Текст книги "Finding Me "
Автор книги: Mariah Dietz
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
–Maya Angelou
Humans are 99.9 percent anatomically the same. It’s a fact. So how is it possible that .01 percent makes everything about Max so different? Did my skin really burn when he had touched me? Had we fit together so seamlessly? Is every perfect memory a lie that my mind and body have created to torture me? I wish they were, but flipping back through the pictures that I brought home with me resurrects memories with such precise detail that I feel as though I’m experiencing each of them again. I can feel Max’s touch, smell the crisp spiciness of his skin, and hear the soft rumble from his laugh. Each image hurts a bit more than the last, yet I can’t set them down, or stop from going through them and carefully studying each one. I know I won’t be able to function until I see them all and allow myself to remember again.
Tears stream down my face, and my body is covered in a sticky coating of cold sweat that plasters my hair to my neck and face. My heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my throat and behind the throbbing of my eyes that search around the dark space, seeking a familiar item to bring some comfort.
My nightmares are worse than my memories, because in my nightmares tragedy strikes and I’m always a few steps behind, but I’m always there to see it occur.
I grab my phone from my nightstand and see that it’s 4:23 a.m. The covers shift as I sit up, exposing my damp skin to the cold air. My muscles constrict painfully with shivers, and I cry a few more tears simply from the discomfort that I’m experiencing, in addition to trying to fight the images of seeing Max lying in a casket. In my father’s casket.
I try to take a few breaths and steady the racing of my heart, speaking aloud to assure myself that it was all just a horrible, horrible nightmare—one of a thousand that has plagued me since last May. I feel saliva start to pool in my mouth. The churning of my stomach as my mind conjures up the image has startled me awake, and I dash to the bathroom where I lose the contents with a painful heave that makes my tears increase.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I change out of my sweat-drenched clothes and pull on his old T-shirt and fall back into my bed. I had re-inflated it last night and it feels a little too full, but at this point I really couldn’t care less. Reaching toward a large box I use as my nightstand, I turn on the lamp then carefully hold the sides of the stack of pictures so I don’t smudge them. I turn through them all again and wonder what he’s doing now.
The gym is a lost thought as the morning wears on. I spend an ungodly amount of time on simply getting dressed, fixing a bowl of cereal, and trying to recall what day of the week it is so I know what time I need to show up for class. It’s Wednesday and Kitty moved our session up today so that it’s my first stop.
Great.
“How are you feeling this morning, Harper?”
I work for nonchalance as I give her a shrug, and nod in response.
She waits.
I must have tightened my lips, or an emotion flashed in my eyes, or I moved my finger—hell, maybe I just took too long of a breath, but I can tell she knows something is off. Recently, she has begun resorting to these silent stare-downs with me when she hits a sore spot. I know when she’s initiating one because her head tilts to the side, just as it is now, and her green eyes seem to grow with determination. There are few things more awkward than sitting in a room with another person and having them stare at you. It irks me beyond measure, but she already knows that. That’s why she does it.
“I sometimes have these dreams about death. Last night I dreamed that I was at Max’s funeral.”
Thankfully Kitty never gloats when she wins our silent exchanges and fortunately reins in her intense staring. “That must be very difficult. I’m sure they must dig up fears and memories from your father’s funeral, and plagues your mind with new ones. Is it always Max?”
“No.”
“Do you think it’s reflective of your relationships with those in your dreams?”
My eyes widen as I search the room for anything to stare at other than her. They land on Fuego, the Betta Fish that has to stomach my stories and confessions as well.
“How’s Fitz doing?” She rarely gives me allowances like this these days, and my eyes turn to her to ensure that she’s not tricking me. “That’s not a very common name. Is it a nickname?” she continues. Her questions are coming too close together. It gives me an eerie feeling that she’s preparing to broach a bigger target.
“He’s good.”
She nods a few times and then stands up from her chair and goes around the back to her desk. “I’d like to discuss your work at the lab today.” Her movement had provided me with a false sense of security. Generally, when she introduces a subject that I don’t want to discuss, she remains in her seat with her green eyes blazing holes in me as she gives me her silent, knowing looks.
“It’s going well.”
“I want to discuss why you chose to focus on aortic aneurisms.”
My jaw goes slack and my skin prickles with goose bumps, even though it’s always too warm in here, even for me. I hear Kitty moving some papers around, but I don’t watch her. Controlling my emotions right now takes every ounce of focus that I have.
