The restaurant is crowded when I arrive. I glance around for Trent and Becka, but don’t see either of them anywhere.
“Can I help you, sir?” the hostess asks.
“Uh, yeah, it should be under Bridger, but I don’t see the rest of my party.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Bridger, we can seat you.”
I follow her around tables with candles inside short glass vases as centerpieces and creamy-white linens. A quick scan of the room shows mostly couples dining here tonight. The whole thing feels weird, and I’m wondering why Trent wanted to eat somewhere so fancy. He’s usually more interested in casual dining when he’s not cooking at home with his wife.
“Your table, sir.” The young waitress points to a table set for two. Is Becka not coming? Frowning, I pull out my phone, pull up my brother’s contact information and then press call.
It rings several times before he answers. “Hey, are you at the restaurant?”
“Yeah, where are you?”
There’s a pause and then he says, “I’m not coming, but your date should be there any minute.”
I nearly choke on my own saliva. “What?”
“I know you’re probably gonna be pissed at me, and Becka thinks I’m way overstepping—”
“She’s right.”
“—but I’m sick of watching you waste your life pining for a woman who has no idea of all the things you do for her or how you really feel and who will likely never be able to return those feelings.”
My heart rams against my rib cage and then clenches painfully. This isn’t the first time he’s said something like this, but this is the first time he’s underhandedly set me up.
I know Jo will never see me as anything more than Robbie’s friend. Maybe she’d consider me her friend, but I’m not naive enough to think she’ll ever love me.
That still doesn’t change how much I love her.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask Trent.
“You know why.”
Fuck. The one time I say too much and it comes back to royally bite me in the ass. All this because of our conversation last week.
“I’m not going through with this, Trent.”
“Tris. You have to move on. This isn’t healthy. What are you going to do when she meets someone else?”
It feels like all the air in the room got sucked out, and I got punched in the gut at the same time.
“Well?” he asks, clearly wanting an answer.
But I can’t give him one because the only answer I have is the one answer he won’t accept. What will I do when she meets someone else? The same thing I’ve done for the last eleven years. Love her from afar. Love her silently. But the fact is I’ll never stop loving her.
“What would you do if Becka was with someone else?”
“Don’t.” His voice is low and murderous.
Yeah, I hit a nerve with that one.
“What you’re feeling right now, that’s what I’ve always felt for Jo. Why can’t you accept that?”
“Here’s the problem with your example, Tristan. Becka loves me and she’s my goddamn wife, not my best friend’s. She’s mine. She never belonged to anyone else and she never will. It’s not at all the same as what you feel for Jolie, and that’s your whole problem. You believe that she’s the only woman for you so much that you’ve never let any woman even try.” He takes a breath. “I can’t bear to watch you live a life loving someone who will never appreciate all you do for her, who will never love you the way you deserve. You deserve to have a big love like I have with Becka. To be someone’s first choice.”
“Fuck you, Trent,” I say so quietly I’m not sure he heard me, but I don’t wait to find out. I hang up and place my phone on the table. I need to pull myself together and then find a way to extricate myself from this situation. But before I have a chance to come up with anything, the hostess is guiding a woman to my table.
My stomach clenches when I see the striking woman approaching. Jesus Christ, Trent. Her long red hair falls in waves down her back, her light brown eyes sparkling as she smiles at me.
“Tristan?”
I nod, my tongue completely useless at forming words as I stare at what is clearly Trent’s idea of a sick joke. She looks so much like Jolie, but she doesn’t command my heart the way Jo always has.
“Mind if I sit?”
I nod again and her smile wilts. I know I’m being a dick right now, but it feels like a betrayal to be here with her. To her credit, my sour mood doesn’t seem to deter her.
She drapes the napkin across her lap and then smiles at me. “Your profile pic didn’t do you justice.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Your dating profile. On Meet Cute.”
“What the hell is Meet Cute?”
Her smile more than wilts this time—it completely evaporates, replaced by a frown as she stares at me in clear confusion. Join the fucking club.
“It’s the dating app we met on,” she says like I’ve lost my mind. But the only person who’s lost their damn mind is my fucking brother.
