Outrage pours out of Saddlemire. Wanting to stay out of it, I park my ass on the beanbag chair we have—classy, I know—just as my phone vibrates with a text message.
Andrew.
My heart jumps in my chest from excitement. How quickly this man has invaded my mind.
Andrew: Denise kissed me on the cheek. Thought I would let you know you have competition.
Chuckling, I shake my head. Denise, the mother hen, is a happily married, Harley-riding old lady to an MC leader, so there is no way she would ever want anything to do with nerdy, yet sexy Andrew.
Sadie: Eh, she can have you. Not worth the fight.
It must be a slow night because he texts back immediately.
Andrew: Uh, do I need to remind you about the sexual epiphany you had last night?
Sadie: Is that what you’re calling it?
Andrew: I figured that was better than an orgasmic oracle from the penis prophecy.
Oh my God.
“We are not watching The House of Steinbrenner again,” Smilly complains, pulling me from my phone. “We are watching Willow, and that’s that.”
“Say you appreciate the Yankees,” Saddlemire counters.
“Ugh. The Yankees are amazing. Rah, rah, rah, go, pinstripes,” she deadpans.
“That’s more like it.”
If only life was that easy. Turning back to my phone, I text him back.
Sadie: It’s okay to not act like a douche and brag about your dick.
Andrew: It is? Sheesh *wipes forehead* Good. I can relax now. Want to talk about your favorite computer language? Personally, JavaScript can go to hell.
Sadie: *Rolls eyes* I’m shocked your dad even thought you could be involved in a sex ring with the kinds of things you talk about.
Andrew: What did I tell you last night? The innocent-looking ones are most likely the most freaky. You must have been so distracted by my dick last night to remember that little tidbit.
I smile to myself as I type.
Sadie: Back to the douche again?
As I press send, a slipper hits me. “Hey.” I rub my head to look up at both Saddlemire and Smilly who are staring at me, a confused expression on their faces.
“Uh, what the hell are you doing?” Smilly asks.
Tucking my phone away, I answer apathetically, “Checking my email.”
“No, you weren’t.” Saddlemire sits up in his seat now. “You were texting.”
For the record, their shock isn’t unwarranted; I don’t really text people. I don’t care for it. My friends know this, so they only text me need-to-know information. It’s not something I do just for the hell of it, well, that was until Andrew sent me a text.
“Who were you texting?” Smilly asks, a pinch in her brow.
Think. Who the hell can I say I was texting? Tucker isn’t an option, as he’s part of the inner circle and knows not to text me. Don’t text my dad or sisters for that matter, so that’s pretty obvious. Telemarketer? I could be on the verge of scoring a free cruise?
No, Smilly would want in on that.
“Uh, someone from Cornell,” I quickly say. “Asking about a professor and if they should take the class. Personally, I didn’t like the professor because he smelled like beets and breathed too heavily when he talked, but that’s my personal opinion. Some people like heavy-breathing, beet people.”
They both study me a little longer than I care for until Smilly breaks the silence and pops a puff in her mouth. “I like beets. Fucking delightful when they’re pickled.”
“You like anything pickled,” Saddlmire replies. Damn, that was easy.
“If you can pickle it, then you can put it in my mouth.”
My phone vibrates in my hand again. I so desperately want to look at it, but I hold off, knowing if I keep texting Andrew, they’ll be onto me. I would prefer to keep things as casual as possible for now, especially after the little heart-to-heart I had with Smilly.
Together, we watch the opening scene of Willow, Smilly’s favorite movie. At least once a month, we are subject to watching it and listening to her impersonate the characters. “Out of the way, Peck!” It’s her favorite line that she says in a creepy voice, sometimes twiddling her fingers at you. You just accept this side of her and move on.
Clapping her hands at the TV, she and Saddlemire are distracted so I secretly look at my phone from the side.
Andrew: You have to admit, every girl loves a bit of a douche.
So not true, but I won’t go there. Instead I read his other text messages I’ve been ignoring.
Andrew: Just made a Crowd Pleaser. It’s official. I’ve made every ice cream you can order here. What kind of award do I get?
