Page 28 of Someone Like Me
“So, you know I’m getting my MBA, right?”
I nod. “You’ve told me.” About five times.
Drake chuckles again. “Two more semesters, and then I’ll be ready for the big time.”
I smile politely. I should say something nice. I mean, obviously, it’s not easy waiting tables to put yourself through grad school. Drake is driven. I’ll give him that.
“A lot of hard work,” I offer, and his face lights up.
“You’re damn right. I thought getting my BA was tough, but man, those graduate level professors aren’t messing around. You have to be cutthroat. On your game day in and day out. Just last week... ”
I wonder what Drew Moroux is doing right now.
My guess is he’s home, maybe eating dinner with his grandma or helping her with the dishes by now. He’s probably had a shower after a day of working on cars. Working with his hands.
Such a Taurus.
I smile to myself and have to bite down on my lips when Drake gives me a funny look.
“You’ve heard of it before? Disruption theory?” he asks.
“No, I don’t think so. Please go on.”
And he does.
I’m terrible. I know I’m terrible, but while he talks, I find myself picturing those hands. Drew Moroux’s hands are huge. They’re paws, really. Rough, calloused, and lined in grease that night when we stood in his grandmother’s kitchen.
He was cradling his head in those hands when I saw him outside the other day.
God, he looked so miserable. If there wouldn’t have been a fence between us, I would have gone and put my arms around him.
He tried to scare me away, but, really, there’s nothing scary about him. Sad. He’s shrouded in sadness. But I don’t think he’s a danger to anyone. Except maybe himself.
It’s been two days since he tried to spook me, and I haven’t stopped thinking about him. Hell, every time I pass my bedroom window or take Gemini out back, my eyes are searching for him.
I know virtually nothing about Drew, but I have this unshakable certainty that if we went out on a date, he’d let me order a tuna sandwich. And a glass of white wine.
Come back to the now,I nudge myself.
I reach for the tin cup and try the whiskey again. The ice melt makes it easier to swallow, so I do.
“Good, huh?” Drake says, smirking with pride.
“Not bad,” I admit, grateful now for the almost instant fuzziness the whiskey lends to my surroundings.
“Next time we come, we’ll get the Sazerac. Now, that’ll put hair on your chest.” As if on cue, his eyes fall to my cleavage, and I lift the whiskey to shield it from view.
Next time?
At that moment, thank all the gods, our food arrives. The mushroom flatbread is heavenly, and I can sink into savory pleasure of the fontina cheese and the unami goodness of the mushrooms. Meanwhile, Drake eats every bite of the Wood Oven Roasted Merguez for two, and I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I’d agreed to share.
By the time he takes me home, I’ve succumbed to two whiskeys, which, in hindsight, was a bad idea. Now that we’re sitting in my driveway, Drake is trying to nail down another date, and I really could use a little less fuzziness right about now.
“So, we should do this again.” Drake has one wrist draped over the steering wheel, but the other rests on the shoulder of my seat. I press the release button on my seatbelt and slide the strap off me.
“It was a nice dinner,” I say noncommittally. It turns out even after two Pickup Lines, I still suck at saying no.
“Really?” The pinky of his right hand straightens and brushes a curl away from my face. My breath halts, and I reach for the door handle.
