Trust (Wrong 3)

“I’m sorry,” I say, waving my hand. “I meant to say, they have great Italian food there. My friend did go into labor at lunch, but you probably didn’t need to know that part.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure that was a pretty exciting lunch.”

“Yeah.” We sit in silence for a moment and then, “Hey, do you want to hear a joke?” Say no. Stop speaking, Chloe.

“Sure.”

“Why did the banana go to the doctor?” Yup. I’m telling second-grade jokes.

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t peeling well!”

Joe nods and does a fake laugh. So I continue, like an idiot. “Wait, I’ve got a better one,” I blurt out. “Why did the jellybean go to school?”

“Why?”

“He wanted to become a Smartie!”

I wish I could say I stopped here. But I think I told at least two more before Joe finally gave up and politely checked his watch. I don’t think I’m ready for dating. The single men of Philadelphia should not be subjected to the disaster that is me. And Boyd watching did not help.

“Okay, well, thanks!” I say, shooting to my feet and sticking my hand out like I just completed a job interview, not a date. Yeah. I imagine it’s going to be a solid decade before I can erase this memory from my mind.

His eyes widen a bit in surprise but, ever the gentleman, he quickly recovers and shakes my hand, wishing me a good night. Then he bolts out of there. I watch as the glass door swings open and he retreats from view before I turn to Boyd. He’s smiling.

Six

Boyd

“What are you doing?” she asks me, head tilted to the side, her brows raised in question. She’s fighting to keep her face neutral but her eyes are slightly narrowed, telling me that she’s likely annoyed with me—as she should be—but waiting to hear my answer before she commits to it. Her ponytail dangles to the side with the tilt of her head and while I don’t think I’ve ever been a fan of ponytails previously, I am now.

“You’re kind of a disaster,” I respond. That’s not really an answer, more of an observation.

“No.” She shakes her head and narrows her eyes further, her tone most certainly moving towards annoyed. “Why are you here? At that table specifically? Watching me?”

“I saw you and I was curious.” That’s true. I was halfway to the door when I spotted her. On her date. Nice guy too. I gotta give him credit for sticking it out as long as he did. Not too much credit, because look at her. You’d have to be an idiot not to try.

“Curious? Are you serious?” Her eyes widen. Yup. Definitely annoyed. “You are such a dick!” She drops her voice to a whisper when she says dick and I know it’s because it offends her schoolteacher sensibilities to swear in public. But hearing her whisper it combined with a quick glance around to make sure no one is listening to her, well, that shit is downright erotic.

“Fascinated,” I confirm with a slight nod. “I mean, when you started in with the knock-knock jokes, wow.”

She levels me with a glare that might keep schoolchildren in line but can’t be very effective with grown men.

“I don’t…” She stalls. “I’m not very good at dating.”

“You could use some help,” I agree. And I am feeling uncharacteristically helpful.

“I just…” She glances at me and then away again. “I get nervous and then I panic and act weird. I’m pretty normal most of the time. When I’m by myself.” She shrugs then folds her arms across her chest and wrinkles her nose at me. “You’re around an awful lot lately. Are you stalking me?”

“Stalking you? This is my Starbucks. I live around the corner,” I tell her. “There’s at least two Starbuckses closer to your apartment than this one. I think you picked this Starbucks so you’d run into me.” I can’t imagine that’s true, but I wouldn’t mind it if it was. She’s been on my mind since I first laid eyes on her almost a week ago.

“Uh, no,” she replies sarcastically. It seems to be her go-to when she’s nervous. “I never meet first dates anywhere within a three-block radius of my apartment.”

A three-block radius? She kills me. She cannot be getting laid much, which pleases me in some ridiculously caveman way.

“Well, that sounds very… safe of you.”

She nods in a way that tells me she’s a little bit smug about her safety rules. She’s so fucking cute. She was cute in the holding room at the stadium too. I didn’t actually need to question her that day; I was going to send her packing as soon as I walked into the room, but… I just wanted to hear her talk. I saw her through the two-way surveillance mirror fidgeting on the uncomfortable metal folding chair. She was bouncing one sneaker-clad foot on the ground and twirling the end of a strand of hair around her fingers. I was intrigued by her. I’m not sure why exactly, but I was drawn to her. I’d already pulled her information before I walked into the room, so I knew she was a twenty-two-year-old recent graduate, currently employed at an elementary school. Not my type.

Then she’d asked if I was going to handcuff her. Jesus. The visual of her handcuffed—to my bed—had materialized in my head in a heartbeat.

“So Joe, he’s some guy you met on the internet?” I ask her, tapping my fingers against the table.

“Yeah.” She sighs and glances back at the door. “He was nice, right? I totally blew that.”

Yes, she did. Thank fuck.

“I’m ready for my favor now,” I tell her as my course of action becomes clear, but she’s shaking her head before I’ve finished speaking.

“I don’t think you deserve a favor anymore,” she responds, back straight and chin tilted up. Her ponytail bounces with the shake of her head and she crosses her arms across her chest for emphasis. “After spying on me, you spier!” She pauses a second then, softening, asks, “You’re not an actual spy, right?”

“No.” I shake my head slowly back and forth. This girl. I sit back in my chair and wait a beat before I respond further. “Okay then. If you’re okay with my sister and Everly knowing you almost got arrested—”