In This Moment(52)

“See,” she says, freeing her head from Kyle’s grasp and glancing over at me. “Always keep them on their toes.”





Cole



“So…” I scratch the back of my neck.

She sets down her fork and glances up at me. Her hair is pulled into a loose braid that drips over her right shoulder. She’s wearing a light blue dress. She’s got on silver earrings that dangle against her jaw when she moves her head. If she tilts just right, I can see the silky strap of her bra peeking out from under the dress. It’s pink and for the past hour I’ve been wondering if she’s one of those girls who does the whole matching bra and underwear thing.

“So…” she parrots back.

Maybe I shouldn’t have worn a suit. It’s so fucking uncomfortable and hot. If there’s a hell, I’m guessing that the fucktards that end up there have to wear suits.

I clear my throat and wipe my mouth with the starch white linen napkin from my lap. “Uh—how’s your food?”

Aimee looks at me for a long time. Her lips twitch and my stomach clenches tight. She moves her eyes over to where our waiter is stationed against the wall. When she speaks, her voice comes out as a low whisper that only I can hear. “Is it me, or is this really awkward?”

I think about the question.

Shifting in my straight back chair, I look around the ridiculously fancy waterfront restaurant with the white tablecloths and the crystal water glasses and the extra forks that I have no idea what to do with. There’s a gaudy chandelier dropping from the ceiling above us and the walls are draped in heavy fabric the color of dried-up blood. The sound that’s filtering in through hidden speakers can only be described as a hybrid between elevator music and a funeral dirge.

I’m trying too hard. I squint and feel my mouth creeping up. “Maybe a little?”

Aimee lets out a held breath and half-smiles. It’s one of my favorite smiles. “Okay,” she says like she’s deciding something. “I thought it was just me and I was starting to get a little panicked. Cole, I seriously think that we’re the youngest people here by at least fifteen years.”

She’s probably right. The guy at the table next to me has been messing with his dentures since the hostess walked us over here. “It’s Florida. Everyone is old.”

Aimee’s eyes widen. “Not like this. This is geriatric.”

Shit. I feel sweat beading at my hairline and I push my hands back through my hair, pulling on the ends. It’s not like it should come as a surprise that she’s having a terrible time. I haven’t taken a girl on a date in… well… ever. It was almost a given that I was going to fuck it up colossally. “I thought that this is the kind of thing that all girls want. You know—the nice restaurant near the water and the debonair guy in the suit,” I gesture to my tie.

“The debonair guy—yes. The other stuff?”

I don’t reply right away and Aimee’s brow creases. Her fingers wrap around the edge of the table. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “Was it bad for me to say something? I just wanted you to know that you didn’t have to go all out. I would have been fine with Skee-Ball and a corndog.”

I cock my head to the side. “You can’t play Skee-Ball worth a shit. Remember?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to say ‘shit’ in a place like this, Cole. The waiter is in a tux.”

“You’re probably right,” I agree, easing back into my seat. “So the restaurant was a stupid choice. Does this mean that you’re having an awful time? I’m hoping that dates are like everything else and they get better with practice.”

“I’m not having an awful time.” Her voice is soft but strong and it unglues me instantly. She gnaws on her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean what I said in the way that you’re thinking. I just don’t want us to pretend to be something that we’re not, you know? I faked my way through all of last year. It’s not… it’s not good and I’m trying to be done with all of the fake crap because I know that eventually it catches up to you.”

Her expression is fractured and I get the sense that her words are hinting at something else. She’s allowing me a rare peek inside, but I don’t want it right now. Not in this stuffy-ass restaurant.

“Got it,” I say lightly, rubbing my finger over the bump in my nose. “No fakeness and you’re not into the flowers and romance stuff.”

“Well, I don’t remember saying that I wasn’t into flowers…”

I chuckle and let my body relax. “Okay. I can work with this. Flowers you like. Corndogs and donuts you like.”