When I got up the next morning I decided to wait until after I’d worked my shift at the diner to make any plans. I’d splurged on a room at the big hotel on campus because it was the only place I could think of to stay within walking distance to the diner. I could have called Lucy and Amelia, but the late hour and my emotional state made it seem like a really bad idea. The hotel bed had been huge and soft but I hadn’t slept in it. I’d sat in the uncomfortable chair by the window and thought about my conversation with Tom, bullet-points rifling through my head and leaving holes for my brain to leak out of. Failure, bad influence, dropout, loser, immature.
Not a bad thing to know what Tom really thought of me. Hey, a rebel needed something to rebel against. But the fact that it was Tom’s matter-of-fact judgment that was making me want to thrash and scream and wrench against invisible chains holding me in this town pissed me off. I didn’t want to take the next steps in my life because I was reacting to the shit he’d spewed. So what the hell was I supposed to do? I wanted to march to my own damn drummer but the dude had lost his rhythm—hell, maybe he’d lost his drums and his sticks altogether—and I’d been stumbling along trying to find some way to play.
And now, without my apartment to hunker down in, without Dave…
The thought of Dave made my throat ache and my chest constrict.
I’d texted him with a simple “good morning” around the time he’d be getting ready for school but I hadn’t received a response. Which meant his phone was turned off. The only time that happened was when Tom went all concerned-parent and decided to limit electronics privileges.
Not a surprise, but I was worried and feeling helpless about how I was going to be able to communicate with him. The idea of going weeks without explaining things to Dave in person made my stomach roil in sick, salty waves.
Luckily the restaurant was busy. Lots of tips, and no time to shoot the shit with Dottie. If we’d had time to hang and talk, she’d have been savvy enough to catch the vibe that something big had happened.
At the end of my shift, I had no interest in eating. Dottie made note of this in her usual charming manner. “You gotta eat. You’re thin as a stick.”
“Not really hungry,” I said.
We were in the diner’s supply room where there were a half-dozen battered lockers for employees to stash personal stuff. After I put on my jacket I leaned against one of the lockers and watched Dot expertly manipulate a compact and a tube of lipstick.
“Hot date?” I asked.
“Damn straight.” She pursed her fuchsia lips and grinned slyly.
It was our typical shtick. I knew she was happily married to a guy who worked at the regional post office. And I knew she felt “naked” without checking her makeup before she went anywhere.
“What are you plans for the day, hot stuff?” She stashed her supplies in her pride-and-joy acquisition from Christmas—a Vera Bradley tote with fabric that had wild swirls of lavender, pink and purple, of course.
“Not much,” I said. “Apartment hunting, I guess.”
Her brows rose. “Thought you gave that up months ago.”
“I’m back at it. Got unexpectedly…evicted.”
“How does that kind of thing happen unexpectedly?”
“Well…”
The day shift manager, a recovering meth-head named Phil, poked his head into the stockroom. “Ray, get out here.” His voice was revved to crisis DEFCON 2, which in Phil’s hyperactive world meant a customer who wasn’t smiling like a Ken doll or a ketchup bottle that needed to be refilled.
“What?”
“A kid in the dining room,” Phil said. “He wants to talk to you. Told me it was urgent.”
Shit. Dave.
The lockers rattled loudly against the wall as I grabbed my jacket.
Dottie put her hand on my arm. “Family trouble?”
Dottie and my friends Amelia and Lucy were the only ones who knew any of the details of my life with Tom and Dave.
“Nah,” I told Dot. “Nothing new, really. Same old shit.”
“You remember what I told you.” Dottie nodded slowly, as if she knew every detail of the crap flowing like a spring-swollen river through my head.
“You’ve told me lots of things,” I said. “I think I remember most of ’em.” My feet were itching to move toward the dining room and Dave, but I knew I needed to hear whatever wisdom Dot dispensed.
“Don’t get bogged down by other people’s shit,” she said in her gravelly, sister-of-Don-Corleone voice. “Take care of your business. Here’s what my mama from Poland used to say—nie moj cyrk, nie moje malpy.”
