He did laugh, but it sounded forced. “Sure, fine, here’s the truth. I left because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away from her.”
“So you dropped out of school, out of college, abandoned your teammates, because you couldn’t stay away from Kaitlyn?”
“Sure.”
“And now? What are you really doing here?”
He didn’t answer immediately and, stupid me, I was holding my breath, eavesdropping like a freak.
At last he said, “That’s not really any of your business.”
“But she is my business. If you have malicious intentions then that’s my business. She’s my BFF, do you know what that means? It means: Boy I will fuck up your face if you mess with my girl.”
“Wouldn’t that be BIWFUYFIYM…WMG?”
“No, nothing counts toward the BFF acronym except Boy, Fuck, and Face. It’s a TLA.”
“TLA?”
“A three letter acronym.”
“Of course.”
“Back to my original question, what are your intentions?”
“Sam…”
“Are you still in love with her?”
Silence.
“You are!” She sounded excited, like he’d answered, but I knew he hadn’t. “You’re in love with her! Of course you are. But is this some kind of revenge plot?”
Silence.
“It’s not!” It sounded like she was jumping up and down. “Oh my God, you’re in love with her and you…want her back?”
Silence.
“Hmm…you don’t want her back. That’s odd.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Ah ha!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I can read it all over your love-sick face.”
“Shouldn’t she be back by now?” His voice was tight, impatient.
“So, you’re still in love with her, you want her back, but…what? Why haven’t you just told her?”
Silence.
“Hmm…you’re afraid.”
Silence.
“No, no. That’s not it. You’re not afraid.”
He sighed.
“You’re with someone else. You’ve got another girl and—I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud—you’re too honorable to call things off with Emma.”
“Emma? Did Kaitlyn mention Emma?”
I clenched my hands into fists, my heart jumping around my chest. I was going to kill Sam. She was going to die.
“Yes. She told me about adorable Emma. Kaitlyn thinks she’s pretty and you two make a pretty couple.”
“I’m not interested in Emma.”
I covered my mouth with my hand to keep my gasp from being audible. I wasn’t going to kill Sam. I was going to buy her a car.
“So you broke up?” Sam asked.
“No. We were never together.”
“But you let Kaitlyn think you were together.”
“No.” He paused, then I heard his footsteps move away. When he spoke next he sounded frustrated. “I’m not discussing this with you, Sam. I need to make a phone call.”
“Sure, sure. You can use Kaitlyn’s room to make your call, it’s at the end of the hall.”
I heard his footsteps move farther away followed by the sound of my door closing. I stood, again frozen, for several seconds, making sure the coast was clear. I was about to turn back to the two coats still holding me hostage when Sam flung open the door to the closet.
“Oh my God!” she whispered, with feeling. “Did you get all that? He loves you! He’s not with Emma!”
“Sam,” I whispered back, scowling fiercely. “You knew I was in here the whole time.”
“Yes. Of course, I didn’t hear you leave so I figured you were hiding.”
“No. I’m caught in the web of your superfluous coats and I was trapped.”
She grinned, glancing down at where I was tangled in the cuff buttons of her garments.
“Ha-ha, that’s funny. Here, let me help.” She slipped in and quickly untangled me, then pushed me out of the closet.
Like a clothes ninja, she immediately found my formal black coat and yanked it off the hanger. She tossed it to me then pulled the string to turn off the light. As I frantically tugged on my jacket, she tiptoed to the front door.
She opened it.
She closed it.
She said loudly, “Oh. You’re back.”
I gave her a panicked look, untucking my hair from my collar, and whispered, “What are you doing?!”
“Were they already closed? You don’t have your dry cleaning.”
“Stop it,” I whispered frantically. All my hope for bravado and planned bravery was scattered.
Meanwhile Sam smiled like a harpy.
The door to my room opened and I stiffened, my eyes closing briefly. I inhaled a steadying breath, repeating to myself, Even though you don’t feel calm, doesn’t mean you can’t be calm.
Feeling only slightly more centered, I turned toward the hall and affixed a welcoming smile to my face. Martin’s eyes collided with mine as he stalked toward me, making me take an instinctive half step back. It was the force of it, the force of him.
He was devastating, dressed in a black tailored suit, a slim black tie, a slate-blue shirt that hardened his eyes into steely blades. His heavy coat was folded over his arm. He must’ve just taken it off. I tried to get my heart to stop jumping on the bed of my lungs before I fell down and broke my head, but it wouldn’t. It took a kamikaze leap in his direction, sending spreading warmth from my toes to my temples, making my knees weak.
Stupid kamikaze heart.
“Hey.” My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat as he approached. “Sorry about that,” I said, sounding a little more steady. I tossed my thumb over my shoulder. “My, uh, uniform is at the cleaners and I need it for tomorrow.”
He didn’t stop walking until he was almost on top of me, then he bent down and placed a soft kiss on my cheek, one of his hands coming to my upper arm to hold me in place. It was an echo of the kiss he’d given me earlier in the week, and again I was assaulted by his smell and closeness and warmth.
I thought I might swoon.
Once again, it was over before I completely comprehended what had happened. He took a step back, but didn’t release my arm for two more seconds.
Once his hand fell to his side his gaze swept over my face then down to my closed coat. Then it traveled back to my eyes. They pierced me. “No problem, I just got here. You ready to go?”
I nodded. “Uh-huh.” Even though I wasn’t ready, because all my courage was still in the closet with Sam’s jackets.
His mouth tugged slowly to the side as he looked at me and pulled on his coat.
Sam chimed in, “Well, have fun, you crazy kids. She has no curfew, Martin. But it would be nice if you bring her back all in one piece, if you catch my meaning.”
His eyes slid to Sam and his expression darkened. “Goodbye, Sam,” he said as he reached for the front door and held it open for me.
“Goodbye, Martin.” She smiled at him, like a harpy.
***
I was wrong.
The place he took me for dinner definitely needed reservations.
Despite my shaky start to the evening, once we got to his car things felt a bit more natural, easy. He asked me about work. Instead of talking about the band or The Bluesy Bean, I told him I’d abandoned my twenty or so venture capitalist projects in favor of investing heavily in science cabinet futures.
He laughed and the tension was mostly cut.
We talked on the way over about his Spotify playlist and what books we were reading. His handsomeness and brilliance felt less like a death ray aimed at my heart and more like Oh…look, it’s Martin. I half convinced myself I could still move forward with my plan to settle things between us.
But now that we’d arrived at our destination and the restaurant was actually super swanky, I felt a renewed spike of discomfort. I was sure the dinner was going to cost more than half my paycheck. I couldn’t afford it because I’d just spent my whole paycheck on the awesome dress I was wearing.
Distractedly, I let Martin take off my coat as my eyes moved over the setting. It was intimate. There were maybe six tables visible and all of them were mostly hidden behind privacy screens. The lighting was dim but not dark, cozy but not complacent. Everything screamed elegant boudoir—the plush red walls, the dark furniture, the heavy, striped, crimson velvet drapes. It was romantic.
Scratch that.
It wasn’t romantic.
It was sexy.
And it looked very exclusive, like you needed a membership card to gain entrance. I swallowed thickly, pressing my lips together, and gripping my clutch.
Completely preoccupied by my distress, I surmised—based on the overt sensuality of the restaurant—that Martin had brought me here tonight in order to try the place before he took her here. Last week he’d said that tonight would be an experiment. Of course, he would want to test the restaurant before he brought his real date.
Dejectedly, I realized there was no way I would be able to confront Martin during our dinner. I couldn’t be brave in a place like this, especially not when I was a stand-in for the girl he hoped to win. I suddenly wished he’d taken me bowling instead.