Pulse - Part 3 (Pulse 3)

I feel the weight of the question bore into me. "Men like that don't fall in love. They just don't."

***

"This isn't a date." I feel the need to qualify it.

He stares at me over his wine glass. "Christ, you're full of bullshit lately."

"Shut up." I take a big swallow from my own glass before I realize I better slow down. "I can't drink too much."

"Because you'll end up sitting on my face in the cab on the way back to my place?" He raises his glass before he takes a sip.

I pull my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. He was likely right though. "No. I just want to stay clear minded. We have to talk about a few things."

"Do I still have to pay for this even though it's not a date?" He raises a brow playfully.

"I can't afford to eat here."

"You work here."

"I can barely afford to eat sandwiches on what they pay me." I glance back towards the kitchen. I didn't bother to check the schedule to see if Drew was working tonight. I'm hopeful he's got the night of

f too. I don't want to have to listen to him tell me why I shouldn't be seeing Nathan.

"What is it, if it's not a date?" He takes a bite of the overpriced salad the waiter just placed in front of him.

"Two people, who are kind of friends, talking." That seems about right to me.

"So talk, friend." He motions towards me with his fork.

"Why did you take your sister to the hotel suite that night?" I want to start at the beginning, or at the very least, the beginning of when things fell apart.

"Why do we need to talk about that?" He takes another hearty bite of the salad. "Do you make this when you're working?"

I shake my head. "I prep the carrots that are in the salad."

"They're the best part."

"You left for Boston and then you're suddenly back with your sister." It's not even a question. It's a lame statement.

"Why do you think I brought her here?"

"Stop being a lawyer."

"I can’t." He pushes the plate away. "This tastes like dirt. Not the carrots though."

"Why, Nathan?" I need to know. Other than that brief exchange in the hotel room when I thought she was his next conquest, I've heard nothing about her since.

He reaches for my wine glass after downing what's left in his. "I can't believe I have to say this."

"It's the truth, right?" I feel the need to stress that.

"Christ, Jessica." He leans across the table to put his hand over mine. "I don't lie to you. Get that, okay?"

I don't respond. I just want the answer. I raise my brow in expectation.

"I brought them here to meet you." His voice is soft and sullen. It's hard to distinguish each word within the hum of the busy restaurant.

"No, don't say that." I push back from the table. Please don't say that. It means I fucked things up worse than I imagined that night.