A Crowd Pleaser is the biggest sundae you can order from Friendly’s. I’ve made a few in my time and honestly, I’m not geeking out when I say it’s kind of fun to make. It’s twelve scoops of ice cream, six toppings, loads of whip cream, and six cherries all on a plastic platter. Smilly, Emma, and I might have ordered a Crowd Pleaser a few times.
Andrew: Michelle doesn’t understand personal space. Her boobs tried to help me restock the sundae dishes.
Michelle, that hooker. Of course she’s thrusting her fake chest at Andrew. I’m surprised she didn’t try it the first day of his training. Still, knowing Michelle is over there getting up in his business, it bothers me, so I respond the only way I know how to, like a catty woman.
Sadie: Next time, just poke her boob with a pin; you’ll deflate them in seconds.
I’m not proud of my response, but for some reason, it feels necessary that Andrew knows Michelle isn’t showing off the real stuff.
Jealous? Never. Jelly? Maybe just a little. There is a difference, you know.
Both laughing, Smilly and Saddlemire really engage in the movie, giving me an escape. Standing, I tuck my phone in my pocket and announce having to use the bathroom.
“Use the spray if you have to,” Smilly calls out just as I shut the door.
I sigh, not that kind of bathroom. Jesus.
Sitting down on the toilet, because it’s always a good idea to try to pee when you can, bladder infections and all, I get a text message from Andrew.
Andrew: You know, if I really wanted to look into that last text from you, I would guess you’re showing a little jealousy. But I mean, who are we kidding? You would never be jealous, right?
Right. Never. Andrew is not the kind of guy that makes me swoon, that makes me rethink every rule I ever set forth to protect myself. He isn’t the kind of guy that makes me forget the stagnant life I’m living in, nor is he the guy who reminds me how to laugh, how to have fun, how to just live.
Nope . . . not at all.
Sadie: What’s jealousy?
I can tell you what it is. It’s the feeling you have in the pit of your stomach, thinking about Michelle being within inches of Andrew. Jealousy is what’s tempting you to drive to work just to pretend to get ice cream so you can catch a glimpse of him.
Jealousy is ugly.
Jealousy is screwing every inkling I had of keeping this man away from me: jealousy, and the need to forget.
***
Do not look over at fountain again. Keep your eyes on the computer, enter the order, and then check on your customers’ drinks. DO NOT LOOK AT FOUNTAIN!
Utter betrayal wins over and my eyes glance toward the fountain area where Andrew is making a milkshake while talking to a customer at the counter, exuding his outgoing personality. I haven’t seen him in a few days, ever since I stayed the night at his place. Our schedules didn’t match up at work, and Smilly has spent the last few nights at our apartment, giving me no other option than to rely on texting Andrew.
Seeing him today for the first time in days, he seems like a different person. Now I know him intimately, I’m more sexually aware of everything he does. Carrying dish trays, watching his back muscles flex under the pressure of the weight, how he smiles at pretty much everyone he comes across, looking so handsome it hurts, and knowing what
rests underneath his apron-covered pants . . . Yup, I’m embarrassingly sexually charged.
“Are you going to finish imputing that?” Michelle asks, pulling me out of my stupor.
“Uh, yeah. Forgot where the cheddar broccoli soup was,” I lie . . . terribly. In the last few months, I’ve had to lie more than in my whole life.
Michelle looks down at the screen, the cheddar broccoli button, clear as day, and then back up at where I was staring. “Ahh,” she says knowingly, raising my hackles instantly. “Getting in a good look? Don’t blame you. I asked him out for a drink earlier.”
My head snaps to hers. “You did? What did he say?” My voice becomes higher with each question.
“Just that he has plans, but maybe another time. I think he’s a tough shell to crack, but I will get there. I always do.”
That’s not a lie. She always does.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Well, good luck with that.” I finish inputting my orders and close out one table, pulling the ticket from the printer and placing it in a black folder for my customer.
As I pass the hostess station, Stuart calls to me, “New table on twelve.”