I take a sip of my water. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. My brother set this up. I never created a profile on…Meet whatever it was.”
“Meet Cute,” she says, her voice soft and her eyes wide in shock. “Wait, so you’re telling me you weren’t the one messaging me all week?”
I close my eyes and rub my temples. I’m going to fucking strangle Trent. “No, I wasn’t. I’m really sorry about this. I thought I was meeting my brother tonight. I didn’t know he’d set me up on a date, but I’m not interested.”
She opens her mouth, but I can tell by the hurt on her face what she’s about to say so I speak again before she gets a chance. “It’s not you. You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m sure any guy would be lucky to have you, but I’m in love with someone else.”
She frowns again. “Then why would your brother set you up?”
Heaving out a heavy sigh, I reply, “It’s complicated.”
“Clearly.”
The waiter arrives at our table to take our orders, and my gut clenches at the dejected look on my date’s face. Fuck, I don’t even know her name.
Leaning forward, I say, “Listen, I’m not interested in this being a real date, but I feel terrible that my brother dragged someone else into this. Let me make it up to you and buy you dinner. We can eat and then call it a night.”
She nibbles her bottom lip, and if I wasn’t so in love with Jolie, the action might be sexy. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Alright then.”
I turn to the waiter—who’s been standing there looking back and forth between us, clearly picking up that this is a disaster of a date—and order wine and appetizers while we look over the menus for our entrées.
She tells me her name is Julie—Trent really outdid himself this time—and she’s a paralegal. She prefers country music and has never heard a single song by Rapturous Intent. It’s kind of nice. Most of the women I hook up with do it for the thrill of having sex with a rock star. Not that I plan to hook up with Julie.
Dinner passes by quickly, our conversation mostly easy. She keeps trying to get more details about the woman I’m in love with, but now that she knows who I am and that I’m famous, I can’t risk giving her any more information. We’re finishing dinner when my phone starts vibrating on the table, Jo’s name and picture flashing on my screen.
I pick it up before Julie can see. “I need to take this.”
She nods in understanding, and I spin to the side and answer the phone. “Hey, everything okay?”
“Hey, yeah, everything’s fine. I was looking for the Phillips-head screwdriver and can’t seem to find it anywhere. I remembered you were the last one to use it and wondered if you remembered where it ended up.” Her deprecating laugh flows easily over the line, and I desperately want to be there with her.
I glance up at Julie and find her watching me thoughtfully. “Uh, I think I left it—”
I don’t get to finish because right at that moment our waiter returns and loudly asks, “Did you two enjoy your dinner? Any dessert tonight?”
And like a train wreck, Julie answers him, equally as loud. “No, we’re good. Thank you so much. Everything was delicious.”
“Are you on a…date?” Jolie asks over the phone, and I close my eyes and wince.
“Not exactly. It’s a long story. I’ll explain later. Listen, I can come over and find it. I think I might’ve left it in the garage, but I can’t be sure.”
“O-okay. Uh, no rush. Finish your…”
“It’s just a dinner,” I rush to finish for her. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
I hang up and glance back at Julie.
“That was her, wasn’t it?”
“Who?”
“The woman you’re in love with.” Her eyes sparkle with interest, not in me, but the situation.
“It was just a friend.”
She laughs and takes a sip of her wine. “Oh, I’m sure. I had a ‘friend’ like that once.”
“What happened with him?”
She shrugs her shoulders and swirls her wine, watching it swish around the glass instead of making eye contact with me. “He married someone else.”
She brings her wine back to her lips and drinks the rest, then places her glass down and removes the napkin from her lap, also placing it on the table.
“A word of advice. Tell her. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t. Trust me.” Our gazes lock, and an understanding flows between us. In another life, she and I might’ve made a good couple.
She grabs her clutch from the table and stands. “Thank you for dinner, Tristan. The food was delicious and the company wonderful. I hope you get your happy ending.”
With that she walks away, leaving me wondering if I’m going to spend the rest of my life having unfulfilling dinners with women who will never mean anything to me or if I should take her advice and finally tell Jo how I feel.