Thousands of thoughts and set responses drift through my mind before I finally take a deep breath in preparation of my words. “My dad’s death gave me a direction. I never knew what I wanted to do other than help people. Studying aortic aneurisms gives me an opportunity to potentially help a lot of people.”
“Do you think he’d want you to be doing this?”
“This?”
She raises an eyebrow at me. She used to allow me to play dumb and eat up time to sort through my thoughts and create responses. She doesn’t look at all willing to do that right now.
“Living in Delaware, studying how to prevent what killed him?” I ask, taking on her role.
“Moving away from your family and changing your life so drastically, while spending most of your time focused on how to conquer something that conquered him.”
“He always supported my decisions.”
“If he was here now, would you still be here? Still studying aortic aneurisms?”
“I told you, his death gave me a focus.”
“Or an excuse.”
My jaw clenches as I glare at Kitty. Mentally, I’m throwing a tantrum, screaming at her.
“Even if you’re able to establish a theory or definition of what causes them, or how to prevent them, it’s not going to bring him back, Harper.” Her words soak into me slowly, too slowly. I don’t know how she has so much control over my emotional responses, but it feels like she knows exactly how to play me to make me talk, and to listen.
“Your dad loved you, Harper. I know this without ever knowing him, because you make it very apparent with your pain in getting over his death. I know that you had a very special relationship and you loved him very much, as well.” Her chin drops as she stares at me. It isn’t in a challenging manner, but like she’s waiting for me to be able to take in everything she has just said.
“I want you to spend some time over the next week considering what he would think if he knew that you were over here, away from your sisters and mom. Away from all of your friends. I also want you to consider what he’d say to you spending all of your time feeling guilty over something you shouldn’t. You couldn’t have stopped him from dying, Harper.”
The door is barely visible as I pull it open and leave. I know our time isn’t over, and that this is the second time that I’ve walked out on her and she can technically inform my professor, Dr. Kahndri, and my school that I’ve done this and it would force me to start taking required counseling sessions, but I don’t care. I need to get the hell away from her and allow some of these raw areas of my memories and heart some reprieve.
I consider calling in sick to work. The last thing I want to do is discuss how things went this morning with Kitty, and I know that Fitz will ask; he always does. However, knowing that calling in will only wave an even bigger red flag, I go.
Although I’m fifteen minutes late for my shift, the lab is empty when I arrive, so I take a seat and pull out my phone to reply to a text Kendall had sent me last night. Returning to Delaware after Christmas was difficult. Saying goodbye to all of my sisters once again had started to make me feel the emotions that I had somehow managed to avoid with my initial trek across the country.
Me: Sorry, I was asleep early last night. How are you?
Kendall: I was worried U wld B. Sorry :( Where should I send ur album?
When I moved my sisters had bombarded me with questions about where I was living. It wasn’t in the “let’s talk about designing your bedroom” sense. It was “we’re coming to get you now,” and I fought it by not responding to their calls and messages. They could have found me; it wouldn’t have been hard. They all knew where I worked, and I’m sure someone would have helped them as soon as they saw one or all of them, since they likely would have shown up with the entire cavalry. Now they seem resigned to the fact that this is something that I am going to do, and even if they were to show up tomorrow, I know now that I wouldn’t allow them to sway me into going back. I need to do this. Kitty convinced me of it this morning. I need to understand things and prove to myself that I can do this on my own. It’s not for anyone else. It’s for me that I need to do this.
I text her my address as Fitz enters with a white bag stained with grease and a drink tray.
“Muffin, muffin?”
“Those are some really greasy muffins.” I say, warily eyeing the bag.
Fitz gives me a wide grin. “Yeah, they’re way better than muffins. I got donuts!” He sets the bag down on my desk, along with the drinks, and anxiously rubs his hands together. “These are the best donuts you’ll ever eat. They sell out like every day. I stood in line in the snow with twenty other desperate people for these delicious delicacies.”
It’s freezing outside. I’ve never experienced this kind of cold where it feels like you can’t physically breathe and your face and hands burn. I thought the Thanksgiving Day parade was cold. It wasn’t. I enjoyed the snow’s appearance for the first couple of days, and have since been working on not considering it as a strong reason to return home.
