The dress in question is a beautiful lilac with a fitted bodice that shows off her curves and a full skirt that sways as she walks closer. She’s wearing black heels that make her legs seem even longer. Her earrings are the same, little gold stars that sparkle as she runs a brush through her hair.
“You look so pretty.”
She smiles. “Thanks. And look, I’m not as short anymore.” She does a twirl, which makes the skirt rise a few inches.
I swallow, focusing on a spot on the wall so I don’t think about something indecent, like putting my hand up that pretty fabric to see what kind of panties she’s wearing.
“Will you do up the back?”
“Hmm?”
“The back zipper.” She turns so I can see that the dress is only partially zippered. She’s wearing a purple bra with some sort of lace situation on the straps. Maybe her panties match. This is clearly her fancy date outfit. Did she wear it to the very restaurant we’re going to when she dated Darryl? Somehow, I doubt he sprung for it. But she could’ve worn this sexy outfit anyway at some point, taking it off for him piece by piece after they went home.
Bex glances back at me. “Um, James?”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat as I zip up the dress, trying to touch as little of her skin as possible. She has an adorable birth mark on her back, right between her shoulder blades. I could kiss it, and then kiss lower, and take the whole dress off.
But I don’t. Instead, I let her turn. She smiles at me. “You look nice too. Good to know you can clean up well.”
“It’s a requirement for us Callahans. You don’t want to guess how many charity events I’ve been to.”
She puts her hairbrush into her tote bag and takes out a little clutch. “I know.”
“Oh yeah?” I say as I shut the door behind us.
She glances at me as she heads down the stairs. “I may have, um…”
“Oh,” I say as it clicks. I holler to Cooper that we’re about to leave, then lead the way to my car. “You googled me?”
“More specifically, I googled your father. Your family. But you came up.” She buckles into the passenger seat, biting her lip as she looks at me. “Is that a problem? I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like you were snooping. It’s right there on the internet.” It does feel strange, though. I don’t have any big secrets, the real reason behind the mess of last fall aside, but knowing she did research on me, like I’m some news story, hits me wrong, and I’m not sure why.
“Yeah.” She smooths her skirt down. “The Callahan Family Foundation, right?”
“My parents’ pride and joy. They’re very serious about it.”
At a red light, I glance over at her. Something about her expression unsettles me. I’ve worked hard on making her feel comfortable, texting her, talking to her, getting to know her. Just because we can’t date for real doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I like her, and I appreciate that she’s taking time out of her busy life to help me with this class. Suddenly, it feels like all the progress we made disappeared, and now we’re not even friends.
At the restaurant, I lean in and speak quietly to the manager, who is more than happy to set us up with a table an hour early. He leads us to the back, where there’s a small circular table tucked into an alcove.
Bex sits down before I can pull her chair out for her. “You weren’t lying, you really do know the owner.”
“He has a catering business too; we’ve used him for a bunch of events.”
She nods as she unrolls her napkin, carefully placing it on her lap. I do the same, absolutely hating the awkwardness. She takes a sip of water, looking at the ceiling like it’s fascinating.
“Is something wrong?”
She looks at me. “No.”
“Something’s wrong.”
“I’m fine. Really.” She opens her menu. But something clearly isn’t fine because her jaw is all tight.
“Is it my family?”
She doesn’t look at me.
“Bex,” I say, “tell me what’s up.”
She bites her lip, stalling as she traces over the typography on the menu. “It’s just weird, okay? The reminder,” she says. “Your family is famous and you’re going to be too.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“I’m just some random person who happens to be eating dinner with you.”
“You’re not some random person.”
She finally looks at me. I exhale at the glimpse of her pretty brown eyes. “But I am. I’m not really with you, and I’m not saying I should be, or that… I want that, but we’re just not the same kind of person.” She sets down the menu, gesturing to the restaurant. “I’m not the kind of person who goes to places like this.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
“Of course you don’t, you have everything.” She reaches out to touch my wrist, turning my arm to show off the cufflinks. “And you’re going to keep having everything. I’m not saying you don’t deserve it, because you do. You’re talented at what you love. But that’s never going to be me, and I just remembered that.”
She retreats, but I softly take her hand, tracing over the lines on her palm. “What do you love?”
She shakes her head. “Fake boyfriends don’t get to know that.”
“So there is something.”
“Photography,” she says, flicking her gaze up to mine. “I’m a photographer. If I could do something else, it would be that.”
“But—”
“But I can’t, okay?” she interrupts. “Don’t. I know my future already.”
“Which is what?”
“The diner.”
“You could sell it. You’re majoring in business. You can do whatever you want.”
She laughs shortly. “Did I ask for your advice?”
I let her hand drop. “No.”
“Let’s just have dinner, okay?”
There’s a tired note in her voice that I hate, but I’m afraid if I continue to push, she’ll just get up and leave, which wouldn’t be good for the image we’re portraying to the world, so I drop it.
It’s for the best, anyway. If we’re too vulnerable with each other, it’ll just be that much harder to say goodbye whenever Bex decides Darryl isn’t a concern anymore.
I’m dreading the moment that comes.
16
BEX
I’m an idiot.
James saw that there was something wrong and tried to help, and I shut him down at every turn. If we were actually dating, I’d be a frontrunner for the worst girlfriend ever award. As it stands, I’m a shitty friend.
Is that what we are? Friends?
That doesn’t sit right with me. But what’s the alternative? He isn’t interested in dating, and I shouldn’t be, either. We can be friends while we’re pretending to date, but I’m delusional if I think for a second it could go further. Even if I wanted it—and I don’t—it wouldn’t work out. Rich quarterbacks with Hall of Fame fathers don’t go out with barely scraping by hash-slinging wannabe photographers like me.