Push Me (To The Edge series, #1) (8 page)

My plan was to get out of there without him seeing me, which would have been easy considering I didn’t have to walk past him. Under normal circumstances, there would have been nothing weird or uncomfortable about saying hello to him, but these were not normal circumstances.
Particularly given the fact the last interaction we had involved me standing him up and not even explaining myself.

My phone rang and I frantically reached for it,
got it out of my purse and saw that it was Rachel calling.

“Hey,” I said, answering the call.

“What are you doing? Want to get a bite?”

I paused for a moment,
then said, “I’m in a bookstore.”

“Why are you whispering?” she whispered, mocking me.

“He’s here.”

“Who?”

“Hang on.”

“What? Who’s there?”

“Shhhh.”

“Why do I need to ‘
shhhh’?” she said and then shouted, “No one can hear me!”

She
was laughing as I headed for the restroom.

Rachel
said, “What the hell is going on? Don’t tell me Ian’s in the bookstore?”

“No.”

“At least you’re not whispering anymore. So talk.”

“
Sam.”

“The baseball player?
”

I said, “Yeah.”

“Okay, then. A hot jock who reads. I like where this is going.”

“He’s doing a book signing.”

“A hot jock who wrote a book? If you don’t go after him, I will.”

Two women came into the restroom. I was standing in front of the mirror and made eye contact with one of them.

“Let me call you back after I do this,” I said.

“Do what? And you’re whispering again.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ll call you back.

“You better.”

We hung up and I left the restroom, went to the information desk and asked where I could find Sam’s book.

The girl told me they were all in the back of the store where the event was going on, and that I could buy one there.

I decided to browse around the area until it looked like the last person had joined the line, and then I’d go over there and be the last one. That was the only way I’d be able to approach him, saving myself from a potentially awkward situation with other people around.

I kept glancing over to keep an eye on the progress of the line, and finally went over and joined it when there were only three people left.
Sam signed their books, shook their hands, and thanked them for coming. Each one of them used the word “inspiration” when talking to him.

Had he become some kind of self-help guru in the last four months? What was this all about?

He didn’t notice me until the person in front of me walked away and I stepped up to the table.

“Claire,” he said.

Sure, it was the fake name I’d given him, but he remembered it. That counts for something, right?

“Hi,” I said. “I actually didn’t even know you were here tonight or that you’d written a book, but when I saw this going on, I thought, why not?”

He took my copy of his book and opened it to the title page. Signing his name, he said, “Well, I’m glad you made it, even if you didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

He looked up at me and smiled a little. “I know. I was joking. It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you, too. So, you’re not only a TV star, you’re a best-selling author. Very impressive.”

He finished signing the book, closed it, handed it to me, and said, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

I didn’t say anything. There was something in his tone that left me wordless.

“Of course,” he continued, “you could have found out if—”

“I know.
I’m sorry. Really. There was just so much going on in my life at the time…” I stopped.

“No
need to explain. I get stood up all the time.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Really?”

“No.” He stood. “I was trying to make you feel better.”

I felt my face and neck blush, but managed to say, “Forgive me?”

Sam seemed to ponder his answer as he stood. “Yes, I’ll forgive you.”

I smiled at him. “Thanks.”

“On one condition.”

.  .  .  .  .

It was about nine o’clock when we got to the Italian place Sam suggested. When he asked me to have dinner with him, I agreed, even though I had already eaten. He had forgiven me once for blowing him off, so how could I turn around and do it again?

It was the kind of place people would refer to as a “pizza joint”—black and white checkered floor, inexpensive round bar tables and chairs, plain white walls with pictures of the place dating back probably fifty years and a few autographed photos of movie stars, musicians and athletes. I saw one of Bon Jovi, another of Al Pacino,
lots of sports figures I didn’t recognize, and even one of Sam himself—an 8x11 replica of his baseball card.

There was no wait staff. We
went up to the counter where two guys tossed dough in the air, slung sauce on it, and heaped piles of toppings on the pizzas. A third guy, much younger than the other two, took the order and gave us Styrofoam cups to take to the soda machine.

It was the kind of place
Ian never would have taken me, especially on a first date. Sam, on the other hand, apparently had no desire to impress me by taking me to a stuffy white-tablecloth place.

It was an immensely refreshing change of pace.

Ten minutes into our date—was that was this was?—I had to put my phone on mute. Rachel had already called three times and texted twice as many. I finally texted her back, telling her that I was talking to Sam and that I’d get in touch with her later.

The younger guy behind the counter called our order number, and
Sam went to get the pizza.

“I’ll just have a half of a slice,
” I said when he returned.

“Suit yourself.”

He cut a slice in half, put it on my plate, placed the other half on his and added another whole slice.

“Starving,” he said.

I sipped my diet Sprite and watched him bite into the crust of the pizza.

“Why do you do that?”
I asked.

“Do what?”

“Eat from the crust end. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Everyone eats from the pointy end.”