My lips twitched. “Um, okay.”
“It means not my circus, not my monkeys.”
“Got it,” I said, mimicking her slow head nod.
“Good,” she said. She saluted me with gnarled, beautifully manicured fingers. “Have a good day, Ray.”
“Thanks. You too.” On impulse I stepped forward and bussed her cheek. She smelled good. Like bacon and Cover Girl face powder.
I left the room with her cackle powering up all the cells in my tired body.
It was about ten minutes to noon and the lunch crowd was ramping from trickle to steady flow. David stood a few feet from the hostess station.
As I made my way down the dining room’s center aisle, he caught sight of me. The look on his face about killed me dead. Really, I could feel my body hit the floor—the grubby carpet against my cheek, the breath leaving my lungs for the final time, the sound of my heartbeat slowing, slowing, slowing.
I made myself return his smile, even though I knew it would be a lame response to the sunrise joy on his crazy elf features.
“Hey, you,” I said as I approached him. He had his bulky, typically overstuffed backpack on. Out of habit I reached out to take it from his slouching shoulders. The straps were soaked and for the first time I noticed how hard it had started to rain outside. The forecast had been for snow, but the temps were being April-contrary and had decided to be spring-like today.
“Do you have an umbrella?” I asked.
“No, do you?”
I shook my head. We both laughed. We had a track record for bad planning when it came to the weather. My gaze flitted around the small lobby area. It was filling with waiting customers. We’d have to brave the rain. I gestured for him to precede me out the door and a gust of wind brought us up short. The Ellery Inn’s awning draped halfway across the sidewalk. We stood under it, agreeing silently that we should wait before moving.
After a few moments I said, “So what the heck are you doing here in the middle of the day, Goomba?”
“Um…”
I couldn’t tell if he’d discovered I’d moved out of the basement and he was freaking out about it, or if there were other reasons for his surprise mid-day visit. Before I could dig a more meaningful response out of him, I caught sight of three guys getting out of a red beast of a pickup parked across the street. They wrestled with giant umbrellas emblazoned with the Ellery crest, cursing and laughing loudly as the wind and rain fought back. Wyatt, Mike and another beef-headed, bull-bodied pal.
Oh, man. Did I have to deal with them today too? Why the heck were they heading toward the Ellery Inn? Were they stalking me?
No, you just happen to work at a very popular diner on the edge of a small campus in the middle of a small town. They don’t know your schedule. They don’t care anything about you other than if you deliver their French fries fast and hot.
My gaze hooked Wyatt’s and even from across the street I could see a bright spark of recognition ignite a smile. Okay, so maybe there was a reason other than Ellery Inn’s famous fries for why he’d forsaken the college’s food halls for a diner lunch today. I decided to ignore him and deal with one problem at a time.
I looked down at Dave. “How did you get here?”
His smile was sheepish. “I walked.”
“So, Mr. Slick, you thought it would be okay to walk right out of school without telling anyone?”
“Yeah, it’s lunch. Nobody will notice I’m gone. The cafeteria is like hellaciously loud and then there’s lunch recess…”
“If they do notice you’re gone, they’ll tell Tom, and things aren’t gonna turn out so well.”
“I don’t care.” The shadows under his eyes were dark and deep. “I had to see you.”
It was a lousy time and place to have any kind of deep or complicated discussion, and for his sake and mine I needed to curb the whiny tone his voice was getting. “It’s been how many hours since we’ve seen each other?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said miserably, his hand rising to pluck at his jacket’s sleeve. I took a steadying breath because obviously he needed me to be steady. His anxiety was guiding him right now. When he was feeling okay he didn’t cling like this.
“Less than twenty-four.” I tipped my head toward the street. “We’ll wait for the rain to let up and then I’ll walk you back.”
At this point, Wyatt and his entourage were in our direct line of sight. “Hey there,” Wyatt called.
“Look!” Dave performed a joyful little bounce in his rain-soaked sneaks, his bruised eyes going bright. “It’s the coaches.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Whaddaya know.”
