“And you didn’t want to be preoccupied?”
“I’m good here,” he says. “I need a breather, and we have that thing tomorrow night.”
She looks to me. “What thing?”
“An after-party in Dallas,” Tack speaks up.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, we probably won’t be going,” I inform her.
“The fuck?” Tack asks as I stare back at him in warning.
“What am I missing now?” Natalie asks me directly, and I don’t reply because the answer is different for each question, and I don’t want to go there tonight since she seems to be on edge.
“Nothing. What are you hungry for?” I lean in, brushing her arm with mine, doing my best to put her at ease. “I don’t think they serve crab legs here.”
Her lips gradually start to lift as the waitress arrives, dropping us dark beers and water. “I’ll give you guys a minute.”
Natalie thanks her and turns to me. “You ordered for me?”
“Yeah, it’s cool if you don’t want it. It’s last call soon.”
“No, thank you, I do,” she says, glancing around, “I was wondering why we were the only ones in here.”
“No one else is here because your very close friend closed the fucking place down for you,” Tack interrupts as I full-on glare at him. He stands and jabs a tattooed thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to get us some shots before they close up. Order me a French dip?”
I nod as Natalie turns to me. “You closed the restaurant down?”
“A bit of an exaggeration. There wasn’t many dining. I’ve got this,” I reiterate, “so stop worrying.”
She studies me as I scan the menu. More than anything, I want her at ease, like we were. The fucked-up part is that the clock is ticking just like the last time. A clock I decided to kickstart the second she closed the door in my face in Seattle. Sadly, it is her unearthed fears for herself that’ve aided in my decision. I don’t want to die with regrets at any fucking age, and I sure as hell don’t plan on letting this crazy chemistry and undeniable connection go to waste if I have any say in it. I’ve never been so drawn to another human being, and I’ll be damned if I give up without a fight. Even if she plans on spending the weekend letting me down gently, by the time she leaves, she’ll know exactly how much those days meant to me.
If my efforts prove futile and this goes nowhere—which seems inevitable—I can’t fucking seem to stop wanting to explore it, explore more of her.
As crazy as the last two months have been for me professionally, I’ve spent a large part of all the combined moments quiet and otherwise absorbed by thoughts of her.
“What’s up?” I ask as she traces her coaster with her finger.
“Nothing, I’m good.”
“You spoke to your dad,” I conclude, her resistance too familiar, too easy to read.
“Yeah,” she floats her eyes around the table before lifting them to me. The purple around her irises hits like a fucking lightning bolt to the chest as memories of us without a trace of Nate Butler come to the forefront. I grip her hand beneath the table, and she gently pulls it out of reach.
“Already?”
“No, not already, always have been. Facts are facts.” She lifts her voice as Tack approaches, fully armed. “And the fact is, tonight, you all ruled that stage, and I want to celebrate that.” She taps the neck of her beer against mine.
“I’ll drink to that,” Tack adds, tabling a fistful of shots. We each take one and tap glasses before tossing them back.
As if out of thin air, Syd appears with a tumbler full of liquor and vape smoke clouding around him. The man is a tank and seemingly unflappable. Although we’ve become acquainted enough, he’s still a bit of an enigma to me. His preference for the finer things is the only real defining thing about him so far. That and the fact that he’s a beast on the bass.
“Another?” Tack asks the table.
I shake my head as Natalie nods and Tack ushers Syd away from the table to accompany him.
“…feeling like a third wheel,” Tack says while they’re still within earshot, and I clamp my eyes shut briefly to summon more patience. I had no plan other than to capture Natalie and demand a conversation. But the discomfort—thanks to the need for explanation of what we are and aren’t—makes that simple tactic far more difficult to execute.
“He thinks we’re together,” Natalie utters.