Page 17 of Boyfriend
Their biggest matchup in December is against Boston University. And I’m on shift that night, checking the score on my phone every few minutes as I wait tables in the bar.
It’s a tense game. It’s tied 2-2 with only seven minutes left to play. But then Jonah Daniels feeds a wrister to Lex Vonne, and Moo U gets the lead back. When the buzzer rings, we’ve won 3-2.
For a long moment I feel pure jubilation. But then it occurs to me that The Biscuit in the Basket is about to be flooded with happy hockey players and the fans who love them. And table seventeen is in my section.
“Hey, Carly?” I tag my friend on the elbow as she passes me. “Switch sections with me? You can have the bar. I’ll take your dining room tables. Forty bucks for the trade.”
“Wait, what? Are you crazy?” she demands. “Who would give up table seventeen on the night they beat BU? You’re throwing away extra money and extra hotness?"
“I’m just a little tired,” I say. It isn’t even a lie, because I’m always tired. “You handle the boys. I’m not in the mood to celebrate. I just want to go home and put my feet up.”
“I’m worried about you,” Carly says. “You need a vacation, and a one-night stand with a hockey player.”
“Well that’s not likely to happen.” And I’m really not in the mood to watch if Weston spends the evening with a giggling woman on his arm—and then leaves with her. I haven’t seen anyone hanging on him lately. But a win against BU should do the trick, right? “Go serve beer and shots,” I say, nudging her toward the bar. “I’ll bring out the last few dinners and go home early.”
“Fine.” Carly pushes two twenty-dollar bills into my hand. “But we’re going to have a talk about this later.”
* * *
The next time we’re on shift together, Carly reports that Weston asked for me. “Where’s Abbi tonight? He knew your real name, too. Did something happen between you and Weston?”
“Absolutely not,” I tell her. “We’re just friendly, that’s all. And that’s all we’ll ever be.”
“Okayyy,” she says, her tone full of disbelief. “But he looked really disappointed that you weren’t around.”
“I highly doubt that.”
A week later, though, I’m sitting in an empty booth one night before closing, rolling some silverware, when somebody plops down on the seat across from me. When I look up, it’s Weston.
My tummy flutters immediately at the sight of his clear eyes taking me in. “Hey, Abbi,” he says.
“Hey, Weston,” I echo. “How have you been?”
“Down in the dumps, if you want to know the truth. I got dumped by my fake girlfriend.” He grins.
Um…what? “You can’t get dumped by a fake girlfriend. That’s kind of the point.”
He laughs. “Don’t I know it. But you are avoiding me.”
“Am I?” I ask lightly. “Maybe I’m just busy rolling all this silverware into napkins.”
Weston studies me for a second. Then he takes a napkin off the pile and positions it on the table in front of him. He takes a knife and a fork out of their respective bins and lines them up in the center. “Like this?”
“Sure,” I say, amused. “It’s not brain surgery.”
“I’m premed,” he says. “So someday I’ll get to say that unironically.”
“Dr. Weston Griggs has a nice ring to it. What specialty?”
“Pediatrics,” he says. “You get to talk to kids for a living.” He shrugs, like this is obvious. And, yup, Weston just gets hotter by the minute. “Am I doing this right?” He rolls the silverware up tidily inside the napkin. Then he wraps one of the green tapes around it.
“Looks good to me. But, if I may ask, why are you rolling silverware with me instead of drinking with your friends?”
“Oh, I’m done for the night. My party shift is over. But I had a favor I needed to ask you. Remember how I told you I had this big, fun family, and Thanksgiving was always a blast?”
“Yes.” I roll another napkin and wait to hear where this is going.
“Well, it used to be true. But my parents got this really ugly divorce a couple of years ago. And now the holidays are murder.”
