We return to our table and make small talk. My brain feels foggier from the drink. One by one, my colleagues wish me well and go home. Two hours later, it’s just me and Lindsey. So much for that half hour.
She places her hand on my arm and doesn’t move it.
I respond by wrapping an arm around her waist.
She turns in and nuzzles my neck.
I lower my face, she lifts hers, and we kiss.
There aren’t fireworks, but I don’t think I believe in those anymore.
We leave together, and I know how this will go. This isn’t the first time I’ve played this game since I came back to Chicago after spending some time down in Arizona eight months ago.
I’ll close my eyes and pretend the girl in my arms isher.
The pain of opening them and seeing it’s not Lennon will be worth it, because for the tiniest, most glorious slice of time,it is her.
She’s still my Lennon.
She’s the person who has owned my heart for longer than high schoolers have been alive.
And in that brief slice of time, she’s not my best friend’s girl.
She’s mine.
* * *
One step closer.I’m really doing it. It would be hard to turn around now. I’m through security and by the gate where my flight will soon be called for boarding.
Instead of settling into a chair near the gate, I head for a place with a large, block-lettered sign that readsJohnnie’s Pub.It’s close enough that I should be able to hear my flight when it’s called.
I grab a seat, hook my backpack over the back of the swiveling chair, and make eye contact with the bartender. He hands over a menu and I quickly place my order, and less than thirty seconds later he’s setting an ice-cold beer down in front of me. I nod my thanks and take a sip.
People-watching is the best in airports, so I lean back and look around the place.
A man in a sleek, expensive suit sits three seats away from me. He’s probably about my age but bald, with AirPods in his ears that communicate to everyone he’s not interested in small talk.
Across the way, seated in a booth, is a man and a woman with two very rambunctious kids. As I watch, the little girl sticks her tongue out at the little boy, and he bares his teeth and gets in her face. The mom leans over, inserting one flattened palm between them before they can get physical.
I turn my head, and that’s when I see her. Long, honey-blonde hair frames her beautiful face. She’s on the other side of the square-shaped bar, and I can only really see her if I lean to my left, which looks embarrassingly obvious.
A worried ‘v’ sits in between her eyebrows as she looks down at her hands, watching herself shred a napkin into tiny pieces.
What is it that has her so upset she’s shredding napkins? Or who?
An odd feeling rips across my chest. It feels a bit like fire, an angry possession I have no right to feel.
I’m gallant on a normal day, but this gorgeous woman whose name I don’t even know has me wanting to throw armor over my V-neck and joggers and slay dragons.
Shit, she’s looking at me.
My first instinct is to avert my gaze, but it’s too late and looking away now would be awkward. She’s clearly caught me looking, and judging by the turned down position of her lips, she doesn’t appreciate my blatant staring.
My traitorous lips do the opposite of hers. They turn up automatically. Into a full grin. As if I needed this to get worse, I’m giving her my mega-watt, you-know-you-trust-me smile I use on juries. Correction: Iusedto use on juries.
She makes a face, something between surprise and disgust, and picks her phone up from the bar top. Now her gaze is trained on the phone, her fingers swiping, and her point is made as clear as the businessman with the AirPods.Don’t talk to me.
I sit up straight in my chair, making it so I can’t see her. My food arrives and I get out my phone, scrolling through the news headlines while I eat. A smart man would’ve learned his lesson and kept his eyes trained on his phone.
