///
He paused at that, fork hovering over his plate as his eyes finally found mine. There were a million words flitting through those dark eyes of his, but he didn't say a single one of them.
"It's fine," I conceded with a sigh, knowing bringing her up was unfair of me. I'd promised both myself and him that I wouldn't do that, but sometimes it was too difficult not to. "Work is work, right?"
"I really am sorry," he said, voice lower now. His eyes begged me for understanding, and mine begged him for love. "Maybe next weekend."
"Yeah. Maybe."
For a while I just sat there, watching him eat the dinner I'd cooked for him, foot shaking where it hung over my opposite leg under the table. I couldn't remember the last time we went on a date. I couldn't remember the last time we'd done anything more than exist together, and for the first time in years, it didn't just make me sad.
It made me angry.
The longer I sat there and watched him chew, the more silence that passed between us - the more I realized I didn't want to be silent any longer. And I didn't want to sit still, either.
"Well," I said when he'd finished his steak. "Since you'll be working, I guess you wouldn't mind if I went to this happy hour thing some of the teachers are going to, would you?"
Cameron wiped his mouth with his napkin before dropping it on his own plate to mirror mine. "Happy hour?"
I nodded. "I know it's not really my thing, but there are a bunch of teachers going. It'd be a good chance for me to network. You know, make some friends with the faculty."
He considered me as he stood, gathering his plate and utensils first before reaching for mine. "I don't see why not. Like you said, would be a good opportunity for you."
"Great," I clipped. I stood, too, ready to storm upstairs to change, but I stopped myself, closing my eyes and forcing a breath as Cameron finished picking up my mess. "Thank you."
"Of course," he said easily. "You cook, I clean. We're a team, remember?" He leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead. "I'm going to wash up and head into the study. Have fun with the other teachers. Give me a call if you need a ride home, okay?"
"Okay."
I stood rooted to that spot until he disappeared into the kitchen. When I was alone, the anger I'd felt morphed back into sadness, and suddenly I didn't even want to go to the stupid happy hour. But what else was I supposed to do? Sit around and watch TV? Teach Jane and Edward a new song? I shook my head, dragging myself up the stairs to change.
Maybe getting out of the house would make me feel better.
I guessed I didn't really have any other choice but to find out.
Reese
Blake laughed at the tail end of my story as I took another swig of beer, eyes focused on the sports highlights sprawling across the TV in front of me. I didn't keep up with sports, but it was something to watch now that I was alone in a bar. The Westchester faculty happy hour had lasted for, literally, one hour, before everyone made excuses to leave.
So, I'd picked up the phone to call my old roommate.
I'd been avoiding the phone call long enough, I figured I might as well get it out of the way with a little booze in my system.
"Well, you're missed around here," Blake said, still laughing. "But it sounds like you're getting settled in just fine."
"I am. It's kind of weird. Feels a little like coming home and a little like starting over fresh at the same time," I said. I went to tell another story, this time about old Mrs. Garrett who wouldn't stop pinching my ass in the break room, but my voice faded off when I saw Charlie.
She was standing just inside the door of the bar, looking around with pinched brows as she unwrapped her scarf. Her eyes finally landed on me, and she smiled, though I would have sworn she'd been crying just moments before.
"Sorry, Blake, I have to go. I'll text you later."
I didn't wait for a response before I ended the call, sliding my phone into my back pocket as I stood to wave Charlie over.
Her hair was still pulled up into a tight bun, just like it had been earlier that day when we'd had lunch together. But she'd changed into a tight pair of dark jeans and a classy, long sleeve blouse that peeked out under her ivory pea coat. Her smile was wide as she shrugged it off her shoulders, slinging it over the back of the bar stool next to mine before leaning in to hug me.
Lemonade. How did she smell like summer in the middle of January?
///
"You made it," I mused, pulling her chair out for her.
"Looks like I'm the only one." She chuckled, looking around the mostly empty bar. "Where is everyone?"
"Well, apparently I'm the only poor sucker who doesn't have a family to rush home to on Friday night," I teased. "Shortest happy hour in history."
"Doesn't surprise me with the guest list."
This time I laughed. "Fair point. You drinking?"
Charlie eyed the bottles behind the bar, sucking her thumbnail between her teeth for just a second before she tucked her hands between her thighs with a shrug. "Oh, why not. What are you having?"
"An IPA. It's hoppy, kind of bitter."
"That sounds fine."
I cocked a brow. "You sure? You could get wine, or a martini or something."
"I can handle a beer, Reese. I did survive a Wild Walker just seven days ago."
I threw my hands up with a grin. "Alright, alright. I was just saying you could get whatever you want and that you didn't have to drink what I was drinking. So sassy tonight."
She blushed. "Not sassy, just thirsty."
"Well, we can fix that."
I tapped my knuckles on the bar, nodding to the bartender down at the other end of the bar. "Another one when you get a sec, Walt."
The old man saluted me, tossing a wink in Charlie's direction as he pulled a fresh glass from the shelf. We watched him fill it from the tap, though my eyes were mostly on her rather than the beer. Once it was in front of her, I thanked Walt and held my glass up.
"Happy Friday," I said, clinking my glass to hers.
I watched her face as she took the first sip, expecting her to grimace at the bitter hops, but she just licked the drops that were left on her lips and sat the glass down in front of her, one hand hooked around it.
"You like it?"
"It's bitter, like you said, but I like the flavor."
"Charlie Reid, an IPA lover. I never would have guessed."
"Pierce," she corrected. "You know, you're lucky we don't have a wrong last name jar like we have a swear jar at school. You'd be broke by now."
Shit.
I ran a hand through my hair, shaking my head. "Sorry. Old habits die hard, I suppose."
"It's okay," she assured me with a smile.
I couldn't get over the fact that she was in jeans. It was the first time I'd seen her not wearing a skirt since the first day of school. I tried not to check her out, to notice the way the denim hugged her thighs, or the way her blouse dipped down to show her modest cleavage with the way her posture was on the bar stool.
The woman just reminded me she was married, and I couldn't stop staring at her like she was coming home with me. It was the kind of thoughts I'd fought against when we were younger, when her bare legs swung from where she sat on my piano, her young eyes wide as they watched me with adoration. She'd always made me feel like I was worth more than I really was, like I was the only boy to ever catch her eye at all.
I cleared my throat, shaking the memory away. "Speaking of which, I thought you had a date tonight."
Charlie had started to take another drink when I mentioned the date, and once the words were out of my mouth, she tilted the glass up farther, chugging down more than half her beer in one fell swoop.
There was the grimace I'd expected earlier.
She sucked a breath through her teeth, shaking out the burn from chugging as she placed her glass back on the bar. "Yeah, well, so did I."
A strand of her hair that had been tucked into the top of her bun fell forward, and she swept it back behind her ear, not bothering to pin it up again as her eyes focused on the glass in her hand. I ached to reach for her, but reminded myself it wasn't my place.
"I'm sorry," I said after a moment. I wasn't sure what else there was to say. I didn't need to know what happened to see that whatever it was, she'd been hurt by it. And I hated seeing her that way. "Want to talk about it?"
"Honestly, I really don't. Can you talk, instead?"
I scoffed. "Come on, don't you know who you're sitting next to? Can I talk … " I joked.
Charlie smiled as I jumped right into the story I was going to tell Blake about Mrs. Garrett, and before she'd even finished that first beer, I had her laughing. We ordered another round as soon as she'd polished off the one in her hand, this time opting for a citrus wheat ale from a brewery in Georgia. It went down even easier than the first beer, and before I knew it, we were four beers in. I switched to water after that, knowing I'd need to drive eventually, but Charlie ordered another round.