Page 55 of When the Walls Come Down
Abort. You will not survive this again.
I knew exactly where this scenario led, firsthand—and secondhand too. I’d jacked myself off in the shower to the memory of it at least twice a day. And to be frank, I considered just turning around and leaving because I was still burning on the inside from the déjà-vu-fucking-Friday before.
I glanced around the bar to make sure there wasn’t anyone else there from work. Not that it would have made that big of a deal. We’d been one hundred percent professional in front of the team all week.
“Um…” I stammered.
“Shane, come on. Friends can share a steak and a few drinks. It’s Friday.”
At second glance, I noticed she had faint, purplish circles under her eyes, and I actually wondered if this whole thing hadn’t been weighing on her just as it had been me. Or maybe it was that she’d been working as hard as I had. My money was on the latter.
Chris approached, pushed his hip against his side of the bar opposite us, and crossed his arms over his chest, probably still annoyed with me from Tuesday, but he didn’t say a word.
“First of all,” I announced to them both. “I’m drinking water tonight.” It was the only way I’d come out of this even partially intact, but I’d most likely be putting a few down later. Alone. At home. “And second, I don’t care if we’re friends or not, I’m not sharing a steak. I may look fit, but I’m still a fat guy at heart. I need my own.”
She smiled, and I found out my dick didn’t understand the meaning of “friendship.”
This would be fun.
“Fine. Chris, I’ll have the small fillet, a baked potato with butter, and a side salad with extra ranch, please,” she said.
“You want your usual, smartass?”
“Well, yeah,” I answered minus my usual witty repartee. I knew better than to think he’d spit in my food, but I wasn’t going to press my luck. “Thanks.”
He smirked and put my ice water on a napkin beside Maggie’s cocktail.
“Well, sit down,” she ordered. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m always weird. Haven’t we met?” I attempted to joke.
“Yes, we have.” She slung back her drink, downing about half of it. “If you think about it, it’s actually kind of our anniversary.” Then she snickered oddly.
I’d heard Maggie laugh countless times, but this one was off. Maybe she was nervous too. For whatever reason, that eased some of my own anxiety.
If I was being brutally honest, it made me feel less alone in the whole fucked-up situation. We weren’t together in any shape or fashion like I wanted. But, in a way, we were in this mess together.
I took my seat and tried to find something neutral to say, sidestepping the obvious tension her uncharacteristically awkward comment had put out there.
“I saw the designs you worked on with Vic for the new Lyerly Trucking contract. They’re great.”
Finally, she gave me a true smile, and it felt really, really good. Felt familiar. Felt like I was almost reunited with my Peach again.
“Thanks, and congrats on that deal by the way. That’ll keep us busy for days.” She finished the pink drink and tucked her chin to her chest, a low rumble coming from her.
“Excuse you,” I said.
“Yeah, excuse me. Sorry. These are going down a little too well tonight.” She waved at Chris for another. “But, hey, it’s the weekend, right?”
“That it is.” I was nothing if not a brilliant conversationalist.
No wonder I didn’t have many friends. What the fuck did people—friends—even talk about?
“So, have you talked to any of your family back home? Everyone doing okie dokie?” I asked, my small talk game as strong as ever.
She chuckled. “Okie dokie? Are we five-year-olds?”
My chest pinched, but I couldn’t resist the urge to play our game. “Are we making fun of children now?”
“Are we acting like children now?” she retorted. Then she said to Chris before he mixed her next drink, “A double, please.”
“Do we own stock in Titos now?” I inquired to the pretty lush on my right.
“Do we remember Tuesday night? Or, as I like to refer to it, The Orange Tic Tac Tantrum of 2020?”
Shit. She had me there.
The pride in her clever grin was worth the mild self-deprecation.
“Didn’t I already apologize for that?”
“You did,” she relented politely, therefore forfeiting our game with a sigh. “It’s hard not to flirt with you.”
She was right, and fuck if hearing her say it didn’t do massive repair to my ego. “Well, you could at least try. Although I know the vibe I put out is potent.”
“Your bullshit is potent,” she quipped just as Chris slid our salads in front of us. Hers was covered in ranch and mine was dry. “Um, excuse me. He didn’t get his dressing,” she said, pointing at my small plate.
