I really ought to get going,” she says. She's pulled her stuff together. And is already sliding out of the booth.
“Really, wait, I-”
“My entire family are waiting for me,” she mutters.
“Right, the urgent cream delivery,” I joke.
But she’s not sharing the humor any longer. She’s suddenly really desperate to get away from me.
“Right. See you around,” she mumbles. “Maybe.”
Fuck, what do I do to stop her other than to pull her back down beside me and tell her to listen up? Nothing because in the time it takes me to pull out some money to throw down for the bill and chase her out onto the street, to at least walk her wherever shes going, she’s already vanished.
I look up and down the deserted street, go to the corner to check the side street, then the next. No dice. She’s gone.
Why did I have to refuse her one simple request that would have given me ample opportunity to get to know her better?
I blew my one chance.
I’m a complete dickhead.