They arrived under the awning, their giant umbrellas battling for space. The guys laughed and started to spar with them. One of the umbrella’s pointy metal tips poked at the bulging canvas overhead and a stream of water poured from the awning’s scalloped edge right onto my head and down the back of my neck.
“Aggh!” I screamed.
All the guys—three big and one small—looked at me and laughed.
“Elvis,” crowed Mike. “You’re all wet.”
“Oh yeah? Hadn’t noticed.” I brushed my hand over my head, wincing again as more water soaked my shirt.
“Sorry,” Wyatt said. The grin on his face didn’t look particularly apologetic though, and he set about grabbing the umbrellas from his friends. One at a time, he shook out rain-heavy nylon and set handles against the wall next to the Inn’s entrance. He performed the organizational feat in about five seconds flat—long, lean muscles working easily beneath his rain-damp T-shirt. Dave’s eyes were intent on Wyatt, wide and awed as he took in six and a half feet of effortless athleticism and laidback masculinity. Hard not to admire, really.
“Go in and get a table,” Wyatt commanded. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Any specials today?” Mike asked me, snickering. Apparently today his memory was functioning. Maybe someday he could get all his brain parts to work at once and he could step into the bright sunshine of true humanity.
I couldn’t tell him to fuck off in front of Dave, so I settled for flipping him the bird outside of Dave’s line of sight. Mike ruffled Dave’s hair and winked at me before leaving.
“How’s it going, guys?” Wyatt asked, bestowing us with a fresh grin.
“Good, thanks,” said Dave with a very adorable smile.
I said nothing. And my expression wasn’t even close to adorable.
“So you’re just coming off a shift?” Wyatt asked me, obviously unintimidated by my glare.
“Yep,” I said, short, sharp. Don’t want to talk to you…
As usual he didn’t take the hint. “What’s up with you today, man?” Wyatt addressed Dave in a tone that was friend-to-friend and not man-to-little-boy. He knew his way around kids. “Blowing off school to chill or what?”
“Nah.” Dave shook his head, still smiling shyly. “I’ve got school. I just came by to see Ray. What are you up to?”
“Me and the bros are doing what they call the Tuesday chillax. Errands, deep-fried lunch and then a few friendly games of pool.”
“Pool?” Dave chirped. “I love pool. My dad got a boss new table last year and Ray’s been teaching me to play.”
Wyatt shot me a glance, brows raised, before he looked back at Dave. “Ray’s been teaching you, huh?”
“Yeah, Ray’s got mad skills. Which is good cuz my dad sucks.” Dave’s chuckle was semi-evil. Wyatt and I laughed too, because it was kinda impossible not to.
I squeezed Dave’s shoulder, signaling it was time to go. Evidently Wyatt was way more entertaining than what was happening at Ellery Elementary today because, again, Dave prolonged the convo and asked, “So what are you gonna have for lunch?”
“Veggie burger,” Wyatt replied. “Best in town.”
“I know, right?” Dave agreed with impressive enthusiasm. “That’s what I always get too.”
“Cool,” said Wyatt. “With fries and onion rings, right?”
“Oh, hells yeah. And, of course, a milkshake,” said Dave, all serious until he broke into another smile.
“You’d be a frickin’ idiot to skip the milkshake,” Wyatt said, nodding solemnly.
He and Dave stood there and grinned at each other. I waited a beat.
“Um, Dave? Come on, Goomba. We need to get you back to school.”
Dave scowled at the rain. “We really shoulda remembered umbrellas today.”
“Yep,” I agreed.
Wyatt was hovering. I could tell by his dorkified Eagle-scout vibe he was preparing to go all Sheriff Earp for us.
“Would you like to borrow a couple of umbrellas?” he asked. His smile told me he knew I was annoyed by his hovering and thought I was an idiot for it.
“Hey, that would be great!” Dave, unjaded fellow that he was, walked over to pick up one of the umbrellas. He popped it open with a hoot of appreciation.
