Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance (53 page)

“Your position at the campus newspaper
will probably put you really ahead of your peers—and it’ll give you a head
start on getting internships, too,” he told me, beaming at me proudly as if he
was thrilled that I was thinking so far ahead.

I had already thought of it, of course;
for news writing, a portfolio and experience counted almost as much as the
degree did. But I also knew that if it came down to quitting the newspaper or
preserving my GPA, I would pick my classes in a heartbeat—whereas I’m sure Derick
would have found a way, in his smartest-guy-in-the-room way, to cut back on his
sleep but still manage to do both. We struggled to find something that we had
in common, comparing our interests in books, music, movies, and even—as a last
resort—art. There was something about Derick that made me think he was subtly
checking off a list in his head of expectations he had for me, that he was
comparing me to some image he had in his mind of the perfect, economically
sound girlfriend. There were some bands that we both liked, but our tastes were
mostly different; in the back of my mind, I thought to myself that Derick was
probably only agreeing on the few bands we did both like just to have something
in common. He liked nonfiction books while I was a fan of fiction; he preferred
documentaries and realistic art while I was more into light entertainment and
the modern art movement, even post-modern, from an art appreciation class I had
taken in high school.

The movie started and we both went quiet.
I wondered if Derick felt as much relief as I did. I ate some of his candy at
his behest—though sour gummies are not my favorite—and sipped at my soda as I
got more and more into the movie. The most convenient thing about the kind of
date that he had chosen to take me on was that there was the entire span of the
three-hour movie where we didn’t, and couldn’t, speak.

My mind wandered a little bit as I watched
the movie; the plot wasn’t very demanding. I thought about Zack, wondering in
the back of my brain what he was doing while I was on this almost-disaster of a
date. I shouldn’t have, but I pictured him in my mind at a party hosted by his
frat—or maybe a sorority party down the block. He would be grinding on some
girl, telling her all the sweet, sexy things he had said to me, conning another
woman into sleeping with him. In spite of the fact that I knew I should just
drop the question in my mind, I dwelled on it, getting more than a little
irritated at him. If it weren’t for the fact that I knew full well that Derick
had done nothing wrong in our date, and that Jess needed me to come through for
her to get help in her class, I would have just left.

After the movie, Derick managed to finagle
his way into holding my hand while we walked out to his car, talking about the
funnier aspects of the story. It was nothing incredibly original, but I was at
least more comfortable talking about that than I would have been talking about
myself, or hearing about Derick. I already knew that there would be no second
date; I just couldn’t make myself interested in him, in spite of the obvious
evidence that he came from a well-to-do family and seemed perfectly nice. But I
wasn’t about to demonstrate to him that I had already given up hope of finding
any kind of spark between the two of us. It wouldn’t be fair or nice to him,
and on top of it, I wasn’t sure that he would honor his agreement with Jess if
I didn’t manage to make it all the way through the date. I was absolutely
starving by the time we got into his car, and I was more than happy with the
fact that we were going to dinner next.

I kept up my end of the conversation as we
drove from the theater to the restaurant, telling Derick about the time that I
had seen Hot Hot Heat play live and how I’d managed to talk myself into a quick
meeting with the band. Derick peppered me with questions about it—how I’d
convinced the roadies and the security people, what I had talked to the
different band members about.

“Well,” I said, smiling slightly, “I had a
press pass from the high school newspaper, and I basically just sort of…pressed
my point with the security guy, saying that even though it was a high school
paper, I was a very professional type of person, and that I really wanted to
write an article for the school rag about the concert and the band.” I
shrugged.

“And they actually bought that?” I
laughed.

“Well it was partly true anyway; I did
want to do an article. But I think it was mostly that I just stood there not
being rude or fan girl-like, persistently arguing the point. The guy just
eventually gave up and led me back to where the band was hanging out in their
green room.”

It was one of the more daring stunts I had
ever done in my life—the sort of thing that, looking back on it, was more the
inspiration of the moment than something I could have planned. If I had tried
to plan an attack to get backstage, it would have failed miserably from me
overthinking it. But because I had just had the idea and acted on it, I’d
pulled it off.

The restaurant that Derick pulled up to
was obviously expensive; there were Mercedes, BMWs, and a few higher-end sports
cars parked among Priuses in the parking lot, and the red, brick building had
an understated sort of comfortable luxury appeal. Quietly elegant piano music
filtered through the outdoor speakers, and when Derick opened the door, the
smell of delicious things wafted out to greet us. When the hostess asked if we
wanted to sit inside or on the terrace, Derick looked at me for my preference.

 
“Let’s sit outside,” I suggested; I hadn’t
missed the braziers stationed around the patio—it would be comfortable enough
even with the autumn chill.

We sat down and I looked at the menu; for
a long moment I was both pleased and appalled. There wasn’t a single entrée
under $25, and most of them were closer to $40. Derick was definitely pulling
out the stops to impress me, and I was guaranteed a good meal—something that I
would probably be able to remember long after my memory of my date had muddled
itself into near-nothingness. I talked to Derick about the different items,
trying to feel out just how much he was willing to spend—but he insisted that I
should order whatever appealed to me the most, without worrying about price.

“If I had to worry about what your dinner
would cost, I wouldn’t have brought you here,” he said, smiling at me happily.
“I just really want you to have a good time, so please, anything that seems to
be the most interesting or tasty—feel free to order it.”

