Page 3

CHAPTER 3

Charlie

Angel’s —Cami, Alana, and I’s favorite Mexican restaurant—is busy for a Tuesday night, but I’m not complaining. The noise and buzz of conversations surrounding me make it easier to slip into the crowd with less chance of being noticed. I wouldn’t say I’m a celebrity, I try to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible, but there are people who recognize me in public. I love that the Rangers’ fans are so supportive, but I hate making a scene.

There was a time in my life when I’d loved being the center of attention. I was always itching for the popular position in school. Quarterback, captain, student body president, you name it and I was gunning for it. But that was before. Now I prefer to sit in the booth in the back corner alone with my people and not be bothered.

I notice as soon as Cami walks in, because it’s impossible not to. Her personality fills up a room and forces everyone to turn their heads, as evidenced by the fact that the four tables closest to the front door all turn at her entrance. She speaks loudly, a smile splitting her face as she says hello to the hostess, Sierra, and after exchanging a few words she makes her way back to our booth.

“Charles,” she says as she slides in across from me. We started this silly little nickname game a few years ago. I have no idea why, but one day she walked up to me and called me Charles. I grumbled at her that it wasn’t my name, and in true Cami fashion she decided she would stick with it after realizing it annoyed me. I’ve gotten used to it, it would feel weird not doing it now.

“Cassandra. No Alana today?” Not only did Alana not make the walk with her after work, but she also typically sits across from me in the booth, where Cami is currently sitting.

She and Alana work together. We became a trio in high school when I needed a soft place to land, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

“Nah, she said she had too much to do to get ready for Paris. You know her, perfectionist control freak and all that jazz.”

She reaches toward the middle of the table and snags a chip from the basket, then dips it into the queso and takes a bite, moaning in pleasure as she chews.

“That is so forking good.”

“Forking?” I ask, wondering if maybe I misheard her. She tends to have a bit of a potty mouth. She doesn’t care what others think of her, so she just lets it fly. It’s something I admire about her.

“Trying not to cuss as much. They say it on The Good Place .”

“Incredible TV show, but why are you cutting back on the cussing?”

She shrugs and I don’t push it. That’s another thing about her, she doesn’t always have elaborate reasons behind the things she does. Sometimes she just feels like cussing less, so she does it.

“So, how was work? And your trip?” I ask.

“Work was good. Just getting settled in after being away on Friday and making sure everything is ready to go for the next issue. The trip was fine. Colette found her dress so that’s good.”

She keeps eating without meeting my eyes and I know that means it must’ve been a bit of a hard trip. I’ve known Cami for awhile, so I know spending time with her mom can be hard for her sometimes. Her relationship with her mom is a good one all things considered, nothing like mine with my parents, but she can be critical of her and I know that’s hard for Cami.

“How was your mom?” I say after debating whether or not to ask the question, then ultimately deciding to.

“Oh you know, same song, different verse. She had plenty to say about me “flitting” from hobby to hobby and my lack of settling down being seen as “immature” to men. Other than that, peachy.” She says the two words with air quotes and I try not to let my unhappiness show on my face. Cami is a different kind of girl. She’s in her late twenties, and has a beautiful figure and gorgeous blonde locks that flow down to her back. She’s petite at just about five foot two, has a quirky and bright personality, and you always know when she enters a room because her signature pineapple and vanilla scent follows her.

“I’m sorry, Cam. You know none of that stuff is true.” I reach over and touch her hand, bringing her attention back to me. I think I notice a watery sheen to her hazel eyes when she looks up at me, but it’s gone as soon as it appears. She clears her throat and a wobbly smile touches her lips.

“I’m over it.” She waves her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “Tell me about your weekend. I watched the game, looked like it went well.”

She doesn’t understand much about hockey, but she’s always been to every game she can attend with Alana right by her side. This weekend we played the New Jersey Devils and won three to one. It was a solid game.

“Yeah it did, I think we’ve figured out our stride. How to work together and all that.”

“You still refusing to be friends with anyone on the team?”

Now it’s my turn to shrug, not really wanting to talk about it, but of course she pushes anyway.

“You would probably hit an even better stride if you hung out with the guys off of the ice. I know you’re hesitant after what happened in high school.” My eyes shoot up to her, suddenly afraid she knows. But I can tell she doesn’t; she’s just making a general reference. I take a deep breath and force the panic in my chest to ease as she keeps talking. “But these are good guys. You’ve been around them for seven years at this point. You have to trust them and let them in sometime.”

“Don’t remind me it’s been seven years, Sophie is doing that enough these days,” I say, trying to guide the conversation away from making friends. I didn’t think, though, about the topic I was bringing up. This is another one I’d rather not touch right now, but I’m the one who mentioned it.

“What do you mean? Is she talking about your contract?”

I sigh, not wanting to talk about this.

“Yeah, she thinks I need to work on my public image if I want to stay in New York.”

“Your public image? What do you mean? You don’t have one.”

“That seems to be the problem.”

We pause briefly to place our orders, then continue.

“So she wants you to put yourself out there more?” I can tell she’s determined to help me by the look on her face, and I need to shut it down quickly. I don’t want her help and I don’t even know if I’m going to actually go through with operation make the people love you .

“Amongst other things, but I’ll figure it out. I’ve got it.”

“Well, sure but I can?—”

“I said I’ve got it, Cami,” I say firmly, but she needs to understand that this is my problem to fix. I’ve never liked going to others to ask for help and I don’t want to now. It’s a last resort, and one that I’m already coming to terms with in regards to having a fake girlfriend.

I almost tell her about that, too, but then decide not to. I don’t want her dragged into it. I can see the rejection sting in her eyes, but she recovers just as quickly, moving on to another topic. If there’s anyone in the world I would share this with besides my sister, it would be our best friend. I just don’t want her to have to carry my burdens.

“So, how are you feeling about your sister leaving?” she asks as our waiter brings our food. I’m grateful for a topic change as I dig in.

“I’m a little nervous for her if I’m honest. And I don’t know how I feel about that Alex guy.”

“Alex is great, and I think they’ll work well together. I also think he has a thing for her, but she disagrees.”

The protective nature within me rises and makes me want to go and meet this guy, then threaten him with serious harm if he does anything to hurt my sister, but I know that isn’t my place. They haven’t even established anything beyond a friendship, so I force the feeling down.

“Well, if you think he’s great then he must be.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or serious.”

“A little of both.”

She throws a chip at me and we laugh and talk through the rest of our dinner. When we finish, I walk with her a few blocks to her apartment building and make sure she gets inside, then I head back to my car.