Page 8 of Crush
“It has its ups and downs,” I offered quietly.
A spark glinted in Brad's eyes. “Yeah, I can see that. You get all the joys of being a parent, but at the end of the day, you get to go home to some peace and quiet.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah. It's really great.”
I twirled my fork and took the last bite of my fettuccine Alfredo.
Brad shook his head with awe as I pushed the empty plate aside.“Man, it never fails to impress me how much food a little girl like you can put away.”
“Little girl …?” I muttered, taken aback.
“Look, I didn't mean anything by that either.” Brad rolled his eyes. “Sheesh, Brynn. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around you tonight. What's with you?”
He was losing his patience with me, and the worst part was, I couldn't blame him. He'd only picked at scabs of mine that he couldn't possibly know were there in the first place. He didn't know why I was acting so weird.
But he'll know if you tell him. It's the only hope you've got.
I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “I'm sorry, Brad. I think I'm stressed out because of my job situation,” I said. Which wasn't a lie, it just wasn't exactly the whole truth, either. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. I understand.” He nodded. “How 'bout another round of speed dating, then?”
Speed dating:that was what Brad liked to call his habit of asking me a succession of random questions. And although I thought this game of his was a little cheesy, this time, it was a welcome distraction.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay, so: favorite sport?”
“That's easy. Cross country. I was something of a track star in high school—”
Brad interrupted, wagging his finger. “No, that doesn't count. I meantteamsport.”
“Oh … 'kay. Hockey then, I guess.”
He reared back. “Hockey? No shit? Are you a Boston Brawlers fan?”
Boston Brawlers.Talk about a blast from the past.
“Once upon a time,” I answered. “It's not like I watch their games ever. I just grew up watching hockey to try to fit in with my older brothers.”
“Oh. That's still cool. What's your favorite part about hockey—lemme guess, it's the fights, right?”
“I dunno.” I gave a coy shrug. “The hot guys?”
Brad rolled his eyes. “That's such a chick reason to like a sport.”
I fired back. “Reminder: my first answer was cross country, but you wouldn't accept it because you said it wasn't a team sport. Which is such abrothing to say, because cross country absolutely isa team sport.”
We bantered back and forth and I started to let myself have a good time. Brad's speed dating was the medicine I needed to stop obsessing overthe right timeto tell him—at least for now.
After dessert, Brad paid the bill, we hopped in his truck and he drove me back to my apartment.
In the cab of his truck, we kissed, and he asked if he could come up with me.
With a heart nervously skipping in my chest, I told him yes.
***
Pickles greeted us at the door,miiiao.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked Brad, my voice wavering. “Wine? Whiskey?”
