CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Pub 1902 was one of the most popular places to eat for the residents who lived between Shadow Hills and Ridgewood because not only was it a fun, friendly atmosphere, but it was conveniently located almost exactly right on the city limits line. I had been there a few times with Rosie, but it wasn’t a place that I liked to frequent because of its proximity to Shadow Hills. We were rapidly approaching ten years, a freaking decade, and I still hadn’t run into him. It felt like an invisible beacon was keeping me away, but tonight Noah had begged to go somewhere for dinner where we could just hang out, have a beer (him, not me, because ew) and maybe “catch the game on a big screen”.
We had been together for several months at this point, having easily fallen into a daily routine by each other’s side. Our relationship was the definition of settling, and I was realizing that my love for him was platonic and had been this entire time. Noah was my best friend. He always had been and always will be. He is going to be a fantastic husband and father one day, but frankly, I am relieved every single day that he doesn’t propose. Which is completely not something someone should think about their boyfriend. Deep down, Noah has to know that this isn’t genuine love and that we’re both just acting as placeholders for each other.
Platonic placeholders.
Maybe I should get tee-shirts made.
So, here we were pulling into a parking spot outside of the pub, about to have what I hoped would be a quiet, relaxing dinner together. I sent up one last silent prayer that it would be an uneventful night without bumping into anyone that we knew from our present, or otherwise. Our ten-year high school reunion was next weekend, and I had enough anxiety over that. All I wanted was one more weekend of normalcy before our past bubbled up and became our present.
I stepped out of the car, clutching my Kindle and situating my purse on my shoulder before glancing around the parking lot. The air felt wet, crisp, and cool after the rain cleared up a few hours ago. Noah came around from the driver’s side and took my hand, lacing his warm fingers through mine. I smiled at him; though his touch didn’t send shivers down my spine or make the butterflies in my stomach go crazy, he still felt like home. He felt safe, happy, and familiar. We had achieved a lot together over the last several months, and our relationship fell into a very tranquil spot, but I struggled daily with the feeling that I was letting both Noah and myself down.
Our hands broke apart when the waitress showed us to our table and handed us a menu. Staring down at us from the edge of the table, she smacked loudly on a piece of gum as she took our drink order. Noah ordered for me, knowing that I never strayed from my girly drinks.
“Dos Equis for me, and she’ll have a margarita on the rocks, strawberry.”
The waitress’ bubble popped. “Salt or sugar on the rim, sweetheart?” she asked, turning her attention to me.
Our waitress was really pretty with soft brown eyes, her lips painted with a light pink lipstick. Her light brown hair was in a high ponytail and she had a small nose ring on the right side of her nose. She had a floral sleeve tattooed on her left arm, and I couldn’t help but wish that I had the guts to do something like that. I could never pull off a sleeve of tattoos, though.
Realizing that I was staring and taking too long to respond, I hastily told her salt when I should have said sugar.
Who gets salt on a strawberry margarita? I guess there’s a first time for everything and I just hoped that it wasn’t going to be weird and gross. Worst-case scenario, I could brush it off with a napkin. I could feel my brows furrow and knew that I had done it again; I was lost inside of my own head. My anxiety creeped up, and I wondered if I had drawn an audience. I looked up at Noah and found him watching me. Of course.
“Can we switch sides so I can see the game?” he asked, already sliding out of his chair. I guess he didn’t notice my weirdness.
“Sure,” I muttered as I stood, pushing my chair back and grabbing my purse from the side of the chair. He reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze as we switched sides, and as I sat down again, I pulled my Kindle out of my purse. If he was going to get lost in the football game, I was absolutely going to get lost in the new R.J. Lewis book that I had just downloaded.
Aside from being platonic placeholders for each other, we had totally become that couple—the ones who don’t even talk when they’re at restaurants because they’re so comfortable with each other that there is literally nothing new to talk about. I wasn’t sure if that was a boring relationship or a secure one. My guess wasn’t the latter, especially since I could map out how the rest of our night would go.
We’d order our food, eat in silence, Noah’s eyes glued to the TV, mine glued to my Kindle. As his heart was racing about the potential touchdown, mine would be racing about the hot male character in my book that was about to touch the heroine for the first time. Noah would pay for dinner, we’d go back to his place, or mine, and I’d suggest we reenact what I had just read in my book.
This would get Noah all hot and bothered (he definitely didn’t mind when I read spicy books). He’d end up wanting to take a shower first, then after his shower, one of two things would happen. Either Noah would initiate the sex I had suggested earlier, or he would tell me he was too tired and that he had to work early the next morning. If we had sex, I’d stay the night, but if we didn’t, I’d feign a yawn and head home. Either way, I knew I would be going to sleep with an orgasm, whether it was courtesy of Noah or my bright pink bestie in the drawer of my bedside table.
It’s official. I’m getting the tee-shirts made.