I pull out a donut covered in coconut flakes and take a big bite. I don’t know how Fitz manages to stay so thin because he seems to know where all of the best desserts and treats are in town.
“Amazing, right?”
I nod in agreement because it is. It’s light and airy with the right amount of sweetness in the dough, and an ever-so-slightly crispy shell, and the most delicious raspberry filling I have ever tasted. It’s not a glob of thick raspberry jam that you usually find, but a still warm and slightly runny center that tastes like fresh raspberries. I feel slightly dazed by it. “Seriously, I might be convinced to go stand out in the snow too if they’re all this good.”
Fitz’s smile is filled with relief as he passes me a coffee. “They have really good coffee too. You’re so going to get acclimated to this weather.”
I feel my first laugh of the day flow out of me with ease, relaxing my muscles that I didn’t realize until now were still taut.
“How did things go this morning?”
“They were good. I think it made me realize that I’m here for the right reasons. I’m here for me, and accomplishing things that are important.”
Fitz nods a couple of times, holding a chocolate donut shining with icing and enough sprinkles that no one would be able to turn it down.
I don’t explain to him how I came to this conclusion. If I told him what Kitty said to me, there’s no way he’d allow me to explain my revelation without attempting to play devil’s advocate and asking me three thousand questions about if this is really what I need. And right now, that’s the very last thing I need.
“Don’t worry about failures, worry about the chances you miss when you don’t even try.”
–Jack Canfield
The following Monday, Fitz suggests—of all things—that I go with him to a local sports bar to watch a pay-per-view boxing match that’s supposed to be a big deal in that world. My distaste for fighting hasn’t lessened, but since returning home after Christmas, I find myself craving interactions so I don’t hesitate, or even complain.
The bar is already crowded when we arrive. Fitz makes a point of looking around to all of the busy tables and then back to me, solidifying the fact that this fight is in fact a big deal.
We wander through the darkly-lit space, packed mostly with men, until we find an empty table near the back. We then proceed to shed our heavy layers, balancing them in a heap on one of the vacant pub chairs. Fitz selects a seat that provides him with optimum viewing angles of the fight. I sit facing him so my eyes won’t betray me and wander to the screen when something happens and distracts him.
“No fucking way!” Fitz says with a laugh, scooting his chair back so he can stand up. My gaze turns to watch him as a heavily tattooed guy embraces him. They each pat one another on the shoulder as guys do, and then break apart, still smiling at one another.
“What in the hell have you been up to, Maxwell?”
I watch Fitz smile warmly at the guy and turn to look at him again. He has two large dimples that seem to enunciate the quick smile he wears that looks like a permanent fixture on his attractive face. His eyes are a bright blue, lighter than Max’s, which are a brilliant cobalt. He looks about six feet tall and appears strong as I watch his forearm muscles bulge as he gives Fitz’s shoulder another firm pat. If I didn’t already know that Max is the single most attractive male on this planet, this guy would be a contender.
“Danny, this is Harper Bosse. Harper, this is Danny Hirsch.”
“Nice to meet you, Harper.” Danny turns his smile on me, revealing slightly-slanted bottom teeth. The imperfection makes him even more enchanting. He reaches forward to shake my hand, and my eyes quickly register that both of his ears are pierced with small gauges and his right forearm is covered in a flame patterned tattoo.
His skin is so warm against my own that it distracts me from all of the noise surrounding us, and my eyes look down to see his hand wrapped around mine. “You too,” I reply, meeting his eyes and quickly realizing I’m not having to remind myself to smile.
“Grab a chair! Are you here with anyone?” Fitz asks, gesturing to the empty seats.
“Frank’s in here somewhere, but you know him,” Danny replies. He lifts a vacant chair and moves it so he’s sitting between Fitz and our cold weather gear. “I’m on a break until next week and wanted to see the fight with a crowd. See what I’m up against.”
“Danny’s a pro fighter,” Fitz explains. “He and I used to have a mutual acquaintance.”
“How is Miguel?” Danny asks before a waitress wearing a white T-shirt with a deep V-neck approaches us. Her reaction is instant, confirming that she either knows Danny or recognizes him as she gives him a big smile and practically touches her chest to his bicep.
“Danny! Oh my God, I can’t believe it! Would you sign my shirt?” It isn’t a question, but a desperate plea.