His response made me feel small and petty and weird for being opposed to borrowing an umbrella. Why did I have to see ulterior motives in everything? For example, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened yesterday afternoon—I knew Wyatt had to be curious about the scene he’d witnessed at the gym.
Tom had mentioned he’d signed up Dave for b-ball based on Wyatt’s recommendation, so he must know Wyatt pretty well. Tom didn’t usually hang with undergrads, so Wyatt was likely one of the “lucky” few to get selected for one of Tom’s highly sought after, once-a-year undergrad classes. Ellery students were hyperaware of the value of having good connections. Getting an “in” with a guy who had Tom’s influence and power would be a major coup. My last name wasn’t Perlmutter and I wasn’t about to start advertising my weird family connection (in fact, I’d gone out of my way to keep the connection secret when I’d been a student), but it didn’t take Ellery-worthy brains to figure out that I wasn’t some random person who’d stumbled into the Perlmutters’ lives.
Yeah, and maybe I was being an idiot. Who cared? It’s not as if I had anything riding on a friendship with Wyatt the jock.
“Thanks,” I said, keeping my eyes on Dave. “We appreciate it.”
My appreciation wasn’t believable because he upped his offer. “Or, hey…how far is the school? I could drive you guys. My truck is parked close by.”
“That’s okay,” I inserted quickly. “Go eat lunch.” I could tell Dave wanted to say yes, but my brain was threatening to explode if I accepted something other than a mere small kindness. A ride in a truck was apparently way too big. “I’ll bring the umbrella back after I drop him off.”
“No rush,” he said. “If it’s not out here when we’re done eating, I’ll come by for it another time. It’ll give me a chance to see you and ask you more embarrassing personal questions.” He winked.
I couldn’t figure out if he was flirting because he knew it bugged the hell out of me, or if he was flirting because…he wanted to flirt with me. Either way it was annoying. And disconcerting.
“Oh goody,” I said.
Dave shot me a sharp look, like “what the heck, Ray?”
Wyatt exchanged glances with Dave and laughed. “Always with the prickly attitude, right?” He reached out and skimmed his hand over my hair which, after it had been doused with a few gallons of water, probably did resemble a porcupine’s butt.
“Absolutely.” Dave’s laugh sounded alarmingly similar to Wyatt’s guffaw. His blue eyes glowed as he looked up at the big, goofy jock boy. Idolatry took two seconds to happen sometimes.
“I’ll see you at practice tomorrow?” Wyatt asked him.
“Sure,” Dave said.
“Come on.” I took Dave’s hand. “We can share one umbrella.”
I nodded a goodbye to Wyatt while Dave waved enthusiastically and thanked him politely for the umbrella. I should hire Dave as a social secretary. He could handle all my awkward social interactions with grace and charm. Well, okay, probably not all of them.
“Where’s the Vespa?” he asked as we headed down the sidewalk.
“I didn’t take it this morning.” I bit down hard on my lip as I considered how much I wanted or needed to explain. Tom probably hadn’t told Dave I’d moved out—Dave would have mentioned it first thing if he had. Easing him into the idea would be better than blurting it out, but I had to tread carefully, lightly. Too bad my boots felt like mini-anvils.
“Come on,” I said again. “If we book we can make it back before recess is done, right?”
“I guess.”
We started walking. He looked glum. I wanted a cigarette. I wanted a drink, a joint. I wanted to lie down. I wanted my feet to sprout jets so I could rocket to the sky and spend the rest of my life floating around on clouds, removed from all this crap down here on the pavement. Dave’s hand brushed against mine on the umbrella handle. His touch had a tethering effect.
“So how did things go last night with your dad?” I asked.
“He was an asshole. He took my phone.” He gave me an accusing look. “I thought you’d be worried when you couldn’t get through. That’s why I came.”
“Ah.” I was so tired my joints were starting to do wonky things—my knees had given up on the effort my feet, ankles and hips were making to move forward.
“So, Dave…”
He shot me a look from beneath a hank of dirty-looking hair. I wondered when he’d last taken a bath. I fixed my gaze on the sidewalk. Not my job, not my business, not my kid.
