Page 9 of A Whole New Play

It’s ruined enough already.

CJ waits to speak until I put the glass back on the table. “The last thing I’ll say about this is that the woman I played volleyball with was funny and witty, and the woman I’ve been speaking with all evening has been lighthearted and upbeat. But that changed the minute you started talking about your job.” His warm eyes are serious. Flickers of concern flash in their brown depths. “It’s like a light turned off and your true personality shut off. Anything that dims your shine like that shouldn’t be something you keep in your life. Not unless you don’t have a choice.”

I blink once.

His words elicit several thoughts and feelings within me, but the strongest one is shock. Not shock at how bold he is to speak to me like this—we are, after all, strangers—but shocked by how accurate his statements are.

It’s a struggle to feel like I belong in the corporate accounting world, and I hide most parts of my personality to fit in. What is it about CJ that allows him to read me so easily when I know I’m far from being an open book?

I stare at the handsome man in front of me and respond to his apt description of me and my plight with what I intend to be a joke, but comes out sounding a little defensive, “I didn’t know a guy as good-looking as you could be so poetic?”

He shoots me a grin. “I’m sorry… I’m overstepping.”

“A little bit,” I allow. “But… thanks. I can tell you mean well.” And as odd as it may seem, I’m flattered by the fact he cares enough about a stranger’s happiness to risk offending me by offering his opinion.

Honestly, I could use more of that kind of tough love in my life.

My mom doesn’t shy away from criticizing me, but that’s different. Her input is always motivated by a desire to make herself look good through me and my accomplishments. And while Dad loves me more than anything, he’s too much of a gentle soul to criticize his only child.

Sigh.

I have one parent who doesn’t shy away from hurting my feelings and another who couldn’t even stomach telling me if I had a bad hair day. And my friends… well… let’s just say that I don’t let any of them know the depths of my inner turmoil. Not even Megan knows how much I hate my job and how I feel like it’s ruining my life.

And yet, CJ picked up on it after knowing me for not even half a day.

“Of course.” He clears his throat and looks at my bowl of melted gelato. “Do you want to order anything else?”

“No, thank you. I’m all set.”

With a reluctant nod, he looks around and signals to our waitress that we’re ready for the check. The meals are all-inclusive here, but our non-house wine incurred an extra charge.

The waitress delivers the check with a fresh wave of eye flutters in CJ’s direction. Once again, her effort to catch my date’s eye—yes, I’m officially calling this a date—falls flat.

CJ signs for the bill to be charged to his room after refusing my offer to pay for the white wine. The tall man unfolds himself from the red velvet chair and walks to my side to pull back my chair.

I look up at his impressive height, touched by his gentlemanly act. “Thank you.”

His smile is kind though a little distracted. “You’re welcome.”

I weave through the sea of linen-covered tables with candles as centerpieces until we reach the entrance, pulling back until CJ reaches my side.

Without a word, we walk down the pier, away from the restaurant and towards the beach. Waves crash against the pier’s pillars below before rolling onto shore, drowning out the sound of our footsteps.

I sneak a peek at CJ. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and I’m a little disappointed that he doesn’t try to hold my hand.

You mean after you told him how work turns you into a Debbie downer and he lectured you about not letting life slip you by?

I blow out a breath.

I don’t want the evening to end on this note. Hell, I don’t want the evening to end, period.

Strange as it may seem given our less-than-flirty conversation a few minutes ago, I’m enjoying CJ’s company, and I want to keep enjoying it.

I just don’t know how to make that happen.

You’d think that at the age of twenty-three, I’d be better at this whole talking to men and dating thing.

It’s not like I’m falsely modest. I know I’m attractive, and I have a well-paying job that lets me live on my own. On paper, I have everything going for me. I should be more confident in asking for what I want. But the insecurity engrained in me from years of listening to my mother’s digs about wardrobe choices, hairstyles, and more has made me a little … shy. And hesitant about actually going for what I want.

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