Page 38 of Don't Tell Me How It Ends
“Was that a swipe?” I ask, appalled. “Are you on an app right now?”
Ryan’s scoff is incredulous—I hope he chokes on it.“You really think I took a peak train back from the city tonotget laid tonight?”
Then he keeps right on swiping. Above the table, now. For all of Antonio’s to see.
I’ll never know if Ryan hears it as a reaction to the alcohol or his limitless audacity, but when my stomach gurgles a warning, I stand abruptly. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
And when my phone pings in my hand, Ro’sheretext is the most beautiful prose I’ve ever read.
—
I launch myself into Ro’s truck.
“I thought you needed a ride, not a getaway,” Ro says, laughing. “If we’re about to end up on the news, maybe an Uber’s the right way to go. You’re cute and all, but—”
“Just drive!” I yell, laughing as I recline the seat completely, committing to the scene Ro’s set.
He shakes his head as he shifts into gear. “Well, hi to you too.”
My stomach is still less than thrilled with me as we make our way through town. I open the window, breathing deeply so the fresh air can replace the toxins currently off-gassing in my liver.
“I don’t normally drink like this on first dates,” I say, unsure what compelled me to explain myself.
“I’m not judging you,” he says. He’s driving with purpose, though I haven’t actually told him where to take me. “You gonna tell me what happened back there?”
My head falls to the crook of my elbow, resting on the window. “You wouldn’t believe it if I did.”
At the next red light, Ro turns to me, his face relaxed and open as he waits. I meet his eyes, and I’m relieved by the warm depths of his dark gaze, when moments before, I’d seen Ryan’s sharp blue frost. And there’s no challenge or baiting in his tone when he speaks next. There’s only an invitation, when he smiles and says, “Try me.”
10
You can tell a lotabout a person by their pizza topping of choice. Pepperoni is for risk-takers—the ones who don’t bother asking what is itreallyand where exactly does it come from? Pineapple, obviously, is for sociopaths. Or people from L.A., but what’s the difference? Anything other than a plain slice is an admission.
But I didn’t agree to stop at Ro’s go-to spot for a psychoanalysis of his late-night order. I’m just here to soak up my blood alcohol content and the night’s ick with a greasy slice or four.
“Thanks for joining me for second dinner,” I say, shifting to make space for a guy struggling with an unwieldy take-out pie.
When he walks between me and Ro to cover his pizza in assorted spices, Ro steps around him to join me again. The movement leaves me pinned between Ro’s chest and the wall. His shoulders tense, almost imperceptibly, as his body registers the feel of mine, but he doesn’t back away.
Each exhale of Ro’s minty breath is only inches from me now as he speaks. “Everyone knows a slice doesn’t count. Couldn’t let you leave a date hungry.”
I’m doing my best to focus on his words, but my brain issingularly focused on the feel of his cool, steady breath on me, and trying to guess if he stopped to brush his teeth on his way out the door.
My unfocused eyes meet his expectant ones. Apparently, it’s my turn to talk.
“It wasn’t even your date,” I say, only about 60 percent sure I’ve chosen an appropriate response.
The corner of his top lip jumps a little before he hits me with a smile that makes me feel way too childish and way too grown, all at once. “Doesn’t matter. House rules growing up were you don’t leave till you’re full. I woulda been dodging my mom’s slippers if she ever found out I sent you home hungry.”
When the guy at the oven yells out our order, we make our way through the crowd. Ro towers over everyone at the counter as he grabs our tray.
“What is it with Black moms and slippers?” I ask.
“Plausible deniability,” he shouts over the crowd. “We stay scared, but ain’t nobody ever called CPS over a house shoe.”
Ro nods toward the front door and I follow him outside with a handful of napkins and the waters we already paid for.
The street is mostly empty and completely quiet. A stark difference from the chaos we left behind inside.