“Okay.”
Twelve is right next to the fountain. I try not to get too giddy about the idea of being closer to Andrew. I have yet to say hi to him since I’ve started work. It’s been non-stop waiting on people, and not one of them has ordered ice cream. If you come to Friendly’s, you get ice cream, that’s what you do. But apparently, not today.
I drop off the check to one table, pull out my order pad and go to table twelve where Tucker—ugh what is he doing here?—sits alone, wearing his sexy smile.
Crap.
“Hey,” he says as I walk up to him.
Swallowing hard, I nod at him, hoping and praying Andrew is too pre-occupied with ice cream to hear our conversation. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
He leans back in his booth, putting his hand behind his neck in a mock stretch. “Can’t a guy get some good old-fashion American food?”
“Not when he’s you,” I shoot back.
“Aw, come on, Sadie, just looking to have a little fun and check out the competition.”
I knew he wasn’t here to indulge in ice cream; he’s never been into sweets.
“There is no competition,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice low.
“Really?” His eyebrows lift in question. “My boy Andrew no longer keeping your interest? What happened after the party the other night? Puke on your shoes?”
This is not happening right now. I am not having this conversation with Tucker while Andrew is only a few feet away. Why can’t he just leave me alone? From the smarmy look on his face, it seems having Andrew in the picture has only turned up his pursuit. It’s evident in the way he looks at me with such determination.
“No, he did not puke on my shoes,” I whisper.
“Then what is it? Not a good kisser? Likes to eat onions like an apple?” He leans closer toward me. “Likes to wear women’s underwear?”
I can’t help it. I chuckle, only because the image of Andrew wearing a pair of my panties comes up in my mind, for some odd reason, it works for him. Is that something I should be concerned about?
“No, none of that.”
“Then what is it? Still caught up on me? That’s no problem, I’m more than happy to help you with that problem.”
I shake my head. “Stop, Tucker.”
“Never,” he says without an ounce of humor in his voice.
Sighing, I poise my pen at my pad, ready to take his order. “Can I get you anything?”
“A date,” he answers without skipping a beat.
“Can I get you anything off the menu?”
“That is off the menu.” He flashes the menu at me where he penciled in, “Date with Sadie.”
I roll my eyes and chastise him. “You can’t write on those, Tucker.”
“Sure you can. It was really easy. Pretty much anything works on laminated plastic.”
“That’s not what I meant. Now are you going to order food? Or can I get back to my other tables?”
He’s about to open his mouth when from over the half wall, connecting to the fountain, Andrew waves and says, “Hey, Tucker. Good to see you, man.” Oh Andrew, so oblivious. I guess that’s a good thing. “How’s the old wrist doing? Mine was sore after our beer pong annihilation.”
Tacking on a good smile, because that’s the kind of guy Tucker is too, he says, “Ah, I’ve been playing far too long. My wrist is pretty used to that kind of abuse by now.”
“Lucky.” Andrew holds up his wrist and moves it around in a light twirl. “When I woke up, it felt like I just sprinted a masturbation marathon. Damn thing was stiff as fuck.”
“Are we talking about your wrist or your dick?” Tucker jokes, baffling me. How can guys be this cool with each other? I don’t get it. Michelle nods at Andrew with one of her breasts and I want to claw her eyes out, but Tucker sees Andrew as a threat and can still joke around with him. Men are weird.
Andrew laughs and points at Tucker in a playful way. “Stiff dicks are for the bedroom and the stockroom. Can’t help but get a boner when you see all that fudge topping.”
“Yeah, I’ve been back there. I’m getting hard just thinking about it,” Tucker teases, blowing my ever-loving mind.
Fudge boners? What is happening right now?
“Purely a dick’s paradise back there.”
Tucker’s laugh instantly annoys me. It’s a throaty laugh I used to love listening to, but right now, I just want him to leave.
“Hey, I forgot to ask you,” Andrew continues, “where—?”
“You have a customer,” I almost shout, grateful for the four teenagers who just pushed through the fountain doors.
