Page 7 of Forever Wild

Taking a bite of my cheeseburger, I watch as Dick looks over the menu at his table. Seeing him sitting there all alone, I do feel a bit bad about what I said earlier. Even though he is a dick, clearly something I said hit a nerve with him in a way that I really hadn’t meant it to.

“Wait.” Becca leans over me, craning her neck to get a better look. “That’s Dick? He is hot.”

“I told you he was. You’re the one who chose to give me a five-minute lecture on how you and I do not see attractiveness the same way. Then you ate my s’more.”

Becca takes a drink of her margarita, shrugging as she puts it down. “I was drunk then.”

“And you’re not now?”

“That’s beside the point. Now I’m feeling just the right amount of buzz to go introduce myself to Hottie McHotterpants.”

Izzy rolls her eyes. “You would. I could be hammered and would still never be drunk enough to go introduce myself to a complete stranger. People are the worst.”

Pinching her cheek, I smile. “Yes, Iz, it’s one of the things we love about you. And, while you aren’t wrong, I luckily did not inherit the anxiety and overactive imagination genes that burden you with expecting to become a pariah following each of your social interactions.”

She rolls her eyes at me, self-aware enough to not argue the point.

Mentally squaring my shoulders, I push away from the table. “I’m going to go say sorry.”

Becca widens her eyes at me, clearly surprised by my decision. Izzy, on the other hand, wears a slightly smug smile. Damn. She does know me too well. Actually, she might’ve just reverse-psychologized me into this whole thing.

As I make my way across the room, I notice a deep furrow between Dick’s eyebrows.

Looking up, his eyes land on me, and his frown deepens. He can’t still be mad, can he?

Shoot, deciding to apologize may have been a mistake.

Maybe I could detour to the bar? No, I would definitely look like a crazy person after pulling the necessary ninety-degree turn it would take to get there. I quickly run through any other possible escape routes and realize there’s no bailing on this plan at this point.

Shit, shit, shit.

With that helpful thought, I stop just shy of Dick’s table, forcing a slight smile on my face.

“Hi!” I squeak out in a voice much higher than normal. Clearing my throat, I try again. “I mean, hey, sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I definitely shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. I’m sure you could pass the Wild Bluffs/Atlantis test.”

He looks me up and down, taking in my bright orange golf shorts that I still haven’t changed out of. Shoot, I probably smell. Can I casually smell myself without him noticing? As I tilt my head down and start to breathe in, I think better of it and return my head to its full upright position. Flight attendants everywhere would be proud.

“You,” he starts, his bearded jaw tightening, “think apologizing to me for saying I can’t pass some imaginary test will make me give you the time of day?”

What the actual fuck?

“I’m actually not looking for any time out of any of your days, thanks. I felt bad because you seemed way more offended about not being let into an imaginary secret group than the average person does. But I don’t know anything about you, so I figured that maybe it was some random sore spot because at your dental practice back home you have a hygienist who won’t let you into her secret club, and it’s demoralizing, and you’re beginning to question your intelligence and self-worth, and you just can’t take it anymore. So I wanted to say sorry.”

Dick stares at me for a moment, confusion prominent on his face before his frown turns into a smirk. “No worries.” Running a hand through his hair, he takes a deep breath. “I may have misread the situation and reacted a bit aggressively. I was also in the middle of a shit round in what is turning out to be an overall shitty year. Not that that’s a good excuse for acting the way I did, so I’m sorry too.”

I turn to go but am pulled back when he releases a deep chuckle and asks, “You think I’m a dentist? Who is being bullied by his hygienist?”

“Well, I mean, not necessarily a dentist. My dad is a dentist, so it just popped into my head. My mom is his hygienist. Though, to my knowledge, she doesn’t bully him. Or lead a secret society…or lost city.”

His eyes twinkle a bit at my story. “Ah, well, that clears up so many things.”

I notice his waiter, Tony, hovering a few steps away, clearly waiting to take the man’s order.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. But yeah. Again, I’m sorry for”—I wrack my brain trying to remember what I did to make him angry—“whatever I did, I guess.”

I nod at Tony. “Hey, Tony, how’s your mom?”

“She’s doing all right. Hip is getting stronger every day. Started being able to walk up and down stairs again.”

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