Page 9

Evie

Rob is nice. Very, very nice. Our pre-dinner and post-dinner conversations are pleasant. The dinner itself is ... friendly. He has manners. He smiles.

I like that he didn ’ t go overboard with his choice of a restaurant. The casual dinner with booths, candles, loud laughter and bar shouts, and the sports commentary blaring from the television is perfect for a ‘ get to know each other ’ date.

I will be a millionaire if I get a penny for how often he asks if I'm okay.

It's unfair to him, but my mind keeps drifting to theSlip n Falldrama. I can't stop reminiscing and laughing about it.

And dreading Mrs. Langford finding out about it.

Sarah and Parker picked themselves off the floor looking worse than drowned rats, clothes, and hair in disarray, and with a lobster pinned to Sarah's buttocks.

I stepped away from the scene unscathed.

Wild took care of the waiter and the damages.

I almost felt sorry for Sarah when she had to beg Parker to do something about her appearance —no way she could go home to Mrs. Langford looking like that. Wild knew not to make a scene after he joined our table for me. But Parker, who knew how our family worked, didn't think to help Sarah.

Rob clears his throat.

I glance up with G-U-I-L-T spelled over my face. "Sorry."

"I think." He laughs. "We're going to be good friends."

Covering my eyes, I laugh at his honest admission of our lack of chemistry. "How good a friendship are we talking about here?"

"Good enough to still text each other after this. I hope?"

Thinking of Sarah and Parker, I say sincerely, "One can't have too many true friends."

"Bad experience?"

"Very bad," I confirm. "Near evil."

"I can do better than that." He gives a sorrowful sigh. "Mine is tragic."

"Ouch."

He smiles. "I'm dealing with it. Slowly. There's no hurry."

I smile back. "Me too."

We talk about the immediate heartache following the betrayal. Like me, Rob also had his 'facing my mistake' moment. Rob is handsome, friendly, and sensible. I know we will make good friends. Oh, how I wish we had chemistry. He's so easy to talk to. We don't even need much. Just a tiny amount, and we can sail into the sunset.

But there's nothing, nada. Zilch. He's like the younger brother I never had.

I sigh.

He lets out a louder sigh.

Leaning forward, I whisper, "Maybe chemistry is overrated?"

He props his cheek on his palm. "I wish. He was my best friend. They cheated for years because they couldn't help it. Want to know the tragic part? They're perfect together. I mean titanic level perfect."

"Ouch." At least I saw Parker and Sarah 'go down' together in a hail of lobsters. "But see where the Titanic ended up."

"Not this time." Rob gives me a look that sends my senses on red alert. "You and Wild are very close."

"He's like a family friend."

He winces. "That's like the deepest, darkest part of the friendzone. I feel sorry for him."

Does Wild get hounded by the 'you two are so close' brigade as much as I do?

"But," he continues, "I get the feeling, no—tiniest inkling, he's not happy about this date."

I shrug. "You'll be wrong.”

He makes a skeptical sound.

"I used to have a painful crush. Maybe not painful.” I revise as the memories come rushing back—the cute proposal and Wild's grave consideration amidst Charlie's laughter. Even his simple explanation about how eight-year-olds can't be thinking of marriage was cute. Then came the painful confession when I was eighteen. Looking back through more experienced eyes, I try to read Wild's expression. Embarrassed? No. Pained? Maybe?

I shake my head. "I've done a perfect job of burning and burying those feelings. I don't think anything's left."

“ Perfect?” He arches an eyebrow.

“ Perfect,” I repeat.

As we drive home, Charlie calls for him to swing by the house. Rob is surprised and apologetic.

"Chemistry or not. I wanted this to be a real date."

"I can wait with you, and you can still drive me home if you're not too tired."

Relieved, he grins. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"We can start working on our friendship sooner," I joke.

Kristyn and Charlie live in a modest house on an impressive property in Chapel Hill. Rob pushes his small car at great speed up the long drive. I'm laughing at his antics when we pull to a stop. I don't notice the figure seated on the front porch. I'm teasing Rob about his love for sports cars and speed when the door is wrenched open on my side.

Wild helps me out of the car. "I bet your date wasn't as exciting as ours was on Wednesday night."

An image of the lobster plastered to Sarah's buttocks immediately pops into my head. I burst into laughter. I turn to Rob to share the laugh, and he hits me with a knowing smirk.

Rob chuckles, and I give Wild a look. On closer inspection, he looks rough around the edges. His smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Rob gets a nod. Can a nod be rude? Terse? Sharp? "I will take her home."

He's dismissive and something else I can't put my finger on.

"Sure," I say. Between Rob's annoying smirk and Wild acting like a cave dweller, the last thing I want is to create a mountain out of a molehill.

Still, my anger is a tight coil underneath. It's self-directed. For some reason, I don't feel right rejecting Wild in front of Rob and making him lose in whatever invisible game they're playing.

I shouldn't care. But I do.

Rob raises a pointed eyebrow.

I should put an end to this--whatever it is. A sentence should do it.

I don't.

Wild's never acted this way before. I have a list of excuses ready for him: he has training, the trolls are getting to him, a snag in the contract talks.

Usually, he would have signed for and darted off to the next club on his list. Instead, he's here, lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to come home. And he is throwing our closeness in Rob's face.

He tried to get between Rob and me. It doesn't matter that there's nothing for him to get between. It's that he feels the need to do it.

Wild doesn't make small talk on the drive.

Good. I'm so tightly wound. Even hearing his voice will be enough to set me off. I press my hands flat against my thighs and follow the count of his fingers on the wheel. Not soon enough for me, he stops in front of my house. My home. The miracle of having my home is not enough to douse my anger.

My fingers are shaking too badly to undo my seat belt. Wild gently pulls my hands away. His hands are like a brand around my wrists, making me angrier. I wait impatiently as he deals with the seat belt.

With my fists clenched, I focus on breathing through my nose and controlling my temper. This is Wild. He’s too important for me to be careless with my words.

The darkness and the silence are like a comfort blanket around us. Wild is still. It suddenly starts raining, tiny showers hitting the car's roof and lending the atmosphere a weight it doesn't deserve. It's like adding inverted commas to a word.

Am I overreacting? My heart says no. After walking on eggshells around people I called family, I like having a sure footing. In all my relationships, I like knowing where I stand. Casual friends or family? Close friends or more?

Me and Wild? We already have our lines drawn.

I don't want him smudging it.

"I don't appreciate what you just did," I start. "Whatever you're trying to do, I need you to stop."

I wait for him to say something. He's quiet and still, not moving a muscle. Fine. "You crossed a line today,” I say tightly. “ Don't do it again."

There's a mountain of words in my belly.

You try to come off as calm, but I know you're stressed about basketball. The media, your fans, and your critics are on your case. You have your standards to measure up to. And the contract talks. I get it.

I don't say it. I reach for the door.

"I'm sorry," he says when I'm about to close the door.

I breathe easier. We will be fine. "Goodnight."

With every step to my door, my conviction grows. We will be fine. He's still in the car, waiting for me to get inside. I try a final wave. I can't tell if he waves back.

It's weird.

We are not weird.