Danny turns his attention to her, and I watch as he flashes her his easy smile and nods, keeping his eyes level with her face. At first I’m impressed by the fact that he seems completely undeterred by her impressively large assets as he signs the shoulder of her shirt, then it dawns on me. Miguel is one of Fitz’s exes. Danny’s gay too. It sends a tremor of humor through me that the first guy I’ve deemed attractive since Max, other than Fitz, is another gay man. I’m sure Kendall would be going out of her mind with hysterics about this situation, but I slouch slightly with the relief that fills me.
Danny hands our waitress her Sharpie back, and turns to us as though this is a completely normal practice. “What’s your poison?” he asks.
“I’ll be the DD. Have whatever you’d like,” Fitz says, passing me a drink menu.
“But first we’re having a round of Patron,” Danny announces with his smile still present. “I’ll also take a sidecar.”
“Jameson neat, please,” I say without reviewing the menu as the waitress looks to me. She jots it down on her notepad and then retreats.
“So what’s new with you? Are you still in the medical field?” Danny asks, leaning slightly closer to Fitz. “Is that how you guys know each other?”
Fitz nods. “Yeah, I’m actually working at a medical lab now. Harper’s my assistant. Lucky for you, I’m pretty much the only person she hangs out with. She’s new here, from California.”
“California, really?” Danny asks, turning his smile on me. “I can see that whole LA scene going,” he says with a nod.
“I know. She is pretty hot, huh?” Fitz says rhetorically as he eyes me with a teasing smile. I’m not sure why, since they’re both gay and their compliments are completely benign, but they make me blush.
“Here you go, handsome. I added a pitcher, on the house,” the busty waitress says as she places five shot glasses on the table along with a pitcher of beer and three tall mugs. Fitz slides my whiskey over along with a shot of Patron as the waitress makes eye contact with Danny. She smiles seductively at him while chewing on her bottom lip—something few people are able to pull off and look sexy—but I can tell she’s practiced this look.
“Normally I wouldn’t do this, but…” she trails off, moving the drink tray she’s holding so it’s secured to her waist with her elbow. She pulls a pen from her apron and reaches for a drink napkin and then begins scribbling across it. Dropping her pen back in her apron, she lifts the napkin and blows on it provocatively. My eyes widen at the deliberate message she’s sending him, and I reach for my whiskey as she slides the napkin in front of Danny. “In case you want to have some fun.” She winks and then turns without acknowledging me or Fitz.
“It’s good to know that some things never change,” Fitz says with a grin as he takes his shot glass. “I think she’s lying to you about not doing that very often though, D. That looked like a well rehearsed move.”
Danny crumples the napkin in his fist and laughs in agreement.
“A toast to Miguel,” Fitz says, raising his glass in the air. Danny raises his shot glass to meet it.
“I have something against toasting to things and people I don’t know. It’s bad luck.”
“I know Danny because of Miguel,” Fitz explains simply, nodding his head toward Danny.
I’d like to point out that I connected those two dots, but sigh quietly as I raise my glass as they wait for me. “Okay, to Miguel.”
I wince as the alcohol burns my throat and warms my breath.
“Have you spoken to Miguel lately?” Fitz asks, setting his glass on the table.
“No,” Danny shakes his head. “I haven’t seen him since he met Grant when we were in New York last year.”
“I heard that ended badly.”
I know little about Miguel other than that he’s a trainer and a Greek God reincarnated. At least, that’s what Fitz assures me of.
“It’s nice that you guys can be friends after dating the same person. Last year a girl invited us to a roach restaurant because my older sister had made out with her ex. Granted, he hadn’t been her ex at the time. At least I don’t think he had been …” I stop and try to recall if that clarification had ever been made.
“What?” Fitz cries.
Danny chokes on his drink of beer, and begins coughing, his face turning a bright shade of red. “Harper, I swear to God, you live under a damn rock! Danny’s not gay! Are you paying attention?”
“Miguel! Ex boyfriend! Left to travel as a trainer with his lover. I was paying attention!”
“His lover wasn’t Danny!” Fitz exclaims and then begins laughing uncontrollably as he mutters half coherent words.
“You aren’t gay?” I ask, looking to Danny.
“No. No, I’m definitely not,” Danny answers, shaking his head. He releases a good natured laugh as he continues to shake his head.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply anything,” I reply quietly, feeling my cheeks heat.
“No hard feelings, but I think we should toast to something else now,” Danny says with a faint smile still curving his lips.