Andrew glances back and then with a sorrowful expression he says, “Duty calls. I’ll catch you later, man. Good to see ya.”
“You too.” Absentmindedly, still looking over at Andrew, Tucker says, “Man, I like that guy. Good, solid bastard that one.” Sighing he looks back up at me now. “Too bad he doesn’t realize he’s just wasting his time when it comes to you.” What the hell?
Not wanting to put up with this anymore, I grab him by the arm and lift him out of the booth. He’s not here to get food; he’s here to drive me fucking insane. Tucker, laughing the entire time, allows me to guide him out the door. I don’t stop until we’re standing outside.
“Do not come back here,” I plead, knowing he will do as he pleases; he always does.
Not replying right away, he studies me, really trying to look into the depths of my eyes. “Huh . . .” Thoughtfully, he rubs his stubbled jaw. “You like him, don’t you?”
“It’s none of your concern. Now please leave before I get in trouble with Stuart.”
“Please, like he would ever fire you. Admit it, you like Andrew.”
“I don’t need to deal with this.” I turn toward the door, but he snags me by the arm, halting me in my progress forward.
“Go on a date with me, Sadie.”
“Tucker, I said no.” Why does he keep harping on this? He’s never been this relentless. Have I always been easy to him? Not worth much effort? Any effort? A sure thing? Maybe I’ve never been this relentless in my refusal.
His face grows softer while his thumb rubs across the skin on my upper lip. “Just one night, that’s all I’m asking for. Strictly platonic.” Ha, I snort. “I’m serious. I miss you, Sadie. I miss just spending time with you, just you and me, no one else to distract us. Give me this one night.” He swallows hard, his eyes turning from soft to sad in a matter of seconds. “I, uh, I haven’t been able to have a solid night alone with you since we lost the baby. I feel like we have some unfinished business. We need to find some closure.”
And there it is. He brings up the baby, and I start to thaw, and quickly.
The baby I didn’t want at first, but the baby I so desperately wish I had now.
How can I deny him one final night of cl
osure if that’s really all he wants?
“Just closure?” I ask, a little skeptical.
“Just a night of us, Sadie. I think it’s only fair. After we lost the baby, you ripped everything I ever knew away from me. I know you were hurting, but you have to realize, I was hurting too. Fuck, I’m still hurting.” He grabs the back of his neck and stares at the ground. “I lost my baby and the love of my life that day. Just give me one night to say goodbye to us.”
Even though we’re standing outside, it feels like imaginary walls are closing in on me, making it harder and harder to breathe with each passing second.
With one last attempt to get me to agree, he lifts his hand to my face and gently strokes it, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Please, Sadie.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I swallow hard, a lump of grief trying to make itself present in my throat. “Okay,” I mutter, knowing it’s the wrong thing to say, knowing deep down that if I spend a night talking with Tucker, it’s just going to make everything that much more confusing.
Tucker let’s out a long breath and then pulls me into his chest for one of his famous hugs I’d once relied on in the past. “Thank you, Sadie. Does Saturday work for you?”
Not able to look him in the eyes, I nod. “I have an afternoon shift, but I should be done by five.”
“Perfect, I’ll pick you up around seven. That should give you plenty of time to drive home and get ready.”
“Sure.” Pulling away, I make my way toward the restaurant, already loathing my decision.
“This means a lot to me, Sadie.” I look back at him. He has his hands in his pockets, looking so freaking grateful I said yes, that once again, it tears at my heart.
No matter how hard I try, this man will always have a mark on my heart. He was the first boy to kiss me, the first boy to make love to me, and the first boy to break my heart . . . You can’t just wash away those memories, because they stick with you. They’re the ones that have molded me into the woman I am today—apparently a weak and very stupid woman.
When I walk into the restaurant, I don’t even bother sparing a glance at Andrew. I can’t, because the night I just committed to on Saturday feels an awful lot like cheating, even though I have no intention of doing anything remotely intimate with Tucker. Am I even committed to Andrew? We had one night together and a few text messages; that doesn’t make us a couple, does it? Either way, Saturday still feels wrong.