Page 26 of Until Next Time
“I’ve only got yellow jackets. Is that fine?” He asks as he’s hunched over his fridge. “Yeah, that’s great.” I say, leaning up against the island, trying not to notice the way his tanned forearm is flexed and resting on the door of the fridge.
He grabs one of the glass bottles and closes the door, turning to face me and popping off the cap, sliding its across the counter to me. I reach out to grab it at the same he asks, “Are you okay?” I pick up the amber bottle and take a long sip before I answer.
“Yeah, I’m just a little nervous. My dating skills are pretty rusty.” I admit, hesitantly.
He leans up against the fridge, taking a drink from the dark beer bottle. I decide that I don’t want to discuss this, so before he can respond, I take a hard right and ask him, “Did you mean to start playing music in the bathroom?” He smirks at me as he takes another drink, not answering me immediately.
The way he is looking at me is unnerving. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that he’s checking me out, but I can’t even let my daydreams go there.
“Yeah. I just thought you might like some music on. I never shower without music.” I’m satisfied with his answer, but still curious about his song choices. I decided to push my luck and nudge for a little bit more. “Well, I appreciate that. liked it. You’ve got good taste in music.” I try to say as plainly as possible because I’m playing this cool.
“That’s one of your favorite songs, right? Or at least it used to be?” He sounds curious as the question rolls off his tongue, looking at me with an expression I can’t place.
I can’t help but laugh as these small gestures feel like ship anchors landing in pit of my soul. “You remember everything. I guess you weren’t lying.” I tease, taking another long pull of my beer.
There’s a silence now between us and he’s leaned up against the opposite counter, just looking at me, his legs crossed at his ankles, and there’s a pull at the corners of his mouth. There’s a lightness about him now, and I don’t know if it’s better this way or if it’s worse. I look down at the glass beer bottle in my hands and start picking off the paper label in tiny little shreds. Keepingmy hands busy. It’s either this or biting my nails and I’ve been trying to kick that habit for over twenty years.
“What time is Max getting here?” Dawsen breaks silence—thank you, God.
“He’s probably getting here any minute. I guess I should head down.” I start picking up the mess I’ve made from this damn bottle and make my way into the kitchen to look for a trash can to toss my beer and the shreds of the Coors label.
“I’ll take care of it.” He says as he takes two steps forward and meets me, taking the bottle and paper shreds from my hands.
I give a tight lipped smile that probably doesn’t read much of anything right now. “Wish me luck. And thank you again, Dawsen. Really.” I pick up my bag and twist the handle on the door to let myself out. Just as I pull open the heavy door, I hear Dawsen clear his throat.
“Birdie.” I look back. He’s got all my attention and he’s just standing there, fingers tracing shapes on the counter where he’s standing. “Be careful, please.” Is all he comes up with.
I just nod. I turn back to the door and let myself out.
* * *
I see Max pull up to the curb right in front of Southbound in his fancy Mercedes that doesn’t have a name, just a combination of letters and numbers. I don’t know anything about it other than it looks like the type of car you can’t eat fast food in, and probably smells heavily of leather and sandalwood, which isn’t really my kind of car.
“Hey beautiful!” His voice like silk and confidence in my ears. To any other woman, they’d probably swoon, but I can’t help but feel a slight ick in the pit of my stomach. He jogs around the front of the car to the sidewalk where I’m standing.
“Hi, Max!” I offer back, as his hand slides around my waist and scoops me into a hug. His hand stays at the small of my back as he guides me to the passenger side door. He pulls it open, “Your chariot awaits, princess.” He winks as I slide into the passenger seat ofcringe. He closes my door and as he’s making his way around the car, my inner monologue is a pep talk of sorts—‘he’s so nice, so charming, and so many girls would be thrilled with being in your shoes right now.’ I try to convince myself I feel the same way, when actually I’m suddenly very nervous that I’ve made a big mistake by agreeing to this date.
“So, how are you? How was your day? I’m taking you to this super sweet spot. It’s a bit of a drive outside of town, I hope that’s okay with you. I just wanted to take you somewhere a little nicer than anything Saddlebrooke has to offer.” He rattled off, not giving me any space to actually answer his initial questions.
“Oh yeah, that’s totally fine. I’m starving! I missed lunch today, so I’m excited. I got caught up in my work and just totally lost track of time.” I said, as I pulled down the visor and swiped open the mirror to check my lip gloss. I was right about the smell of the car, by the way.
“You look so good tonight!” He drawled at me, staring at me and my chest a beat too long for someone driving a car.
“Thanks! Dawsen let me use his bathroom to clean up. I was covered in paint about forty five minutes ago.” I said, closing the mirror and returning the visor to its upright position.
“Ahh, that’s nice of him.” I could hear his tone change into something a little more reserved, like he was holding back.
“So, do you and Dawsen hang out a lot?” He scratched the back of his neck and glanced at me. “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say that. I’ve just known him for so long.” Talking about Dawsen right now is the last thing I want to be doing, so I take a hard turn in the conversation and pivot into the classic first date chatter.
“What do you do for work, then?” I ask, rubbing my finger tips back and forth on my knees. Max chuffs out a laugh and shifts in his seat. “I’m an investment banker.”
“Ahh, so you’re a math dude.” I tease, and I think I’m supposed to be impressed. But I’m distracted by the thought of having to deal with math for my whole life. And here’s Max, just being a numbers guy.
We make small talk the whole drive out of town, mostly about investment banking, his affinity for shiny cars, and his high profile clients and the mergers he’s facilitating this month. It’s all very interesting, I suppose, for someone interested in that kind of thing—which just unfortunately isn’t me. I tried to bring the conversation to a more playful destination, adding in my affinity for old and unreliable cars, but that only led him into a long winded spiel about how bad for the environment old cars can be. If it wasn’t for the beer I shotgunned before this, I don’t know if I would have been able to bullshit my way through this drive, but thanks to Coors, I’ve put on an impressive performance. I should be sponsored.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts when Max says, “Alright babe, we are just about here.”
My eyebrow shoots up on one side and I’ve lost all control of my facial muscles as the cringe overtakes me. I love a good pet name, but call me old fashioned, I feel like you’ve got to work your way up to thebabelevel.
