Page 56 of When the Walls Come Down
Did friends look out for each other’s salads? She hadn’t noticed on Monday. Then again, we’d both been so distracted.
Chris’s eyes darted to me for confirmation, and I explained to her, “I eat mine plain.”
Maggie’s eyes bugged out of her head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Plain salad? Is that even American or legal?” She stabbed and stirred hers around. “What are you, a rabbit?”
I pointed my fork at her. “How many times do I have to tell you I was fat?”
She laughed and covered her mouth so the food wouldn’t fall out of it. “That’s right. I’m sorry.”
“Well, it wasn’t your fault I was husky.” I skewered a cucumber and some romaine. “I blamed mostly Pizza Hut…in one drunken tweet. But they only emailed me a gift card, so what’s that tell you?”
She shrugged as she chewed.
I took advantage and answered my own question with a punchline I’d been holding on to for an embarrassingly long time. “They like their men thick with two Cs, Peach.”
“Very funny,” she said cautiously. Probably worried about me wielding another fat joke at myself.
“What about you? Ranch, huh? Not very original.”
“How dare you, Mr. Warren.”
Ignore the Mr. Warren.
Ignore the Mr. Warren.
Focus on the fucking vegetables or you’re screwed.
Don’t get an erection during the first course, Shane, you hopeless fuck.
She continued. “Everyone knows ranch is the only acceptable salad dressing. So watch your mouth, okay?” Her beautiful eyes squinted at me while she talked shit, and I held in a chuckle, noticing she had some of the only acceptable salad dressing on her adorable chin.
But friends didn’t wipe each other’s faces, right?
I wanted to though.
Fuck it all. I wanted to lick it, but then where would I be? Back on two wagons—that’s where. The salad-dressing-crack wagon and the sexy-as-fuck-blonde wagon that was even harder to give up than the ranch.
For the record, I wholeheartedly agreed with her flavor preference, but I’d never admit it.
Realizing what I’d forgotten after only the first bite, I started to reach over her but then caught myself. “Would you mind passing the salt and pepper, please?”
She pushed them my way and then took another sip of her drink. “Yikes. Why did I order a double? Wow.”
Probably the same reasons I’d ordered water. We’d already been down this bar banter slippery slope. Work had been total chaos. But, mostly, this was uncomfortable as hell.
Yet, somehow, we were getting through it.
“Chris will get you more cranberry.” I shouted down the bar, “Won’t you, Chris?”
He swore under his breath as he cracked his knuckles, heading our way. “What do you want?” he asked me.
“Maggie needs a little more cranberry when you get a second.”
“She ordered a double. Who are you, her mommy?”
Maggie sat back in her seat and wiped her mouth with her napkin. That comment couldn’t have felt good.
All humor left my face, my temper flaring in a way I wasn’t familiar with. In a tone I didn’t even recognize from myself, I said very slowly so I wouldn’t yell and cause a scene, “Chris, Maggie wants more cranberry—so get her some more fucking cranberry. Now.”
My dinner companion hopped off her seat. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”
Without another word, Chris poured her strong drink into a larger glass and added the extra mixer I’d demanded. “Man, what’s your deal?” he asked.
“Her mom’s dead, you prick.”
Immediately, his eyes darted in the direction she’d headed. “Oh, shit, Shane. I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.” He covered his mouth with his hand as if he could wipe away the words he’d said. “I shouldn’t have said that. You know how you and I fuck around with each other. I was just—”
“Enough. Fuck around with me all you like, but when it comes to her, if she needs something, she gets it. Period.” I left no room for debate. Frankly, on any given day, Chris could kick my ass, but not right then. Not with the way my adrenaline was firing through my veins.
In a few weeks, I might not work for my family anymore, and I’d have to cross that bridge when I got to it, but if I ever caught wind of him or anyone who worked for Bay Brewing or Two Ships hurting her—or even making her upset, like I knew she probably was—I’d lose no sleep over having their jobs terminated. Same fucking day.
And I had no doubt in my mind my family would always have my back on that.
I’d known Chris a long time, and Casey and Blake had known him even longer than I had. He was a good guy, but I’d said what I’d said—and I’d meant it.
“I feel like shit, Shane. Honest.” His hands went up in his own defense, knowing he’d been in the wrong.
I didn’t even bother replying. He didn’t owe me the apology.