“Um…” I glance behind me at the large flat screen that shows the fighters being interviewed “…who are you hoping wins?”
“It’s not so much that I’m hoping for anyone to win. It’s who I am hoping loses.”
My lips twist into a smile. “Alright, who are we hoping loses?”
“Callan the Canary.”
My eyebrows raise as I look to Danny. “He goes by The Canary?” I turn back to look at the screen. “Canaries aren’t predatory birds.” The words leave my mouth as the TV turns to a man dressed in a bright yellow suit with huge aviator sunglasses and blond hair. “He looks like the Man in the Yellow Hat.”
“Who?” Fitz asks, scrubbing his jaw as his eyes shift between the TV and me.
“Curious George,” Danny answers.
I look at Danny. My surprise for him knowing who the fictional character is shifts when I find him looking back at me without his constant smile, but an intense stare. It’s a look that I haven’t seen from anyone in months, one that I feel conflicting emotions about seeing again, especially when it’s not from him. I blink a couple of times and look at the shot glass on the table that has become my drink of choice because of all that it embodies. The sight of it alone clears my head of Danny. “Alright to The Canary losing!” I say, lifting my glass and quickly shifting my attention to Fitz.
“Cheers!” Fitz calls above the noise of the bar.
“Here, here!” Danny’s cheers are joined by several nearby tables and increase when Danny and I each drain our glass. I fight back the wince that always forms from the drink. I still hate the taste of whiskey.
“I think they want you to get wasted, H,” Fitz says, passing me a full glass of beer and smiling mischievously. My eyebrows rise and my chin drop as I look at him and shake my head.
Our waitress returns once again, this time with a full tray of drinks. She passes us each an additional shot of amber liquid. “The gentleman in the cowboy hat bought these for you guys and wishes you luck, Danny.” She lifts an additional shot from her tray and places it in front of me. “And this is from the man over there,” she says, her voice to cheery as she nods toward a large, burly man covered in flannel and smiling at me.
“Um, no. Thanks.” I shake my head and slide the glass back to her with my fingertips.
She shrugs with indifference and removes it before leering at Danny once again.
“He looks a little sad now, H,” Fitz drawls as the waitress delivers the refused shot to the man in flannel.
I turn my head as he looks over to us and scoot my chair closer to Fitz.
“I’m not being your fake boyfriend tonight,” he says, sliding his chair against the concrete floor in protest. “There’s a beautiful, curly-haired blond that keeps checking me out.”
“That’s fine, you can go talk to him. I just need Al Borland to lose interest,” I plead.
“You’re fine. You’re hot and single. Enjoy it. If someone comes over, I’ll say I’m your boyfriend,” he promises with a wink before turning his attention back to the curly blond.
“So what do you think of all this snow?” Danny asks. Holding his shot glass by the rim with three fingers, he slides it over the table. I feel entranced by the movement, watching as he spins it in lazy circles.
“They weren’t kidding when they said arctic front.” My eyes snap to his, needing to break from following his movements. “I feel like I’m the giant marshmallow man from Ghostbusters every time I go outside with my ten layers,” I joke. I’m joking around! Easily! With someone other than Fitz! The realization causes a familiar tug on my lips, which feels eerily foreign as they lift into a smile.
He laughs in return. “This is nothing. I grew up in Detroit. Cold is in my blood. I don’t know if I could do palm trees and sun all year.”
“Detroit? Why are you in Delaware?”
“My mom’s actually from here. My dad’s my manager, and he travels with me quite a bit. So when things started getting pretty serious with my career, my parents moved down here so my aunts and grandparents could help. I’ve got three little sisters.”
“Really?” I stare at him in disbelief. “I have four sisters!”
“Do you have any brothers?”
“Nope. Just five girls. We do have a male dog,” I offer with a grin that falters slightly with the memory that he’s not ours anymore.
“Are you the oldest?”
“Youngest, actually.”
“Oh no, I know your type. You blame all of the trouble you cause on us older children!” he teases with a giant grin.
“Oh yeah, because there’s nothing to point blame at when you older siblings trail blaze and wreak havoc, causing new rules and parameters to be implemented that they hadn’t considered or thought of yet.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Danny’s eyes dance in the muted lighting of the bar. “But you guys also get us in trouble. You know everything and then hold it in your arsenals.”
