Page 9 of The Arrangement

Jason seemed to be tracking my every movement, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or bad yet at this point. "I'm a marketing executive for a software company. They handle customer management systems for hospitals." I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "What do you do?" he asked.

I nearly choked on the bread that suddenly had turned into a rock in my throat. "I manage Hemingway’s. Been there for over four years now." Somehow, my very beloved job seemed a trifle next to his job title.

His perfectly manicured brows furrowed in thought. "The bookstore? On 2nd street?" I nodded, sipping at my red wine. I hadn't drunk in well over a month, and the familiar warmth calmed my nerves in a soothing wave.

"Yes! My grandmother and I used to go all the time when I was younger. It was a dream to land a job there." Jason looked thoughtful as he chewed on his bread before leaning back for the waiter to set down our Caesar salads.

"So when are you going to get a real job? I'm assuming you're still in school?" When I didn't reply, my fork poised halfway over my now forgotten salad, he added, "It took me a bit to get through my school, too; I had so many classes I had to take a gap year. Worked at my dad's firm for a bit."

Something sour bloomed in my stomach as I forced myself to spear a piece of iceberg lettuce. "I actually finished school already," I replied, attempting to keep my tone neutral. "I have a Bachelor's in English literature and a minor in creative writing."

Jason at least had the decency to look sheepish, coughing into his cloth napkin. "English Literature seems like a fun major. And creative writing, that's interesting! Do you write?"

I wanted to melt into the floor. "Yeah, it was fun. I enjoyed studying, honestly." I paused before I answered his next question. "I've been writing a book, actually. A novel."

He leaned forward, interested. "Really? That's quite an accomplishment; how long have you been writing it?" I opened my mouth but was blessedly saved from an immediate answer by the waiter bringing our food. As we took a few cursory first bites he resumed, "Sorry, so how long have you been writing?"

Allowing myself to swallow the lasagna that seemed stuck in my throat, I replied, my mouth suddenly dry. "About four years."

"Wow, must be a big book!" But his face betrayed what he was really thinking—what I was thinking, too. It was nowhere near being finished.

"So, um, tell me about where you went to college!" Jesus Christ,could a meteor just strike right then and there? My face was heated enough that I knew I must be scarlet at this point.

"Oh yes, master’s in marketing, bachelor’s in Human Resources and Business. I tried to diversify as much as I could, I went to Portsmith University, how about you?"

Fuck. Portsmith was one of the most prestigious colleges with a two-year waitlist. It was also the most expensive.

"Oh, just the community college in Kensington." I didn't even try to make it sound fancier than it was. It was a small college on the edge of a small town that had just barely gotten its university title five years before I began. A silence fell over the table, only broken by the scrapping of forks against china and the desperation that was screaming from me.

"Do you have any pets?" I inquired suddenly, breaking the awkward silence as I began to wonder what Hannah was doing about now and if it was polite to check her cat cam at the dinner table. "I have a cat; she's a ragdoll breed, so she goes to the salon more than I do." My attempt at a joke fell flat as Jason’s lips flattened into a thin smile before he replied.

"I'm actually allergic to cats."

Another agonizing hour later,the bill had been paid graciously by Jason, but I insisted on leaving the tip. I tried not to feel self-conscious about the waded-up twenty-dollar bill next to his heavy Amex card.

"I'd be happy to drive you home. I know you said your car was in for some repairs," he offered as they began walking to the door, the soft warmth of the restaurant escaping through the open door he held open for me.

I shook my head emphatically, "Oh no, I don't want to trouble you; my rideshare is just around the corner." I didn't say my rideshare was actually Sarah. I didn't want to feel any lower than I did at this moment.

"Listen, I had a great time," he said, stepping close enough that I could smell his wintergreen aftershave. "I'd love to see you again.Maybe you could swing by my place next time?" His place. The high-rise downtown with the ocean view he had enthusiastically painted a picture of at dinner. He was more like a proud parent than someone whose trust had bought him the largest unit in the building.

"Um, sure, that'd be great." I wasn't the best at letting people down—or confrontation. Or people in general at this point in my life. It would be better to just put him off in text and hope he would get the hint. It wasn't ghosting really…just a drawn out no?

Before I knew it, his lips were on mine. I stiffened in surprise, my arms settling on his elbows as he swept me into his arms. Is that where I should put my hands? Why were my eyes open?

Shut them, Georgia! Only serial killers kiss with their eyes open!

His lips were soft, and he tasted slightly like wine and garlic. I had to school my face as he pulled away, him looking like a lead in a rom-com and me? I felt out of breath for all the wrong reasons, and the urge to wipe the kiss from my lips was overwhelming.

"Text me when you get home, okay?" he said with an easy smile. I found myself nodding before he turned to get into his sleek, black car that looked as if dust had never touched its exterior. A beep behind me had me jumping as Sarah waved enthusiastically from the driver's seat.

I had never been so happy to see her.

As I walkedup the steps to the apartment my phone chimed, a text message from Jason illuminating the screen.

Jason: "Did you make it home safe?"

Me: "Yes, thank you again for dinner."

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