It was a hard decision even if I tried to
take the concern of money off of my mind. There were so many things that
sounded so delicious, and I was so hungry, that I couldn’t even remotely make
up my mind. I was a little surprised when the waiter came and took our drink
order, not batting an eyelash as Derick ordered wine for both of us and not
carding either of us. I supposed that if you went to such an expensive place,
they didn’t really think that anyone under a certain age would be among their
clientele.

I finally settled on my selections from
the menu, giving into Derick’s insistence that I have one of each course:
appetizer, salad, entrée, and dessert. It would make for a long dinner, but at
least, I thought, there would be a good meal in my stomach and apparently wine
to help lubricate the awkwardness between us. I tried to take an interest in
Derick’s detailed explanations about the differences between several of the
presidents and their policies, but I really couldn’t make myself do more than
just nod and occasionally make comments about a particular president’s
interaction with the press of their era and what it had done to contribute to
current affairs.

When the appetizers arrived, I was
absolutely relieved. Derick might be a perfectly nice guy, but he was
tedious—and I couldn’t feel any kind of spark of interest in him. Our
conversation lagged as we both tucked into our separate first courses; Derick
had ordered oysters Rockefeller, while I’d taken seared scallops with a kind of
crouton. It was delicious, and I savored every bite, taking only the few
opportunities to talk to Derick that I had to—when he asked how I liked my
food, if I’d ever had scallops before.

I sipped my wine and looked around idly;
we were clearly the youngest people at the restaurant, and I wondered again at
the fact that the waiter hadn’t been the slightest bit suspicious of the fact
that two college freshmen were in the restaurant ordering wine. But I decided abruptly
that it was just as well that no one had questioned it; it was easier to
tolerate my boredom with Derick with the help of the wine and the excellent
food. The salad came quickly and I used the excuse of more delight than I
really felt at the dressed mixture of bitter salad greens, sweet citrus and
crunchy nuts to keep my mouth full so I could avoid answering more questions
about how much I liked the food.

Derick seemed to have settled in by the
time the entrée arrived; at his goading, I had ordered filet mignon with pommes
Anna, grilled asparagus, and hollandaise sauce. Derick had ordered swordfish
with some kind of roasted tomato side and couscous, and seemed to be enjoying
it quite a bit. I was definitely looking forward to dessert—not only because of
the fact that I was excited for the crème brulée, but also because once we had
finished dessert the night would be nearly over.

Be
nice, Evie,
I told myself firmly.
It isn’t his fault that you find him boring.
One of these days, if the universe is fair, he’ll find some girl who thinks his
smarts and interest in economics and politics are absolutely charming.

The waiter came and removed the entrée
plates, and I tried to rack my brain for something to talk about next. I
wondered to myself if Derick was finding the date as hopeless as I was—if he
was certain there would be no second date, or if that decision had only been
made by me. I was spared the need to come up with something to talk about,
however.

Before the dessert could come out, Derick
and I were interrupted by someone who rushed up to the table, looking barely
dressed enough to even be allowed into the restaurant at all. As the figure
approached, I thought there was something familiar about it—and then all at
once I realized it was Zack. I nearly dropped my wine glass in surprise at the
sight of the man I least expected to show up to interrupt my date.

Oh
god,
I thought with dread.
I thought his name
too many times.
It was actually as if I had summoned him with nothing more
than my thoughts. I took a deep breath as Zack came up to the table, stopping
short and looking from me to Derick.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him,
setting down my wine glass as carefully as I could. My hands were shaking
slightly at the sight of him.

“Evie, you’re making a big mistake,” Zack
said, crossing his arms and looking Derick over.

“I don’t happen to think so—and besides,
what business is it of yours?” Derick looked desperately uncomfortable and I
couldn’t blame him; for the first time in the entire night I could actually
sympathize with him.

“I went to your room to try and talk to
you about this whole stupid mess we’re in, but your roommate told me you were
on a date.” Zack scowled at me, his arms crossed over his chest and his dark
eyes full of brittle anger.

“We broke up Zack,” I said, trying to keep
my voice calm and level. “I didn’t see you chasing after me when it happened,
and you haven’t exactly seemed interested in trying to fix anything. So it’s
none of your business who I go on a date with.”

“Yeah, well, Jess obviously thought it was
my business because she told me you’d be here with this guy.” Zack gestured
dismissively towards Derick. “No offense, dude, but you are not the kind of guy
that Evie should be dating.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a fine one to talk
about who I should be dating! Why do you even care? I’m sure there’s some
sorority sister just looking to hop into your bed and help you keep it warm.”

Zack let out a sound like a growl, his
hands clenching briefly into fists as he looked from Derick to me.

“This is a big mistake you’re making,
Evie. I could really make you happy but you’re never going to look past your
own stupid insecurities to even listen to me.”

I shook my head. “The only person making a
mistake here is you. What the hell did you think it would accomplish to barge
in on me in the middle of a date? You know what, don’t answer.” Derick was
frozen in his seat, humiliated, obviously unwilling or unable to stick up for
himself. “You’re wasting your time and a stunt like this is not even remotely
the way to get me back.”

Zack stared at me for a long moment and
exhaled sharply, stepping back from the table.

“You’re making a big mistake, Evie,” he
said, turning to go. “But it’s obvious you don’t even want to believe me.”

I let out a sigh of relief as he stalked
away from the patio, out into the darkness of the parking lot beyond. I covered
my eyes with my hand.

“I’m really sorry, Derick,” I said,
smiling wryly. “I had no idea that he was going to do that—he and I aren’t even
in a relationship anymore.”

Derick shakily reached out and lifted his
wine glass, taking a sip. “You handled him well. I was starting to think we’d
have to call the waiter over to boot him.”