He shrugged and finished chewing. “I’ve always done it
like this, ever since I was a kid. Why do you do what you just did?”

“What did I do?”

“Agreed to go to dinner with me when you already ate.”

I looked at him, straw in my mouth, but not drinking. “How did you know I already ate?”

Sam picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. “I didn’t. But you just confirmed it.” He smiled.

“That was pretty sneaky.”

“Uh huh. So, what’s the answer?”

There was no getting out of this jam. What was I going to say? That I thought he was cute, and there was something about him that interested me, even though I wasn’t quite sure what it was? I mean, beyond him not being anything like
Ian. Maybe that was it. But I couldn’t say that.

I decided to change the subject.

“I lied to you.”

He stopped mid-chew, looked at me for a few seconds, then finished his bite of pizza. “About?”

I took a deep breath. “Oh, God, this is so stupid. Ready?”

Sam
just shrugged, as if using body language to say:
Sure, whatever…

I reached into my purse and got out my
sunglasses. I put them on, then pulled my hair together in my hand and held it up to the back of my head. “Okay, shorter hair. Now, imagine me with a little more pudgy face, and try to picture these as eyeglasses, not sunglasses. Or whatever. You know what I mean.”

He looked at me for a moment. “Okay.”

I sighed. “Nothing? Really?”

Sam
squinted his eyes and shook his head. “Sorry.”

“This is more embarrassing than I thought.
Okay, let’s try this a different way. Imagine me with a pudgy face”—I closed my mouth and puffed out my cheeks—“like that, and the glasses”—I opened my eyes wider—“and picture me in clothing store.”

“Shopping or working?”

“Working.”

He tilted his head to the side. “On the sales floor or register?”

“Sales floor,” I said, letting out a frustrated sigh.

He looked at me. “Turn to the side…no, the other side.” He looked at me without speaking.

I turned to face him straight-on again. “Nothing?”

“Morning shift or evening?”

I released my hair and let it drop. “Oh, Jesus. Forget—”

“
Dawn.”

I looked at him. He was laughing
softly.

Sam
continued, “You’re Dawn, not Claire, and I figured that out the day you stood me up. I thought you looked familiar, and it took me a little while to put it all together. Open the book. Check out the inscription.”

I opened it to the title page and saw that he’d ad
dressed it to Dawn, not Claire. Then I looked back up at Sam. “So you let me go through that whole act just now, even though you knew who I was.”

“Yep.”

“Well, thanks a lot.” I finally reached for my half-slice of pizza. “Now I’ve stood you up
and
made a fool of myself.” I took a bite from the pointy end.

“
Not at all. You intrigue me.” He reached for my cup. “Refill?”

“Wait,” I said, closing my eyes and shaking my head back and forth slowly, as if to clear it. “You can’t say something like ‘You intrigue me’ and then ask if I want a refill.”

Sam’s eyes darted back and forth. “Why not?”

“
Why not
? Because that’s a major thing to say to someone without explaining it.”

He stood with our cups in his hands. “It’s not like I wasn’t coming back to the table.
Sprite Zero, right?”

I nodded.

As he filled our cups, I thought about what he’d just said. I intrigued him? What could I have possibly done? Other than the little communication we had months ago on the Atlanta trip, we hadn’t been around each other in eight years. Could it be something from that long ago?

Sam
came back and slid my drink across the table to me.

“So,” he said. “You want to know why you intrigue me.”

“That would be nice.”

He took a long drink from his cup, put it down and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Why did you lie?” he asked.

I felt my face begin to flush again. I’d thought about it many times and had
n’t come to a firm conclusion, so I told him. “I have no idea.”

“That,” he said, a little loudly. “That’s what intrigues me about you.”

“That I lied?”

He s
hook his head. “No, that you lied to
me
about who you were. Maybe I’m making too much of it, but I find that interesting for some reason. Why’d you do it?”

“Why did you lie about being a baseball player?” I shot back.

He looked confused. “I didn’t lie to you about being a baseball player.”

“To that girl on the plane. The one with all the perfume.”

A smile appeared on his face. “You remember that?”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded.

“Well, that makes this even more interesting,” he said, reaching for another slice of pizza.

“Why?”

He chewed slowly, but didn’t answer right away. His eyes locked with mine. I knew what he was going to say and I briefly thought about rebutting it before he even said it. It occurred to me that maybe that’s what he wanted, so instead I stared back at him and stayed quiet.

He finally said, “Were you jealous that I was talking to her?”

“No.”

Sam
was smiling like he thought I was lying. The truth was, I hadn’t felt any jealousy at all. As I remembered it, the feeling I had was one of bewilderment. At that point I had no idea he was divorced. All I knew what was that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring, and that could very well be something he did while on the road.

“Not even a little?” he asked.

“You’re changing the subject. You lied about being a baseball player.”

“
Only by omission. You lied about your name,” he said. “And you don’t know why.”

“Right.”

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. “So. We’re a couple of liars.”

I didn’t say anything. What could I have said? He was right. I sipped my
soda.