“I have plenty of opportunities. I guess I just don’t find them that appealing.”
“You like the chase, huh? Why does this not surprise me?”
Resting his hands on the table, he says, “I think you’re probably very hard to surprise. You have a cynical side.”
His words take me aback, the reality of them hitting me hard. I pause in thought, wondering when I started doubting the good. “Wow, you might be right. When did I become cynical?” He remains silent as I work through my own dating past while staring out the window at a couple passing by. “I’ve been burned and it sucked, but I thought things were changing. I thought I was changing.” My eyes meet his again. “Those guys were jerks. None of them made a real effort in the relationship. Am I just repeating the cycle? Maybe it’s time I start making demands of my own.”
“Sounds like you deserve more than you’re getting.”
After downing the remains of my drink, I set my credit card down on the table. “I need to go.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t. I just need to clear up some stuff.”
“Sounds like you’re on a mission—revenge?”
“No. Nothing dramatic. Just need to talk to someone.” The waitress takes my card and disappears into the back.
“So that’s all it takes to get you motivated, a little queso and a margarita?”
Shrugging, I say, “I’m easy like that.”
When the waitress returns, she sets the bill on the table and Danny holds his glass up, and says, “I like easy.”
“Ha ha. I just bet you do.” I sign the check and we walk back outside. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you avoided the girlfriend question.”
“I thought we talked about this before.”
“I like seeing you squirm under the intense interrogation.”
He playfully nudges me. “If this is your version of intense, bring it on anytime.”
“Thanks for the drinks.”
“You bought the booze, not me,” he says.
“When I said drinks, I really meant the motivational speech and the company.”
“Then you’re welcome… for the drinks.”
We stop between our doors, and for a short moment, it feels like the end of a date. He runs his hand through his hair and says, “This was fun.”
“Yeah, it was.” I look down, then back again. “I guess I should go inside.”
“Thought you were going to bed?”
Danny and I turn at the same time.
Dalton’s standing on the sidewalk—chin lowered, his chest heavy with each breath he takes, hands squeezing and releasing again and again. “Guess when you texted you were going to bed, you actually meant fucking this asshole.”
“Dalton?” His anger is palpable as I walk slowly toward him. “You didn’t text at all.”
“Holli?” Danny says from behind me. “Everything alright?”
With my eyes focused on Dalton, I reply to Danny, “It’s okay.”
“Actually, it’s not fucking okay, Holliday.” I can smell whiskey on Dalton’s breath. “What the fuck is going on? Did you go on a date with him? Is that what this is? A date?”
I put my hands out slowly. “He’s a friend. We had drinks.”
“Holli, I think—”
Danny is interrupted when Dalton’s arm flies up, pointing at Danny. “Nobody gives a fuck what you think.”
“Calm down, Dalton. This looks bad,” I say, “but it’s not.”
He reaches to touch me, but drops his hand to his side instead. Shaking his head defeated, he says, “To think, I thought you were different.”
“You’re drunk, please don’t do this. Nothing is going on here.” I step closer, but he steps back.
Danny asks, “Holli?”
Dalton rushes forward, jumping the four lower steps and slamming Danny against the house. “Stay the fuck away from what’s mine!”
“Dalton!” I yell, running to try and break up the fight before it escalates any further.
“Keep your hands off me!” Danny shoves him hard enough to send Dalton stumbling back onto my steps.
He jumps to his feet and warns, “I’m gonna kick your fucking ass, motherfucker.”
Turning my back to Danny, my palms go flat against Dalton’s chest as he pushes forward. “Stop, Dalton!”
Staring down at me in disbelief, Dalton asks, “You’re defending him?” He backs up like he’s been hit, glaring at Danny, then back at me. After a hard look and tortuous few seconds, he says, “Fuck this,” and walks away.