But his sister, Peyton, is.
After greeting my dad and Mr. Selkirk, I take the empty seat next to Peyton since it’s the only available one at our table.
Well, this is awkward. It shouldn’t be too bad, though. She was a year behind me in school so we know a lot of the same people. We can swap boring stories about who’s dating who and who dropped out of college while our dads talk shop. It’s not my ideal Tuesday night, but I can handle a few hours of this.
I take that back. No, I can’t. I’ve been here for five minutes and I’m ready to leave. No eggplant parm on the planet is good enough to put up with this bullshit. Mr. Selkirk was eitherdrinking at the bar for an hour before I arrived or he’s got a flask in his pocket. The guy’s tanked already and we haven’t even ordered drinks yet. Nobody else seems to care, though. My dad’s bitching that we haven’t seen our server yet and Peyton is too busy pawing at my arm to notice that her dad smells like a liquor cabinet.
“Do they custom-make your uniforms?” she asks, sounding more like a baby than a twenty-year-old woman. I don’t remember her voice being this high pitched or nasally, but I never really paid much attention to Peyton or her brother, so who knows? Maybe she always sounded like she had a cold and then sucked in a bunch of helium. “Your muscles are really big.”
“Uh, they take our measurements, and find the jersey that fits,” I say, though I honestly have no idea exactly how it works. Liza would know, of course. I just put on whatever is hanging in my cubby.
“Where the hell is our waitress?” my dad grouses, looking around like he’ll be able to tell which person in black pants and a white button down is assigned to our table.
“It’s fine,” I tell him, pinching the bridge of my nose because I can already feel a headache coming on. “The hostess already stopped by to tell us they’re short staffed tonight. They had to call people in, so I’m sure someone will take our order soon.”
“Why couldn’t the hostess take the damn drink order? She works here, doesn’t she? How difficult is it to get a few drinks from the bar? And where’s our bread? Places like this used to give you a basket of bread as soon as you sat down,” Dad grumbles, still scanning the room like he’s about to sniff out our server and pull them out of their super secret hiding place.
I follow my dad’s line of sight and see the hostess pointing in our direction. Is it too much to ask that the restaurant is full and they don’t have enough servers to accommodate our party? Andthen we all have to go home and pretend this weird little dinner party never got started. Sounds reasonable to me.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t magically happen. Predictably, the dinner continues just the way it started. My dad continues his bitching, Peyton keeps ogling me, and Mr. Selkirk clumsily reaches for one of the water glasses on the table. He doesn’t succeed in picking it up, which is a shame, because the guy should definitely be hydrating. Instead, he knocks it over and the water splashes all over Peyton’s shirt. Her lip starts to tremble and for a second, I’m afraid she’s going to burst into tears. That’s the last thing we need on this shit sundae of a dinner. But before any tears can fall from her eyes and risk streaking mascara down her face, a lightbulb seems to go off in her brain as she turns to me with a sad smile.
“It’s so cold in here,” she says, suddenly starting to shiver. “Do you think I could borrow your jacket?”
“Uh, yeah,” I stammer. “I guess so.” I don’t really need it because it is not, in fact, cold in this restaurant, and I’ve got a long-sleeved crew on, so it’s not like I’m sitting here bare-chested. I peel the jacket from my body and help her drape it over her shoulders. It looks ridiculous on her, but she seems happy as she wraps the fabric around her body like a blanket.
“Mmmm,” she practically purrs. “All better.”
I open my mouth to tell her it’s no problem, but I don’t manage to get the words out because I’m frozen in a state of shock.
Everything happens all at once, like some awful, slow-motion horror movie.
First, Peyton leans up and presses a big, wet kiss to my cheek. The move is both unnecessary and unwanted, but I stay frozen in time because something even worse than a slimy, unsolicited kiss is happening right now.
Liza’s standing at our table in black pants, a white button down, and a clean white apron. Her long brown hair is pulled up in some complicated bun-braid thing, and the only makeup on her beautiful face is lip balm.
She’s not supposed to be here right now.
I’m not supposed to be here right now.
But the look on her face tells me this reality, and not a nightmare, no matter how much I wish it were.
Somehow, we manage to place our orders, though I’ve got no clue what’s actually going to end up on my plate when it’s served to me. Between the fact that Peyton ordered it for me, and Liza’s the one running to the kitchen, I could be getting a serving of deep fried squid rolled in first with a side of rosemary potatoes for dinner.
I feel like I’m on a runaway train bound for hell and there’s no brake. Unable to stand any more of Peyton’s inane conversation, Mr. Selkirk’s slurred words, or my dad’s complaints, I excuse myself from the table to use the restroom.
It only takes a minute of lurking by the kitchen door to spot Liz. Her eyes narrow when she sees me and I can feel the annoyance roll off her in waves.
“How was your nap?” she asks, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle in her apron.
I rub the back of my neck as I wince. “ I tried to sleep, but then?—”
“But then you decided it would be much more fun to go on a date?”
“It’s not a date,” I say. There’s no one I’d rather be with tonight—or any night—than Liza.
“Does she know that?” Liza asks. “Because your dinner companion looks pretty cozy wearing your jacket and snuggling up to you like you’re her favorite stuffed animal.”
“It’s not like that,” I say, shaking my head. “She’s only wearing my jacket because she got water on her shirt. I know it probably looks bad, but it’s not that deep?—”
