Page 33 of Let It Be Me

Yeah, I wouldn’t want to spend the evening with me either. “Whatever. Stay out. Get laid. I don’t need to be put to bed.”

He ignores me, finding his wallet among the bags he dropped on the counter. No one’s put the ice cream away yet. I turn back to the TV, determined not to say anything more to him. Yeah, I’m a total nag, but I know what I’m talking about. I’m right, Cash is wrong. But regret is already building inside me.

“Sorry, man,” I say when he’s almost to the door.

Cash stops, pausing before he turns to look at me. “Not a big deal, dude. Just ... chill the fuck out already. Everyone misses the way you used to be.”

The way I used to be? The hell does that mean? I’m still who I always was. Cash is being a fucking drama queen. Just because I want to focus on my body instead of spending every night drunk doesn’t mean I’ve changed.

I grit my teeth. I should have listened to Ruby and just shut up.

TWELVE

ruby

My datewith Brad bears an uncanny resemblance to the last date I went on, which is scary because that was in eighth grade. This one features the smell of beer instead of body odor, but both took place in bowling alleys. And both turned out awkward. On the upside, at least my date tonight is a pretty good kisser.

“How was work?” Brad asks as rainbow disco lights trail across his face. The place is a combination bowling alley / restaurant / lounge that claims to be upscale, but it’s been giving stale roller-disco vibes since we walked in.

“I didn’t work today. Unless you count folding Lorenzo’s laundry.”

“How’s the job, though?”

“Oh.” I wave it off. “It didn’t really work out.”

“You quit already? What happened, fingers wore out from sprinkling fish flakes into the tank all day?”

I force a chuckle and then hate myself for it. “No, they let me go.”

“No way! You got fired from cleaning aquariums?” His expression is a mix of disbelief and humor that he quickly reins in when he catches my eye.

“I couldn’t start when they needed me. Because of Lorenzo’s surgery.”

“Oh, right.”

“Not saying I wouldn’t have gotten fired either way. I just didn’t get the chance.”

He shrugs. “Who cares, anyway? It was kind of a joke, wasn’t it? Working as an aquarium cleaner?” He slides his gaze over to me like he’s trying to assess whether he’s being insulting.

He is, but I don’t say so because I like him. Or at least I did? I’m confused. “It wasn’t really a joke—I need the money—but I guess it’s not the coolest job on the planet.” And here I go, welcoming to the stage the side of myself I absolutely can’t stand. Ididthink that job was cool. Why don’t I say so?

We linger in awkwardness for a few minutes as we finish a round of bowling, but Brad pulls us out of it when a cheesy seventies song comes on and he starts dancing, grinning at me the whole time to make sure I’m entertained. He dances like a dork, but he’s cute enough that it works for him. I like that he’s working to impress me without trying to pretend he’s cooler than he actually is. His goofy dancing doesn’t exactly get my pulse pounding the way a drug habit or a bad attitude did with past guys I dated, but those dalliances all ended in either disappointment or disaster. Maybe a hint of dorkiness is at the root of every lasting relationship.

“Hey, know what I was thinking?” Brad asks when we sit back down after dancing through a couple of songs. He’s pressed close to me, and I can feel the heat of exertion through his clothes.

I smile. I haven’t decided yet whether I want to go back to his place tonight, but I think I’m about to be made to decide. I lean an inch closer. “What’s that?”

“My sister-in-law runs a tutoring business, and they’re always looking to hire new people.”

“Oh,” I say, trying to mask my disappointment with a look that says,That’s interesting.“That’s interesting. I just got hired for something else, though.”

“For what?”

It’s only now that I realize I’m a little hesitant to tell him the truth, because I’m pretty sure he’s exactly the type of guy who’s going to judge and judge hard. “Cocktail waitress. At Cameo’s.”

And I’m right. I see it in the confused look on his face:Huh? This chick’s a slut?“The titty bar?”

I restrain my eyes from rolling. “Yep.”

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