B00AAOCX2E EBOK (23 page)

“Did you guys have a good time tonight?” I asked.

Carrie nodded and ducked her head, shooting a bashful smile at Casey from under her hair. “It was fun.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “Though I had no doubts. He’s a great guy.”

“Okay, Ivy, thanks,” Casey said with a small smile.

I giggled at his obvious embarrassment. I looked up as C.J. Reynolds, a girl Ian and I had attended Ironwood High with, approached the table. “Hey, C.J.!”

“Hey, doll,” C.J. said. She was a stocky girl with spiky black hair and a silver hoop through her bottom lip. We ran in different circles in high school, but we often greeted each other like old friends. Funny how things changed once you were out of high school. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Where have you been?”

“Working and studying. Same old.” I looked around. “And speaking of busy, looks like you’re getting slammed in here tonight.”

“It’s about to get worse,” C.J. said. “A couple of the Greek houses on campus are doing a pub crawl, tonight.”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“Some kind of idiotic house tradition.” She shrugged. “What can I get you?”

I ordered a drink and some of the others did the same.

“So…” Amery prompted as soon as C.J. was gone. She was practically bouncing in her seat.

“Okay, okay.” I relented and leaned back against Ian’s chest. “Let me preface this by saying that, despite my misgivings, I went on this date totally willing to make the best of it. That being said, based on tonight’s experience, I am now equipped with enough knowledge to do an entire show on what
not
to do on a blind date.”

“Ouch.” Casey’s face twisted. “Was it that bad?”

I lowered my head and looked at him under my brows. “Honey, the Ancient Greeks couldn’t have written a more perfect tragedy.”

“Didn’t Greek tragedies usually end with someone dead?” Amery asked.

“And this date almost did, too.” I gave her a sweet smile. “Now, sticking with the grand tradition of Greek theater, this night will be broken down into acts.” I cleared my throat and held out my hands for dramatic effect. “Act one: The date begins. Tall, dark and handsome arrives at my door, and I’m thinking, wow! Why does this guy need to be set up on a blind date? Introductions are exchanged, hands are shaken, and then we walk to his pretty little sports car. I’m thinking maybe this date will be an exception to the typical blind-date hell. Then, no sooner do we pull out of the complex than his cell phone rings. He spends the entire ride talking about how he’s just doing a favor for Chelsea, taking her friend out, as if I’m some charity case.”

Chelsea’s head shook. “No, Ivy, I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way.”

“Chelsea, sweetheart, you weren’t there. You’re going to have to take my word for it.” I cleared my throat. “So, act two. We arrive at
Pastiche
.”

“Ooh. Fancy-schmancy,” Casey said.

I smirked. “Yes, very fancy, and elegant, and totally pretentious. It’s the kind of place where you have a personal attendant who does everything from grinding your pepper to placing your napkin in your lap. A little too much service for me.” I made a face.

“We get seated and menus are handed over. We begin looking them over when a man arrives carrying a pitcher of water. He accidentally overfills my glass, for which he apologizes profusely, almost as if he’s terrified I’m going to get him fired. And I’m thinking, what kind of place am I at? It takes a minute or two to reassure him that it’s okay. As soon as he’s gone, Garrett apologizes, saying that the servers aren’t usually so clumsy. And then, he says, ‘But I guess that’s what you have to expect when you hire Spics to keep your labor costs down’.”

“He didn’t!” Amery cried in shock, but it was clear she was eating every word up.

I nodded. “He most certainly did. So I decide to inform him that I’m a quarter Mexican. Instead of being apologetic, he says, ‘Yeah, but you’re not one of these border-jumpers who is trying to live off the U.S. government’s dime.’ Like that was supposed to make me feel better or something. So I ask how the waiter is living off the government’s dime if he’s working, and he just makes a tight-lipped face and changed the topic to the menu.

