Table for Two (4 page)

Chapter 2

Drake was annoyed. It was a usual emotion after he'd failed to get to know someone interesting. And Cassie was definitely interesting with her wide, teasing eyes, a mouth that softened easily into a welcoming smile, and a body that showed men what womanhood was all about.

He sat in the bar with his brother, Eric, and Eric's friend Malcolm, drinking beer amid the noise of a televised game. He usually enjoyed Eugene's Bar, shouting at the TV, and throwing back a cold one, but now he just wanted to be alone to think. To think about Cassie and why she had run from him. He took a drink of his beer and slammed it down as various thoughts crowded his mind. Yep, there was no doubt about it. He was definitely annoyed.

Why did she feel the need to hide from him? He remembered her friend's face when he had asked her where Cassie was and she pointed to the table. She looked as baffled as he was. At first he thought it was a joke, but when his leg brushed against a silky soft arm he knew it wasn't. Why hide? Hadn't she felt what he had?

"Drake, are you going to finish your pizza?" Malcolm asked, wiping crumbs off his
Sports King
T-shirt.

"No."

Malcolm was a skinny guy with a gigantic appetite and a mouth to match. Drake didn't really like him, but acknowledged that he didn't like most people. He found them arrogant, obnoxious, or boring and his natural tendency to be an introvert didn't help, so he tried to be tolerant of his brother's friend.

Malcolm took a large bite of pizza. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." He glanced down at the table, wishing Malcolm didn't have the habit of talking with his mouth full.

"He's thinking about that woman he bumped into," Eric clarified with his usual insight. Drake was always surprised how his younger brother could read him so well. Especially when he wasn't able to do the same. No one could mistake them for brothers. Eric was of a slighter build and lighter complexioned with a serious face that could be intimidating. His gold-rimmed glasses gave him the solemn look of a professor. He looked myopic, but he didn't miss a thing. However, their smiles were the same—broad and a little wicked. He flashed one now. "Don't worry about it. Did you get her number?"

He shook his head and lifted his beer.

Eric's smile dimmed. "A last name?"

He finished his beer and again shook his head.

"A birth sign?"

"Nothing."

Eric stared at him in shock. "You mean you were talking to her all this time and all you found out was that her name was Cassie?"

Drake sat back in his seat, irritated by his failure. "Yep."

"The way you two were staring at each other, I thought you were trying to create your own summer heat. What were you two talking about then?"

"Food."

Eric kissed his teeth in disgust. "Food? How did you manage to do that?"

"It just happened naturally."

Eric swirled his drink, then took a gulp. He looked at his brother as if he were a promising student who'd failed a class. "That's the problem with you. You don't know how to talk to women unless it's related to work."

Drake raised his hand to signal the waiter to bring him another beer. It would be his third, perhaps his fourth. It didn't matter, because he wasn't driving. "Trust me. When I was talking to her, I wasn't thinking about work."

"You're hopeless."

"Wait a minute." He rested his arms on the table and looked at his brother's serious face with a smile tugging on his lips. "When did you become an expert on women, Mr. Casanova? Tell me the last time you had a date."

Eric adjusted his glasses in consideration. "The last time I've wanted one."

Drake accepted the beer the waiter handed him with a quick nod and took a healthy swallow. "So that would be in the fifth grade when you gave Margaret a bag of candied hearts."

Eric grinned, not offended by his brother's teasing. "I think you're confusing things. That was what
you
gave your date at your senior prom."

Drake's humor faltered. He hadn't been to the prom or any of the other high school functions. He had wanted to go. He had dreamed of asking Brenda Timmons, taking her to a fancy restaurant, then making out at one of the after-prom parties. He hadn't been able to dream long. He was poor and had to take care of two younger siblings. Whatever money he earned went to them. Nobody expected much from him. Many predicted he would end up a wino. Fortunately, that hadn't been the case. Now he was going to see his old classmates again in two months at his twentieth high school reunion and he would have the chance to prove them wrong.

Eric banged the table with his glass, awakening Drake from the melancholy mood that had
 
hit him. He shrugged good-naturedly. "Okay, so you made your point. I'm not an expert, but I've had more success than you. It's obvious you need to work on your technique."

Drake clasped his hands behind his head. "Things were going great," he said, reviewing the moment in his mind. "I honesty don't know where I went wrong. We were both talking about great meals."

Malcolm leaned forward, feeling safe to join the conversation. "No surprise there. I'm sure she's familiar with every meal around the world. Don't tell her you own a few restaurants. Hell, she'd probably eat you out of business."

Drake's eyes flashed. "What do you mean by that?"

Malcolm delicately cleared his throat, not wanting to get on Drake's bad side. It was not a pretty place. "I'm just saying she's a big woman."

Drake's eyes didn't leave Malcolm's face, like a missile aiming for its target. His voice lowered dangerously. "And your point is?"

Malcolm's eyes slid away. "I don't have one."

He let his gaze fall. "I didn't think so."

Eric hit his brother on the back to ease the tension that hovered over the table.

"Look, we all miss opportunities. I'm sure there's someone out there for you."

"And here she comes," Malcolm said, leering at a shapely woman with caramel skin and spice-colored hair. She had entered the bar and was now speaking to the bartender. Her tiny fluorescent green skirt hitched up her legs as she leaned on the counter.

Drake saw her and turned away, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Oh, her."

Eric leaned forward. "Kristin is someone you can handle. She likes you."

"That's only because I ignore her."

"Then stop ignoring her."

"I'm afraid that would take too much effort."

"At least practice on her. Most times, you're like a statue. This will give you a chance to talk, interact, practice your moves."

"I don't have any moves."

