Page 46 of Things I Wish I Said
“A salad?” I say, unimpressed. “I didn’t take you as the prissy salad type.”
“Oh, really?” she says with a hint of amusement, all the intensity from moments ago gone. “And what did you take me as?”
I grin. “The type of girl that would order a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake on a date without batting an eye or giving a flying fuck what anyone thinks about it.”
She smiles. “I like that girl.”
My gaze holds hers. “Me too.”
“Is this a date?”
“Isn’t it?” I shoot back.
Her pouty lips purse. “I guess I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever been on a few.”
“Bullshit.” There’s no fucking way this girl survived high school with that face, her banging body, and so much talent, with only a handful of dates.
“It’s true.” She nods, and I want to argue, but she continues before I can, and I find myself clinging to her every word, thoroughly enjoying her company in a way I shouldn’t and don’t quite understand. “First of all, I switched schools just before high school after getting a scholarship to Federal Hocking. It was an all-girls' school, and the entirety of my free time was devoted to either keeping my grades up or soccer. There was no room for a social life, and even if there was, the only opportunity I had to hang out with the opposite sex was during soccer camp. And even though that probably sounds awful to you, I really didn’t mind it. I was so focused on my goals, I figured dating would come later.”
My brows rise. “So you weren’t lying when you said you never had a boyfriend?”
“Nope. I mean, there was this one kid I dated, but it was nothing. Over before it started.” She takes a sip of her ice water then toys with her straw. “Let me guess, you had dozens of girlfriends, all perfect, perky blondes like Hannah.”
I shake my head because it’s the furthest thing from the truth. “I had a steady girlfriend during my first three years of high school,” I say, sounding more defensive than I’d like. “And even though I don’t date anymore, if I did, Hannah’s not my type.”
She hums under her breath like she doesn’t believe me. “A serious girlfriend, huh?”
I nod, not wanting to get into it, relieved the question sounds more rhetorical than anything. Rachel isn’t someone I liked to discuss. Ever.
“And what about the past year? I’m guessing there’s been no shortage of female attention.”
I shrug. I don’t tell her how many girls I’ve been with since my father died.
I’m not sure I even know. It’s not like I’ve kept a fucking tally. Using women and sex as a distraction isn’t exactly something I’m proud of, so I say, “You can be surrounded by people and still feel alone.”
My cheeks heat the second the words leave my mouth, afraid I’ve given away too much, that she might judge me for it.
“I know the feeling.” Her eyes lock on mine as if trying to read me, and I’m not sure what scares me more: that I’m afraid she can or that she might actually get me in a way no one else does.
I fiddle with the menu, thinking about everything she said.
If she’s telling the truth, then this date matters more than I thought. Every experience Ryleigh has could be the last and I need to make it count.
“Are you really getting a salad?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I would love to order the biggest cheeseburger imaginable and enjoy every bite, but since I got sick, my mom went into this deep dive about food and how it has the power to heal, blah blah blah. So, these days, I mostly stick to lean meats, veggies, and fruit with the rare exception.”
“That’s no fun.” I frown.
“No,” she says with a sigh. “It’s really not, but it’s a small price to pay to ease her worry.”
I lean back in the booth, scowling. It’s not lost on me she’s doing it for her mother and not for her. I wonder what else she’s doing for others and what, if anything, she’s doing for herself. I know exactly how it feels to appease a parent. It’s the whole reason I’m here in the first place. Just because my father’s dead doesn’t make his influence in my life any less relevant.
A few minutes later, the waiter appears by our table to take our orders. I get something healthier than the burger and fries I really crave, for Ryleigh’s sake, then he turns to take her order.
The first time his gaze dips below the neckline of her tank top, I can’t blame him. Sinclair has an incredible rack. The second time, I want to bust his teeth out.
If Ryleigh notices his blatant ogling, she doesn’t give anything away as she orders, and when he glances my way one last time, I narrow my eyes, jaw tight enough to crack walnuts.
