The big words again. I loved it when he used the big words. I wished I had him on the phone, so he could say them in my ear. But I couldn’t exactly call him and ask him to talk dirty to me, so instead I texted him again.
Tessa: Point taken. I have another question.
Andrew: You always do.
Tessa: My boss kinda, sorta came on to me at the bar tonight. What should I do?
There was a long pause. The longest. My heart squeezed, then tried to climb up my throat in suspense.
I didn’t know what I wanted him to say. Did I want him to be mad? Possessive? We weren’t dating or anything—we were friends. Did I want him to encourage me? I had no idea. I didn’t know what he felt, what he’d want to say. So I waited.
Finally the dots appeared, and he answered me.
Andrew: It depends if he’s your type or not. Is he?
Tessa: Not really. He isn’t a bad guy, and it wasn’t creepy or anything. He’s over thirty and I think he’s divorced. It seemed like he was working up to asking me out, if you know what I mean, and not a Me Too-type thing. Does that make sense?
Andrew: You’re saying he’s single and he honestly finds you attractive.
Tessa: Yes.
My stomach was in knots, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t because of Nathan. Nathan was okay, I guessed. He was male and he was interested in me. I wasn’t a girl who slept around, but I liked it when a man was interested in me. I liked men in general. Ever since I grew boobs, I could get men to at least look at me, and it made me feel good. It was just the way I was made.
If I was back in L.A., I’d at least give Nathan a chance. Go on a date and see what happened.
And now, I was texting Andrew, undecided. What did that mean?
“Tessa?”
I looked up to see Nathan coming out from the back room, smiling at me. Shit. Four days on the job, and I’d been caught texting. “Sorry,” I said, putting my phone in my back pocket.
“It’s fine,” Nathan said, coming around behind the bar. “I had to give in a long time ago. There’s no way I can make an employee work a full shift without looking at their phone.” He shrugged. “I can’t stay off it myself, so I may as well not be an asshole about it.”
See? Nice. He was nice. He had brown hair worn longish and a pleasant face. He wasn’t fat. He wore a button-down shirt that was pressed. Since he was single, he must have pressed the shirt himself. That was a point in his favor, too.
And I couldn’t help the feeling that if I went on a date with him, it would be a disappointment. That I would rather be with Andrew.
Nathan looked around, checking that there were no customers who needed my attention. “Listen, Tessa, I’d like to talk to you about something. And please don’t take it the wrong way.”
So he was going to ask now. Okay then. “Sure, Nathan,” I said.
He smiled. “Call me Nate.”
His lips moved as he said something else, probably asking me out. But for a second I didn’t hear him, because he’d asked me to call him Nate. Just like I’d asked Andrew about being called Andy.
His words went through my head, and I realized I agreed with them.
The answer is unquestionably, unequivocally, unapologetically, absolutely fucking no.
I heard Nathan—Nate—out. I was polite about it. And then I turned him down. I didn’t want to be mean, and I appreciated the offer, so I told him I was “sort of seeing someone.” I didn’t tell him that the guy was my friend, and I’d just asked him whether I should take the date or not.
Then someone ordered drinks. And someone else. An hour later, when I looked at my phone, I saw that Andrew hadn’t answered my question. He hadn’t texted anything at all.
Fifteen
Andrew
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