"Then make them up."

He stood. "I call this one 'making an exit.' "

Eric grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down. "Try again."

"Hi, guys," Kristin said, sliding into a seat next to Eric, while she flashed a brilliant smile in Drake's direction.

Both Eric and Malcolm said hello. Eric sent his brother a pointed glance that was as eloquent as a nudge.

Drake sighed. "Hi, Kristin."

"Hi, Drake. What have you been up to?"

He wrapped his hands around his mug. "I've been working on this new recipe for brown rice. See I—" He stopped when he saw Malcolm shaking his head and Eric doing a sawing motion against his neck signaling him to
cut it out.
"Never mind. How are you doing?"

"Just fine. I just got my nails done. Do you like them?" She rested her hand on his. Her nails were bright red with gold tips. They made him think of claws tainted with the blood of its victims. He moved his hand away. "Very nice."

"For what they cost me, I hope they look more than nice."

Malcolm spoke up. "You want compliments, baby? You'd better come to me."

They began to flirt. Drake didn't care. He had done as much socializing as he had rationed for the day. He stared down into his beer glass, wondering where he had gone wrong with Cassie. If things had gone right, he would be sitting here with her.

"Drake, you don't look happy," Kristin said, breaking into his thoughts. He glanced up; her lovely dark eyes showed concern.

"Women troubles," Malcolm explained.

"Is that possible?"

"For him it is."

"Lay off," Eric said.

"Oh, poor Drake." Kristin leaned toward him, exposing an ample amount of cleavage. Drake was amazed and disgusted—disgusted that in his present state the invitation was tempting. "You know you can talk to me any time."

He stood. "I think I'd better go."

Eric opened his wallet and stood too. "Same."

* * *

"I don't know how you can hang out with those two," Drake said, squinting from the glare of the sun a few minutes later. "You have nothing in common."

"Malcolm amuses me. I find his simplicity refreshing."

"What do you see in Kristin?"

"What's not to see?"

"An intelligent thought perhaps."

Eric wiped some sweat from his forehead. "True, but she's interesting in other ways."

"Don't tell me you've slept with her."

"Okay, I won't."

Drake looked at the sky. "I don't believe it."

"What's not to believe? She was willing and I was curious."

He shook his head, then finally asked, "Was it any good?"

"I don't tell." Eric took a flyer from a volunteer advertising a new store and scanned it "But she really wants you and just uses me as a substitute."

"And you don't mind?"

"Hey, if a woman wants to take out her sexual frustrations on me, I'm here to serve."

"That is warped."

"No, just sex." He tossed the flyer in a trash bin. "It usually happens that way. Women are drawn to your distant, brooding looks and turn to me for comfort." He straightened his glasses. "I comfort them. It all adds up."

"A true Sir Galahad. I'm glad to have been of service to you all these years. How does it feel to be a scavenger?"

"Hey, you got the looks, but I've got the brains and they've served me well. Started with Greta Rodgers my sophomore year. She was a senior and my first."

Drake remembered a quiet girl with big glasses, and decided not to ask. "What about marriage?"

"Now that's a nasty subject to bring up."

"No, it's not, Peter Pan. Don't you want to grow up?"

"In case you've forgotten we spent most of our childhood as grown-ups. Don't fault me for wanting to have fun now."

"I don't." Drake shoved his hands in his pockets. "I want to marry and have kids."

"Kids? Why? You spent most of your time raising us."

Drake shrugged. It had been hard, and at times he thought of giving up, but the struggle had ultimately made him strong. Coming home to see his brother and sister waiting for him had made him feel whole. He knew a wife and kids would give him that feeling again. "So you don't plan to marry?"

"I didn't say that. Actually, I already have the type of woman in mind."

"Oh."

Eric kicked a pebble out of the way. "Aren't you going to ask what type?"

"A woman who looks like Kristin, with the manners of Malcolm and the intelligence of a Teletubbie."

Eric scowled. "Actually, I intend to marry a very educated woman, with refined manners who appreciates jazz and good food. We'll eventually have one child."

"Reaching for the gold, huh?"

"I've got money. There's no reason I shouldn't find her."

"What about convincing this refined woman's family?"

"I'll make sure she's desperate."

"Your deviltry is troubling."

Eric shrugged. "What about you? What kind of woman do you want to marry?"

"Cassie. She's beautiful, funny, sweet, and she makes me feel... good. I actually flirted with her."

"You flirted with her? Wow. She is a miracle worker. Did you say 'waa-waa' too?"

"Are those a new pair of glasses? I'd hate to break them."

"All right, I'm sorry. I just don't believe there's only one woman for you. For anyone. You'll eventually forget about her and find someone new." His brother stopped in front of his apartment building. "Come on up. You always get this way when you've been drinking."

"No, I don't."

The two brothers argued about this on the way to his floor, then stopped and stared at the bundle wrapped in a yellow and red blanket in front of Eric's door.

"What the heck is that?" Drake asked.

Eric lightly kicked the bundle. "Something I've unfortunately continued to feed. Wake up, Jackie."

A small, female head popped out of the bundle and glared at them through almond-shaped eyes. "Where have you been?" she demanded.

"You forget your key again?"

She stood, barely reaching Eric's shoulder. "I was in a hurry. Come on, I'm hungry."

Eric opened the door. "You know we did her a disservice. Because we took care of her, she's going to expect some poor chap to do the same."

"That's not true. I only expect that of you two." She turned to Drake. "So what are you going to cook?"

"He's not cooking. He's drunk."

"I'm not drunk. Just pensive." Drake turned and hit his head against the base of a hanging plant. "Why do you have to hang these things so low?"