“Have you ever heard of the saying, not my circus, not my monkeys?” I asked him. It wasn’t what I’d intended on saying, but it seemed like a good choice for the moment.
He exhaled a snort of laughter. “Nope.”
“Yeah, me neither. It’s a Polish saying. I think it means ‘I’m not gonna worry about stuff that’s not my problem’.”
I flexed my fingers against the umbrella handle. Open, closed. Open, closed. “Like it’s important to take care of ourselves and to try not to get caught up in things we can’t control.”
“Okay,” he said. “Makes sense, I guess.”
“Yeah.” In another block we’d be close to the school. I slowed my steps. “Look, I don’t know if Tom said anything to you last night—”
“Oh, he said lots of shit.”
I snorted. “I can imagine he did. But listen for a minute because we might not get a chance to talk again very soon.”
He stopped. I stopped too. He shifted his backpack around on his shoulders, shoved the hair out of his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Your dad has some new ideas and after listening to a few, I’ve been thinking that maybe—”
“They’re not new at all,” he interrupted. “More counselors, more rules, more bullcrap.” His melancholy eyes performed an admirable loop-di-loop in their deep sockets. “And since when do you listen to him?”
In the past I would have responded with my typical smirk and shrug. I would have come right out and told him his dad was a control freak and I didn’t have a clue why he made the decisions he made. But I wasn’t so sure I wanted to play this scene with a shrug and a smirk.
Fact of the matter was, Dave probably needed this change. His anxiety issues weren’t getting any better and if Tom was willing to try something new for Davey, I wasn’t a big enough asshole to sabotage him. Family counseling had made me feel nuttier than a Snickers, but that didn’t mean it would be the same for Dave. Even though I loved Dave, I knew firsthand that love couldn’t fill in all the little cracks and crevices that formed in the human heart. Sometimes love was freaky and baffling and disappointing and power-sucking and turned those cracks and crevices into giant black chasms that seemed impossible to cross.
Okay, maybe the “giant black chasm” thing was a tad dramatic, but what I was quickly realizing as I walked along the damp sidewalk with Dave was that I had some power in this situation between him and his dad and any counselor his dad hired. I had power because I knew Dave loved and trusted me.
I swallowed and said, “What’s new is that Tom says he wants to be there for you. He wants you to go to counseling together.”
“Big deal.” He sneered but I could tell by the way he was nibbling on his lip that he was interested. “Counseling is bullshit. You always told me that, anyway.”
Um, yeah, Ray. Whaddaya have to say to that? You damn hypocrite…
“Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes it is bullshit. But if your dad is there with you it’s a good chance to tell him about stuff you’d like to change and make sure he actually listens, you know? If you go to a counselor together then you get to call him on any bullshit in front of an adult he’s supposed to respect. It could be good.”
“Okay, but if it’s so good, then why does it mean we won’t have a chance to talk?”
“Because I’m not always gonna be around.” I cleared my throat. “You need to learn how to talk to your dad and your counselors when you have troubles or need help.”
“But you’re around more than Dad is. And I want you to help me when I need help.”
Oh God. Time to rip off the Band-Aid.
“I can’t help you all the time, Goomba. I want to start hanging out with my friends more, move closer to town. That’ll take money and I’ll likely need to work extra hours for a while. Might be time for me to get more of a life, you know?”
Sounded so reasonable, so mature, so appropriate—
“Friends?” he asked. “Like find some new ones, you mean?”
Interesting that he’d latched on to that little bit of my speech. And, yeah, maybe that was the problem right there—the proverbial nut in its shell, as it were (me being the nut in this case and my apartment at Tom’s being my shell). My current best friend was eleven. And his current best friend was me. We both needed to do some branching out.
“Could you make friends with guys like Mike and Wyatt?” Dave prodded. “They seem pretty cool.”
The hopefulness in his baby blues had me stifling a moan. “No, probably not them. Lucy and Amelia. And people from work.” I shrugged. “I don’t know…and maybe that’s the point. We can always use more friends, I guess.”