“Conversation is now stilted. He asks if anything appeals, and I tell him I’m debating between the lemon-pepper chicken and the blackened swordfish. He strongly advises I try the veal cutlets, and I decline, but he keeps talking about them. Finally, I have to tell him that I don’t eat veal because I don’t approve of the inhumane treatment of the calves. And he says, ‘Oh, are you one of those bleeding-heart animal activists?’ I tell him that I’m not an activist, just that I have problems with keeping a calf chained in place in a two-foot wide box, where it can’t move, just so some person can enjoy a tender cut of meat. He then makes a comment about how we’re the ones on top of the food chain, and when the waiter comes around, he keeps his eyes on mine as he orders the veal, as if he’s proving a point or something.”

“That’s kind of juvenile,” Amery said in support, then leaned in even closer. “Keep going.”

“Act three: The next ten minutes are filled with silence, until he says that maybe we got off on the wrong foot, could we try again? I gave it some thought and then decided to give him a second chance. After all, maybe things aren’t coming out the way he means them to. Maybe he can redeem himself. So, he begins telling me a little about himself… and never really stops. All through the salad, the sorbet, and the meal, he talks about his past, his father, his money, his travels, his investment portfolio, his religion, and his political preferences.”

I brought a hand to my mouth and mimed a yawn.

“Act four: As our meal ends, he finally decides to ask me questions about me. I tell him a little about my family, my major, the radio station. Things rapidly go downhill from there, and it all ends with me being on the receiving end of a lecture about how I am personally responsible for the degeneration of our society, how I should be ashamed of myself for corrupting our youth, and how God is going to punish me for encouraging others have pre-marital sex. I try telling him that I’m not encouraging anything, just educating, but he doesn’t listen to a word I’m saying.

“For our final act: It’s completely silent and we’re both kind of glaring at each other as we wait for the bill. Finally, it arrives and I insist I’ll pay my half, but he tells me to keep my money because I’m going to need it for cab fare.”

Chelsea looked almost close to tears. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’d love to, but…” I shook my head.

Ian jerked to the side so he could see my face. “He left you?”

I nodded. “Best part of the evening, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh my god!” Amery squawked.

“Hmm, and here’s the kicker: I only had a couple bucks in cash. I was going to put my dinner on my credit card, and cabs don’t take cards, so I had to walk here.” Looking at Ian’s irate face made me realize I’d taken things too far with that one.

Ian’s body seemed to be shaking with rage. “Why didn’t you call someone?”

“I tried! None of you were answering your phones, and it’s no wonder. It’s so loud in this place that you probably couldn’t hear them.” I brought my fingers to my ears and winced.

“Oh, my God.” Chelsea shook her head, eyes swimming in confusion. “I can’t believe it. That just doesn’t sound like Garrett.”

“Maybe you’ve just never seen him for what he truly is,” Casey suggested, expression grim.

Chelsea looked lost. “Maybe. I… God, Ivy, I’m sorry.
We’re
really sorry, aren’t we?”

“Please don’t speak for me,” Parker said, giving her a cool look.

Chelsea returned his look with wide eyes. “You can’t actually be saying you condone the way Garrett behaved tonight?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t. He acted wrongly, especially at the end there,” he turned his gaze to me, “but you really didn’t help the situation.”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“It just seems to me that things were going fine until you started talking about your radio program.” His nostrils flared.

I tilted my head. “What are you saying? That I should have lied to him?”

“Of course not, but hasn’t it hit you yet that your job may be the problem? Not just with Garrett, but in all of your romantic relationships?”

I arched one brow, waiting for him to continue.

“Ivy, you can’t be completely oblivious to the way people think of you.”

I shook my head slowly.

A rumble of frustration sounded in Parker’s throat. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? You think what you do is so brave and daring, but you attract the wrong men because people assume you’re a whore. And, no offense, but if you keep it up, you’re never going to get a decent man, because a decent man doesn’t want a whore on his arm, he wants a lady.”

Five seconds passed where no one said a word. They were all probably wondering what I was:
Did he just call me a whore?

They probably all came to the same conclusion I did, too:
Close enough.

The table erupted in chaos.

“That’s it!” Ian said.

“I am offended, you asshole!”

“Parker!” Chelsea cried.

Ian urged me off his lap and jumped his feet. “I’m going to kick your face in,” he said, reaching across the table. He knocked the table forward. Amery grabbed Carrie, and they scuttled back to a safe distance.

“Save some for me,” Casey agreed, jumping up.

