The Best Kind of Forever (Riverside Reapers, #1)(23)
When I did some deep diving on him, there was always a leggy blond or a busty brunette attached to him in photos. They had thin, toned bodies, and their skin had a permanent sun-kissed look. I don’t tan easily. I don’t have lean muscle on my body. I have a soft belly, stretchmarks on my thighs, and acne scars. I’m not Hayes’ usual type.
Hayes lowers his menu, reaching across the table and enveloping my hand in his. “I want you to order whatever you want, okay? It doesn’t matter how much it costs.”
“Hayes…”
His fingers give my palm a tight squeeze, slinging tiny jolts up my forearms. “I’m serious, Aeris. It’s my treat.”
I close my mouth because I have a feeling arguing with Hayes won’t get me anywhere. He doesn’t let go of my hand until our food arrives, and I immediately yearn for his touch again.
He ordered a medium-rare steak, a bowl of tomato rigatoni, a spring salad, and sautéed sweet potatoes. Those are like four separate meals that could last me a whole week. I have no idea how he’s gonna eat all of that in one sitting. I’ve decided on fettucine alfredo, which may or may not be a good idea considering fatty foods don’t agree with me.
Hayes picks up his fork and begins separating his cut of steak into pieces. “So, what made you pursue being a content writer?”
I’m halfway through chewing my pasta, so I awkwardly hold my hand to my mouth before swallowing. “Uh, I majored in English in college. I’ve always liked to write, but I didn’t have the bandwidth to become an author.”
Mirth festers in his chalcedony irises. “Jeez, I could’ve used you in college. I sucked at English. Barely passed my GE class.” He switches his focus to his potatoes, hoovering up five chunks in a single bite.
“What did you major in?”
Sports medicine. Thank you, creepy fanpages.
“Sports medicine,” he echoes.
Silence passes between us for a while, and once I force down a wad of buttery noodles, I open my mouth to finally say something.
“Tell me about Roden,” Hayes interjects.
A mask of confusion adheres to my face. “Roden?”
Hayes remembered my brother’s name?
“You mentioned him at the bar.”
“Well, he die—”
“No, Aeris. Tell me about him.”
Oh. Nobody’s ever asked to hear about Roden. It’s…I’ve never really talked about him without being impinged by a smokescreen of grief. It’s always there, you know? But for the first time in forever, the air in my lungs feels crisp.
A calming sense of euphoria reclaims the tense hold of my shoulders. “Roden was…is…the best person in the entire world. He was creative and kind and he cared about everyone. He loved to draw. God, he was so good at it. He loved drawing people, specifically. We’d always hang out by the park and sit there for hours, and he’d fill up his entire sketchbook. I begged him to teach me how to draw, but I never quite captured people like he could.”
“He sounds incredible. I wish I could’ve met him.”
I wish you could’ve too.
I grapple for anything to respond with, but all my words get lost in translation, slowly blinking out of existence.
“Tell me about your mother,” I eventually say.
Hayes twirls around a piece of lettuce. “She’s caring, just like your brother. She was the one who comforted me whenever I felt down, who always cooked me chocolate chip pancakes on my birthday, and who took me to my first hockey game. She never, ever asked for anything for herself. If she was hurting, she would paint on the brightest smile and pretend everything was okay. She didn’t ever want to be a burden. I wish she knew that I would’ve taken all the pain in the world to make things even a little bit better for her.”
“Oh, Hayes. She sounds lovely. I’m so sorry.”
He nods, but I don’t think he’s up for much conversation anymore. He busies himself by piling an inhuman amount of noodles onto his fork. I need to change the subject.
“You’re really talented, you know that?” I compliment, prodding at my half-eaten meal.
“You think so?” he teases, the sexual tension between us thickening, becoming so palpable you could cut it with a butter knife.
Thanks to the adequate lighting, my blush has nowhere to hide. “Yeah, you’re a great player. Definitely better than some other players in the league.”
Hayes snorts loudly, erecting some displeased stares from neighboring tables, and a granny across from us gives me the evil eye. “Thanks, Stacks. That means a lot coming from you.”
He points the tines of his fork at me, a lopsided smirk pushing his cheeks back. “I like how honest you are. You’re a tell-it-to-their-face kind of honest, and in my line of work, that can be rare. But there’s also this part of you that worries you’re being too straightforward, and it’s endearing.”
I choke on a noodle, my pulse and heart in a head-to-head race.
“Oh,” is all I can muster, partly because I don’t know what else to say, partly because I’m still wheezing for air.
Hayes lifts his napkin from his lap, dabbing at his lips. He’s somehow cleaned every one of his plates in record time while I’ve barely made a dent in my pasta.
“Come on. I want to show you something.”