“Yeah.” I saw something unusual in the downturn of his lips. Maybe sympathy? Concern? The idea that Dave was worried about me made my heart ache. For him and for myself.
A bell rang loudly, reverberating along the school’s brick wall. Recess was over. “You better get going,” I said.
“I’ll see you soon, right?”
I gave him a wink, nudged his jaw with my knuckles. “You bet,” I said.
The sun came out on my return from Dave’s school. Wyatt wouldn’t need his umbrella if it was sunny. I could walk straight to my hotel room and avoid the diner and any potential run-ins with Wyatt and friends.
But my conversation with Dave was baking in my brain. If I was starting a new life wherein I stopped living like a hermit, maybe I shouldn’t run scared at the thought of seeing a guy who’d made a few gestures—clumsy gestures, but definitely gestures—toward friendliness.
When I got to the diner, I propped the umbrella next to its partners and peeked through the big front window. Wyatt and friends were seated at the big eight-top in the center of the dining room, still busy shoveling food into their growing bodies.
Shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, I considered my options for the afternoon. Take a nap? Go apartment hunting? Hike to Tom’s and retrieve the Vespa? None of the options thrilled me. My skin ached and my bones felt hollow and I couldn’t help but think how Dave added form and structure to my skeletal days.
My reflection rippled in the window and for a few seconds the body didn’t register as mine—the slouching shoulders beneath my scuffed leather jacket, the narrow hips wrapped tightly with a thick belt to keep my khakis from sliding too low on my skinny butt.
Jesus, how long would it take to get away from depression’s nasty-assed grip permanently? I’d had a bad romance, failed a few classes and dropped out of school. Big deal. Why couldn’t I get over it? Most people in the world faced worse shit every day.
My eyes did a shifty thing and my reflection faded as I became aware of what was happening beyond the glass. Wyatt was looking at me.
I waved, pointed at the umbrella and turned away.
A nap was probably the best option, so I headed toward campus and the hotel, my boots plodding against the drying pavement.
“Hey, Ray!”
Inhaling slowly, I turned to face Wyatt. How long was he going to keep this up—whatever this was? His interest, his pursuance, his…whatever.
I watched him walk, checking out long legs, slim hips and a muscled chest worthy of one of those hot-body Tumblrs I used to follow. If I had to take the punishment of trying to figure out what the hell his deal was, I needed some kind of reward, right?
When he got about a foot away he laughed his goofy laugh.
“What?” I scowled.
“You. Prickly is a great word for you. I’m thinking those faces you make are your way of shooting quills when you’re feeling threatened.” Before I could step back, he was touching my forehead, pressing between my eyebrows with the pad of his thumb, smoothing away the furrow.
I turned my head, separating my skin from his buzzing touch. “You’re thinking much too hard then.”
“Yeah, probably. It’s a bad habit of mine. So is the touching thing.” He fisted his fingers and dropped his hand to his side. “Sorry. I come from a touchy-feely family. I know it bugs the crap out of some people. Also, just so you know—I tried to adopt a porcupine once when I was a kid. It was a disaster.” He grinned. “But I kind of loved it.”
Pictures of his touchy-feely family and what they must be like tried to form in my head. Concrete images refused to register, probably because I didn’t have a lot of examples to draw from. My own family was verbally affectionate on appropriate occasions like birthdays and homecomings and goodbyes. Physical affection didn’t happen.
After I started my first relationship with a friend in high school I quickly realized I must have been deprived—I must have been longing for touch for all those years growing up—because my skin literally ached for my friend’s touch when we weren’t together. And when we were together I was barnacle-esque in my attachment. Clingy, not prickly, would have been the best word to describe me. Probably a big reason why that particular relationship had been short. I expelled a snort of laughter at the memory.
Wyatt smiled. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said. I laughed again, wondering what he’d do if I lifted his big hand and put it back against my flushed forehead.
He raised his brows.
I shrugged. “Just thinking about how messed up porcupine love must be.”
“No doubt.” He laughed.
I stood there looking at him, smiling like a goofball and wondering what the heck he was going to say or do next.