Parker stood and held his arms out wide. “I’m waiting.”

“No!” I grabbed Ian’s arms and pulled him back. “No fighting! Ian, stop!”

“What’s the problem here?” We all stopped and turned to look at bouncer who had appeared behind us. The guy had a shaved head, a hard look on his face, and had at least a hundred pounds of straight muscle on both Ian and Parker.

“There’s no problem,” I said quickly.

Ian glared at Parker for a second before backing away. He looked back at the bouncer. “No problem here,” he said.

I pulled on his arm again. “Come on. Let’s go play some pool. A table just opened up.”

The bouncer nodded. “Your girlfriend has a great idea there. Why don’t you go do that?”

“Come on,” I said again to Ian. I took his hand in mine and dragged him to the pool table.

“I should go back there and kick his ass!” Ian said as he stared at the back of Parker’s head.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

Ian’s puffed up chest heaved and his hands white-knuckled the edge of the pool table. “No, you’re right. I should hunt down that little pretty-boy asshole who left you and kick his ass.”

“Ian.” I walked closer and put my hand on his chest. His heart raced under my fingertips. “Please, calm down.”

“I am calm,” he snapped, turning his stormy eyes in my direction.

God, this wasn’t good. And it wasn’t the way I intended things to work out at all. If I could have predicted this kind of outcome, I would never have agreed to do this. “Stop freaking. I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t repeat it.”

His brow lifted in question.

“Promise,” I said.

“Yeah, fine, I promise.”

“Garrett isn’t a jerk. Not at all.” I shook my head. “He’s gay.”

A crease formed above Ian’s brow. “Gay?” he said, as if he’d never heard the word before.

“Gay,” I repeated with a nod.

“So…” He scowled, looking like he was having a difficult time processing the new development. He flung his arm toward the table. “What the
hell
was all that about back there?”

I gave him an apologetic smile. “Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

“I have time.”

“Okay. Garrett is gay, but he’s not publicly ‘out’. His father is running for office on the east coast and he thinks having a gay son will hurt his chances of winning the election. So he sent Garrett here to supervise his shoe business while he finishes school and paid him a fairly sizable sum to stay ‘in’ until the elections are over. His and Parker’s dads are college friends, so Parker is being used to make sure that Garrett isn’t ruining his father’s chances. After hearing this, I suggested we create a story that would really make Parker proud.”

Ian turned and sat on the edge of the table. He crossed his arms over his chest. The muscles in his arms bunched and flexed as he continued to struggle to gain control. The whole thing had gotten him more worked up than I thought it would.

“So, he didn’t make you walk here?” he asked.

“Of course not. He dropped me off. In fact, we even swapped phone numbers. Next week, I’m meeting him at his father’s store and he’s going to let me have any of the shoes I want at cost.” I quirked a smile as I glanced back at the table. “Amery would turn green with envy if she knew.”

The fight started to leave Ian’s body and I lowered my hand. The crease hadn’t entirely left his brow yet. I sensed he was upset at me for causing that scene unnecessarily – and it was kind of a bitch move on my part. I’d never really considered how the fabricated story would get a rise out of my friends. “Hey, I’m really sorry. Parker was our target. I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in it, but I appreciate you coming to my defense.”

Ian shrugged it off. “Hey, bullshit story or not, he has no right to talk to you like that.”

“You’ll get no disagreement from me there, but I’m not really surprised. He’s still of the belief that women should sit quietly and look pretty. And God knows I’m not exactly the quiet type.”

Ian’s brow smoothed out and the corners of his mouth twitched. “No, you think?”

I gasped, feigning offense. “Are you implying I have a big mouth?”

“I would
never
say that,” he replied, feigning offense of his own. “I mean, yeah, I might think it, but I would never actually say it.” He winked, then rapped his knuckles on the wooden edge of the pool table. “So, you wanna play a few games?”

“Sure.”

Ian pushed himself up from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

“Are you going to get one of those sticky things?”

“You mean a cue stick?”

I waved my hand. “Yeah, one of those stick thingies. Can you grab me one, too?”

“Only if you promise never to call it a ‘thingy’ ever again.”