“You are not going to eat all that yourself,” I deadpan. She cannot be serious.
She’s tiny!
Well. Normal sized.
I can’t imagine her eating two appetizers herself plus pizza, but what do I even know?
True dips her head, face flushing. Cute winter hat still pulled down on her head. No chance in hell she’ll take that off so I can see her hair—it would be a mess, no doubt, and she’d be self-conscious.
But I’m curious, because I’ve never seen her hair fully down. Sure, I searched for images of her on the internet—bunches popped up, mostly events she’s gone to with one or both of her brothers. Football fundraisers and baseball galas, one or two ESPY Award ceremonies.
She’s cute and put together in each and every one; this sweatshirt-and-jeans True is a far cry from the glam girl I met and banged at Buzz Wallace’s wedding.
I prefer this version by far.
Real. Authentic.
True to herself, no pun intended.
After we order, it’s just us. Well, just us and a room full of people, most of whom are pretending not to be watching us, some of them actually doing a decent job of it.
“It’s nice seeing you,” I start, sliding the paper ring off the utensils and folding it in half to occupy my hands. I’m nervous and not sure what to say or how to begin, or how to ask her why she’s been avoiding me.
Or maybe she hasn’t and I’m going to make an ass of myself by asking.
“Yeah—I really needed to get out of the house, so thank you for the invitation.”
“Out of the house.” That jogs my memory. “Oh that’s right, I remember you mentioning you have a place with two of your friends closer to the suburbs.”
“Had.” True sips at her water. “I’m living with my brother Tripp right now. I lost my place.” Her head gives a shake. “Why did I say I lost it? What I mean is, my roommate defaulted on our rent and we got kicked out. Landlord has this niece…”
“Ah. The old ‘I need you out so I can move my kid in’ scenario. That’s why renting sucks.”
She unwraps a straw and sticks it in her water cup. “Yeah, my brothers keep telling me I should buy something, but I guess…” Her sigh is loud. “It’s probably smart.”
“You don’t want to buy something?”
“I do. It just seems…hard?” She laughs at herself, and I laugh along with her. “Who wants to be an actual adult? Not me.”
Man, she’s sweet.
Younger than me by maybe five years, which is the perfect age gap in my opinion.
“Not me, either. Being an adult sucks. You can’t just have a one-night stand with someone anymore without thinking about that person nonstop.”
It takes True Wallace a few seconds to play my sentence back in her mind to make sense of it, to realize I’m talking about her and our night together. To understand that I’m implying I didn’t mean to have a one-night stand and never see her again.
The wedding was fun, yes.
The sex was amazing, yes.
Did I plan to bail? No.
Did she?
Was she just using me?
That’s one idea that hadn’t crossed my mind until this very moment, and the thought of it makes me sick.
Nah.
Not possible.
“Very funny.” She makes light of my comment to avoid discussing it, but I don’t think I want to let her off so easy.
“Weird role reversal, don’t you think?” I take a swig of water.
“How so?”
“Stereotypically, it’s the guy sneaking out.”
She almost chokes on her drink, sputtering. “Oh my god, you can’t just say that!” Her eyes are smiling.
“I can’t? Why not? You left and it wasn’t even daylight—where were you goin’ in such a rush?”
The server appears, setting two baskets in the center of the table: calamari, aka fried squid, and the fried pickles. Dipping sauces galore.
True claps her hands. “I wasn’t going anywhere in a rush.”
Liar.
“Except to get gone?”
She considers this as she loads the small round appetizer plate with food, licking her fingers once she gets her last helping out of the basket.
“I’m going to be honest with you,” she begins. “So, I’m going to put my game face on.” True inhales, then inhales an appetizer. “I’d never done anything like that before, and I was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed about what?”
“What you’d think of me…how you’d treat me the next day…” Her shoulders move up and down. “I didn’t want to wait around to find out.”
Fair enough. She’s afraid of rejection.
Who isn’t?
“So what you’re saying is, you’re not good at casual sex.”
A fried pickle falls out of her mouth and onto the plate. “Um. I don’t have casual sex.” Says it as if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s heard in her life.
“What would you call sex with me then?”
True pauses. “I meant…I don’t have casual sex…a lot. Ever. That wasn’t…it was the first time I’d ever done that.” She’s rambling because she’s nervous, which I find cute, not annoying.