“So,” he said, tugging off his jacket again, “how am I doing so far as a fake date?”
I gave him a look. “You get points for showing up. That’s already a better track record than most guys these days.”
He grinned. “So, I’m winning?”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Feels like one.”
He leaned back on his stool, stretching slightly. His shirt pulled just tight enough to remind me that he had, at some point, become someone with shoulders. Broad ones. Not that I was noticing. Or caring.
“Well then, you’re winning. Your competition so far has been your sister.”
“I’ll take it.”
I reached for my water glass before noting my fingers again.
Chuckling at my predicament, Josh handed me a napkin. He looked perfectly at ease, like this wasn’t weird. Like none of it was weird.
“Thanks.” I took the napkin from him, trying in a somewhat-decent effort to wipe the sauce from my fingertips, but really, I think I was just making it worse. “Honestly, I don’t think I can count this as a practice date anymore.”
Josh smiled at me around another bite of his own dozen wings that he was almost finished with already. “Why not? I’m sure having a good time.”
“I would never order wings on a first date.”
He looked me over. “Yeah, maybe it’s not the best look.”
“Hey,” I chastised, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.
He shook his head as another cheer went up around the bar, and we turned our heads back toward the television screen hanging up behind the rows of liquor bottles and sloping garland someone had attached to either side with hand-tied red velvet bows.
“This is a fun place,” I said.
“Not too shabby. Another teacher at school brought me here after I survived my first week a while back. Food is good for bar food and the drinks don’t make you hate life.”
“A positive,” I agreed.
“I thought so too.”
As the game on the TV cut to a commercial break, a soft buzz of conversation rose around the bar. It was background noise really—because Josh turned his full attention to me. No distractions. No half watching the screen.
His eyes did a slow sweep over me, like he was trying to figure out something. Like I was unfamiliar and familiar, all at once.
“I never got to ask you,” he said finally.
“Ask me what?”
“What you’ve been up to the past few years.” His tone was casual, but there was something behind it. Something heavier. “It’s been a while. How have you been, Brielle?”
He said my name softly, like it belonged to him. Just like he used to. And just like then, it knocked the air from my lungs.
I gave him a wary smile. “Besides the obvious?”
He tilted his head, amused. “Avoiding me.”
I let out a small scoff. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
Josh raised his eyebrows.
