Page 56 of Cuts like a Knife
There’s even a side of grits, which are pure carb-filled comfort. Just a few bites in, my hangry mood begins to evaporate and I start to feel a lot better.
I can hold my alcohol, but I’ve nonetheless had way too many drinks on an empty stomach, and besides that, I’ve been in a weird state of high alert ever since yesterday afternoon’s email.
At least I’ve already completed a tonne of work and in a few days, I might even be able to clock out for awhile. Gotta hold on to that.
Drew sits across from me as I eat, sipping his own glass of wine. He’s smirking, of course. Probably because I’m enjoying the fish.
“You’re smirking,” I say.
“Just waiting for you to admit I was right,” he replies.
“About what?”
“The food, for one thing.”
“Okay, you were right about the food. It’s good.” I take another big bite and smirk back at him, then keep talking with my mouth half-full. “So cheers. Go on. Say I told you so then wipe off the smirk.”
“I told you so.”
“Very mature.”
“Turning my own words back at me? Okay. I see how this is going to go. But if only this lesson could be extrapolated from,” he says.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, eyes back on my plate188.
“What I mean is that maybe it’s time you admitted that if I’m right about this one thing, perhaps there are a lot of things I could be right about.”
I shrug, stuffing additional bites of fish and grits into my mouth. Not sexy, but that’s sort of the point. Drew has the wrong idea about us. I need to disabuse him of the notion that we’re ever going to be some sort of public couple.
“Maybe there are,” I shrug.
“Like being together. You and me,” he says. “Maybe I’m right about you and me being together. For real.”
I knew it. He’s on this again.
“Drew, we’ve already talked about this,” I say, swallowing a big bite. “We are not a real thing. We’re just friends with benefits. At most. Which was also probably a mistake. But regardless, we are nothing more. We are never going to be anything more.”
“Why not, though? That’s the part you haven’t explained.” His voice isn’t as playful now. It’s almost … could he be hurt? I know what I just said may have sounded a little harsh, but come on. He can’t be hurt. Hardly. This is not news, for one thing. And guys like Drew Fox don’t get hurt. It’s not possible.
“I don’t think I have to explain,” I say, “because it’s obvious. You’re my brother’s best friend.”
“Gray will be fine with it. Come on. We’re all grown ups here. Your whole family loves me.”
“Yeah, exactly. There’s that. We grew up together. I babysat for you.”
“Oh please. Not really,” he exclaims. “I mean, talk about a technicality. Maybe somebody told you you were in charge a couple of times because we were boys and they didn’t trust us, but you weren’t. You were never our actual babysitter. We’re only a few years apart.”
I just shrug, again.
“Besides,” he adds, a warmth creeping back into his voice. “Our minute age difference obviously doesn’t bother you that much.” He moves from his seat across the table, into the chair next to mine, full of intent. Too close. Much too close. “Lex,” he says, “look at me189.”
I shake my head and he reaches over and puts a finger under my chin, forcing me to raise my head190. I can’t help but look into his face.
“Fine, I’m looking,” I say. “So?”
“I want more from you. I want us to be a real thing. We’re already doing this. We’ve been doing this. You know how good it is. We should be something more. It’s crazy that we’re not.”
He takes the fork gently from my hand and lays it on the table and moment later, he’s pulling me to my feet and we’re chest-t0-chest, less than an inch apart.