“Okay, so this might sound stupid,” he began. He shoved his hands in his front pockets and shifted back on his heels.
When he didn’t say anything stupid or otherwise—he kept staring at me with a lopsided smile on his face—I said, “Go on. I won’t be surprised.”
He laughed. “Yeah, probably not. Um. This is gonna come across like a line, but I feel like I won something big by making you smile.”
I narrowed my eyes. The nervous flutter he was so good at triggering started up in my midsection.
“Your smile knocks me right the fuck out,” he continued. “Your real smile. Not the phony one you hand out to customers.”
Had to admit it—he’d surprised me again.
A bunch of customers exited the diner and, giving them space, we stepped onto a patch of grass near the curb. Wyatt stood closer and his body heat made my skin buzz and my cheeks go pink. I fixed my gaze on a nearby parking meter. It was about to expire. I understood the feeling.
A dude on a rickety bike whizzed past on the street, shouting, “See ya, Ray!”
“Take it easy!” I hollered, flashing a peace sign.
“That the guy who busses tables sometimes?” Wyatt asked.
“Yup. Kirby. He works in the kitchen doing dishes and other shit, but sometimes they put him in the dining room to help the wait staff if things get busy.”
“I’ve noticed the way he helps.” Wyatt draped a big hand over the parking meter and sent me a sidelong glance. “Most of the time you end up helping him with his job more than he helps you with yours.”
I smiled a little. Of course Wyatt had noticed certain dining room dynamics with those sharp eyes of his. Kirby was kind of a case and one heck of a klutz, but I liked his brand of crazy.
“He’s tougher than he looks,” I said. “He’s a friend of mine.” I knew my tone sounded weirdly protective. But Kirby was the kind of dude who brought out my protective instincts. He was out and proud, smart as hell and relentlessly upbeat, even though life and his family had a knack for smashing him down.
The parking meter beeped. The digital screen flashed, “Violation.” I fished a quarter out of my pocket and fitted it into the coin slot.
Wyatt laughed. “Gotta rage against the machine whenever you can, right?”
I smiled. “Damn straight.”
“You know what? That busboy is the only one—besides that older waitress and a couple of ancient dudes who come in for coffee—I’ve ever seen you smile at for real.” He grinned. “Now I’ve joined the ranks.”
My lips twitched. “You, the old farts and the skinny-assed busboy. Glad to have you on board, man.”
He laughed at my attempt at humor, but his gaze was serious and unwavering—the kind of look that could carry me swiftly and relentlessly into uncharted territory. If I wanted to go along for the ride.
“I’ve seen the way you take care of people at that place,” he said, tipping his head toward the diner’s entrance. “And I see how you school people too. Sometimes without even knowing it. You’re the kind of badass I want on my side.”
I swallowed. Yep. Swift and relentless was a good way to describe him. “I’m pretty damn scary, huh?”
“Nah. I don’t find that attitude scary. At all. Sexy is more like it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I laughed but it came off sounding nervous. Self-conscious. My cheeks were still hot and it was too hard to keep looking at him, so I let my gaze travel down the sidewalk.
“So. Where you headed?”
“Uh…” I coughed. Cleared my throat. “Nowhere, really.” I was a brilliant conversationalist. Shit wasn’t hard at all. “What are you up to?” I asked, feeling bolder. “More gender studies field research?”
“Done with that assignment, thank God.”
“Aced it cuz of my stellar assistance, right?”
“Right.” He laughed again and the sound made me happy. As if I’d accomplished something good by making a joke someone had actually laughed at. Man, I really needed that nap.
“So do you really have mad pool skills?” he asked.
“Ummm.” My answer depended on why he was asking. “Why are you asking?” I asked, scoring more conversation points.
“Do you wanna hang at the house and play a few games this afternoon? Most of us don’t have classes today and we’re practicing up for a pool tourney happening in a couple weeks. We need fresh blood.”
By house I had to assume he was talking about frat house. I tried to picture myself hanging out with a bunch of guys in the basement or rumpus room or wherever the hell they got together to play. My fingers performed a fruitless search for smokes in my jacket pockets.