I laugh loudly, thinking back to my sisters and how many of their secrets I’d known growing up. I swallow the rest of my laughter as a body sidles up beside me. I slide to the far side of my chair as I look over at the unwelcomed visitor. He’s close to my age and looks oddly familiar with his blond, gelled hair and heavy build. My head tilts slightly as I try to recall where I may have seen him and wonder if his average build and nondescript features simply tease at the idea that I may have met him before.
“Hey.” Blindingly white teeth allow the last puzzle piece to slide into place. I’ve stared at this same too-perfect of smile before.
“You’re in my Organic Chemistry class.” His grin widens, confirming my recollection and making me wish that I hadn’t as he shifts closer to me.
“Dude, if you’re going to hit on my girlfriend, at least wait until I’m not sitting right here watching.”
Both my classmate and I look over to Danny. Bright White beside me scrambles to straighten his pose. “S-sorry. I thought you guys were just friends,” he stammers with a hard swallow. He looks at me once more and then silently backs away from the table, disappearing into the crowd.
“You must be losing your edge,” Fitz chides, taking a long sip of water.
“That had nothing to do with me,” he rebukes, flashing his smile again as he shakes his head and fills a glass with beer.
“Thanks for that,” I say, reaching for the glass of beer that Fitz had poured me. Even though I hate the taste, I need something to break my unease, and I know I can trust Fitz to take care of me.
“Yeah, no problem. You can’t blame the guy. Hell, I’d approach you if you were at a table with other guys to confirm if you were single, too.”
I put my glass to my lips to prevent having to give a response.
“I’m going to order some food. What do you guys want?”
I turn to Fitz and silently plead for him to stay. After a comment like that, I can’t believe he’s considering leaving. A loud cheer erupts around us, filling the bar with more noise than seems possible, and I turn to take in the crowd and see their eyes fixed on the TV screens that have now all been changed to the same channel. The broadcaster introduces the contenders and I briefly watch the men walk up to the ring before I turn my attention back to Fitz only to find that he already slipped away.
“You’re afraid of me.”
My eyes cut to Danny who looks disappointed and slightly amused by his accurate account.
“I don’t think afraid is the right description. I don’t fear you,” I explain slowly.
“You don’t want to like me.”
He has no idea how right he is, nor how incapable I am. Max still consumes eighty percent of my thoughts on good, functioning days.
“But you do,” he continues, making my heart bleed in what I can’t decide is desperation for him to be right or a pang of anger at the possibility.
“Believe me, it’s better that I don’t.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s been a long year,” I say, throwing a blanket over the flame inside of my head that always sparks when my thoughts veer too closely to Max. The crowd roars over my response, and I turn to see what’s going on.
“Consider this me approaching you at a table with other guys.” Danny’s standing right beside me, so close that as I turn to meet his blue eyes, I can smell the sweetness of his cologne.
“Now what?”
His question brings a wave of chlorine and fresh air to wash over me as I hear Max’s voice echo the same question to me last summer. My back and thighs tingle with the memory of the blades of grass scratching my exposed skin and recall my hands yearning to reach out and touch him.
My thoughts stop as I feel a foreign touch brush against my finger and look down to see Danny trace along my tattoo that reads, his. “Bad break up,” Danny states quietly.
Max’s face slowly dissipates like a fog as Danny’s eyes search mine.
“It’s been a long year,” I repeat, now that he can hear me with the crowd being a few decibels quieter.
“Okay, I’ll play my cards,” Danny says, inching toward me as someone works to get between tables. “I want to get to know you. We’ll start as friends, no pressure. And when you’re ready to admit that you like me…” his smile turns cocky, making me laugh and shake my head “…we’ll take that step.”
“You don’t know me to like me.”
“I know that you have four sisters, so you either have the patience of a saint or have some serious fight in you. I know that Maxwell adores you, which speaks volumes because he doesn’t like anyone.” The exaggerated assessment of Fitz makes me laugh again. “And I’m very attracted to you.”
“You know, there are a lot of girls here that would be a lot less complicated.”
“I haven’t noticed anyone since you walked in.”
My eyes are stuck between wanting to roll at his remark and widening at his sincerity when my chair rocks.
“Okay, I ordered. Busty blonde seems on it. She really wants another chance with you.” Fitz sings the last few words as he settles in his seat, placing a hand on my shoulder to silently apologize for running into my chair, seemingly unfazed by Danny’s close proximity to me.
