Page 36 of Someone Just Like You

The whole situation at Hillstone had been weird. I’d almost felt…I shuddered inwardly…attractedto him. What was that about? It had to have been the abundance of wine and the whole alpha male thing. The way he’d taken charge and kicked Killian out had been sexy for a hot minute but…gross. Wanting to get it done with Jude was just…gross. The guy had once planted a dead caterpillar on my hamburger, for the love of God. Pursuing a friendship with him after all these years was strange enough given our history. Even contemplating more would force me to unload baggage better kept packed away forever…for everyone’s sake.

Still, I was dying to tell him about my meeting with Rosaria. In his Jude way, he’d encouraged me to go for it. He probably wouldn’t care or would claim to have no idea what I was talking about.

I buried my face in my hands. So why I was dying to tell him anyway?

Chapter Sixteen

That Saturday, I was on my third date with Timothy. We went to Tap Haus 33, a sports bar where you poured your own craft beer from forty different self-serving stainless-steel taps that lined the wall. Kind of like a Sixteen Handles but with beer and hard cider instead of ice cream or frozen yogurt, and twenty-four more flavors. I’d never been there before and was excited to check it out, watch some baseball, and get to know Timothy better. He already felt familiar to me, which was weird considering we’d practically just met.

Although there were spots available at the long communal table in the center of the venue, we chose a private table near the entrance. It was a warm day in September, and we enjoyed the soft autumn breeze coming in through the open door while watching the Yankees and hoping they’d sweep the Orioles at home.

I took a sip of my berry rosé cider as the television screen on the wall showed Yankees pitcher Gerrit Cole strike out the Orioles player currently at bat. I clapped softly. Like Jude so cleverly joked earlier in the summer, Gerrit had a much stronger arm than I did. “Do you play baseball or just watch?” I asked Timothy, who was freshly shaved and wearing a lightweight gray sweater and black jeans.

Timothy turned away from the screen and focused on me. “I just watch, unless you count casual scrimmages with friends. I played football in high school.”

I rested my elbows on the wood table and cupped my chin. “What position?”

“I was a running back for the Edison Eagles until I got injured.”

Haunted by a different high-school athlete’s career ending prematurely, I leaned slightly away before remembering the stools were backless. I sprang back up awkwardly. “What…what happened? Do you know?”

Timothy looked confused by the question. “It was hard to miss. I dislocated my shoulder when the cornerback from the opposing team blocked a pass.” He finished the last of his beer. “I got lucky and didn’t need surgery, but I couldn’t move my arms…like not at all…and it hurt like hell. I was done. My mom was happy. Not about the injury, of course, but that I wasn’t going to play in college. You know moms.” He blushed.

“Do you miss it?” I plucked a sweet potato fry from my plate and broke it in half.

“It wasn’t like I was going to go pro anyway.” He moved the tea lamp on the table to the side to brush my hand with his. “But enough about me. You had that meeting with that woman last week, right? How’d it go?”

I’d told him about Ceiling Crashers via text and was impressed he remembered and cared enough to ask. “Yes. I had that meeting with that woman last week,” I said teasingly.

Timothy dipped his head bashfully in a way that reminded me of something I couldn’t place. Regardless, I found it charming.

“It went swimmingly. I’ve spent every night after work since devising plans inspired by her company’s questionnaires.” Not wanting Timothy to think I plagiarized, I added, “With her permission, of course.” I planned to start sending my amended version out to candidates the following week.

Timothy’s eyebrows drew closer. “Whyafterwork?”

I squirmed. “I don’t have a choice. My manager isn’t thrilled with how much extra…shall we say,creativeeffort I put into my job, so I did it on my own time.” I pushed the shredded lettuce that had fallen out of my now-demolished taco to the side of the plate. “Do you think it’s reckless? Sometimes I feel like I’m on a slippery slope,” I confessed. Challenging authority was way out of my comfort zone.

Timothy leaned back, not wobbling despite the lack of support behind him, and folded his nice arms across his equally lovely torso. “I guess it depends on how much you value your manager’s opinion—”

“Not much.” I giggled.

Timothy grinned and continued. “—how much power he truly has over you, and whether it’s worth the risk. Based on the way your face lights up when you talk about yourcreativework, it seems like it’s worth it. It’s legal, right?”

“Naturally!” The idea of me doing something criminal was laughable. Jude would lose his shit over the mere possibility. I recalled his face when he saw my temporary tattoo and bit back a smile.

“Then screw your manager and do it! You regret the things youdon’tdo.”

I blinked. Those words. Where had I heard them before?

Jude. About my attending the Ceiling Crashers’ seminar. It was good advice, but how strange that I’d sought it in the first place.

His suggestion to “yes” Michael while continuing my due diligence practices in secret was unsolicited, yet I had taken it. Which meant I could now count the times I felt grateful to Jude on two fingers. Make it three—he’d ousted Killian fromhisbar. Too bad the only thing I ever did for Jude was ruin his baseball career.

“Molly?”

Timothy’s voice broke through my mind trip.

I forced a smile at him as guilt washed over me for entering a time warp in the middle of our date. “Sorry!” Jude was happy. Why couldn’t I let it go? The last thing I wanted was to ruin a date with a sweet, hot guy by thinking about Jude.

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