“Already have plans?” he questioned.
“No,” I said without thinking. “I mean—”
“Good. You’re an honorary brother this afternoon.”
“Oh, wow,” I said. “A dream I never hoped to realize…”
“Hey, I’m all about dream fulfillment.” Wyatt laughed.
The notion of trouncing a bunch of frat boys at pool did sound sort of fulfilling, even though the idea of getting anywhere near a frat house was scary. But Wyatt’s grin was the opposite of scary.
“Wy!”
Around his shoulder I could see his friends—Mike and the other guy—heading toward us.
“Hey, bro!” Mike called. “We’re walking back via the union. Whaddup?”
“Recruiting Ray here for pool this afternoon.”
“How random is that? Elvis plays pool?” Mike took a few steps forward, his expression all no fucking way.
His incredulous tone decided me. “Haven’t played in a while,” I said. “But I know the rules and whatnot.”
My nonna—who had once owned a tavern in Hoboken—had taught me to play pool when I was old enough to reach over the edge of the table. My skills were a combination of years of practice and the natural desire to slam balls that Nonna claimed was a family trait. So, yeah, the grin I flashed Mike was probably sharp-toothed and shark-like.
Mike smirked. “See you there, then.”
Wyatt waved. He turned back to me and pulled his phone from his pocket. He gave it a quick glance and asked, “Does one thirty-ish sound good?”
“I dunno,” I said. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
I cleared my throat. There was at least one thing I needed to get clear before I spent the afternoon with him. “This, uh, invitation doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’ve discovered I know Tom Perlmutter, does it? Because if you think I’ll be able to smooth the road to that particular shit-pot of business-major gold, you are dead wrong—”
“Whoa, wait a sec.” He raised his hand. “Why would this have anything to do with him?” He looked and sounded confused.
“I know how things work around good old Ellery. Getting an in with a guy like Perlmutter would be major. Worthy of jumping through all kinds of hoops. Like coaching his kid. Or hanging with someone who knows his kid, even someone like me—”
“Jesus. That’s pretty paranoid.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. I had no idea you even knew Perlmutter the first time I talked to you.” He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “And, uh, the only reason why I talked to you then was because I’d seen you a bunch of times at the diner. Waiting tables.” He slanted me a quick glance, before focusing on the street. “No conspiracy. Simple interest. In you.”
“Interest in using me for field research, you mean?”
He caught my gaze and held it. “Hey, now. You gotta give me credit for bravery there. I was terrified you’d shoot me down. And you so absolutely did.”
“You so absolutely deserved it.”
“Maybe.” He scrubbed the top of his head with his palm, tousling his hair so his ears poked out. “Look, I know Perlmutter because I had him for class last term. Not to come off like an ego freak but I already have an in with him because he’s agreed to be an advisor for a project I’m going to be working on. We were talking a few weeks back and when he mentioned his son, I told him about the intramural leagues. That’s all there is to it. I’ll admit to being curious about what the hell was going on between you two after practice. But if you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s totally cool.”
I narrowed my eyes, gauging his expression for sincerity. Had to admit he seemed pretty damn sincere. Maybe I was just a sucker for boyish smiles and pokey-outy ears.
“So are we on for pool or what?”
“Pool sounds good,” I said. And it did. I hadn’t played in forever and it might provide a much-needed mini vacay for my brain.
He handed me his phone. “Why don’t you give me your info? In case I need to call.”
For what? To tell me about any last-minute cancellations between now and a half hour from now? To give me directions to fraternity row, a street that everyone in this town knew too damn well? I shrugged and took the phone.
“Wanna ride?” he asked as I punched in my number. “The guys and I were running errands this morning and I have my truck.”
I shifted my weight in my heavy boots. A ride might be nice.
He took back his phone and pulled keys from his pocket. “So what do you say?”
“Okay.”
“Let’s go.” He smiled and for a second I thought he was offering me his hand to hold, but he was only gesturing to a spot across the street.