Why would he see him? Why?
Richard goes back to grazing his finger under the prices like he actually cares for them.
"Tiramisu... Panna Cotta..." he mutters under his breath.
I narrow my eyes. He's either torturing me or he's too good at pressing my buttons without having a clue.
I tilt my face so he notices me and try not to sound toopushy. "Why did you see him?"
"My elbow," he says finally. "It's been better, but Ben texted me two days ago that he could push me in. I thought, why not."
I blink. My pulse trips. "What? He has your number?"
"I got his. A while ago. After we met them in the lobby."
"How did you get it?"
Richard throws me a smirk, like I insulted his IQ. "Nice guy. Good doctor. Made sure I got every test. It's nothing serious."
"Huh." I sound dumb. Must look dumb. "That's good to know. Just be careful."
Finally, he closes the damn menu and smiles faintly. "Yeah. We're playing tennis with them Sunday."
"Excuse me—what?!" My nails dig into the wooden chair. "What?"
Richard shrugs, perfectly calm. "What do you mean what? We don't have plans. Thought it'd be fun."
"You should've asked me," I snap, as sharp as I meant it.
He narrows his eyes, offended. "What's that tone? Is there a problem?"
Yes, Richard. There's a fucking problem. I kissed the man who's going to serve balls at us.
A major problem.
A problem with capital letters, italics, underlines.
"No. No problem," I say, swallowing the scream, but still glaring.
He pulls up his sleeve and shows me the compression around his arm. "He gave me this expensive compressor for free,had two tennis rackets in there, so we started talking about how we always wanted to go. You wanted to start going again, no?"
"I mean, yeah but—"
"He's apparently very good at it."
He's not "very good." He's pro-level. Competed for the state when he was young and mostly won, but I keep that to myself.
"He invited us and it would've been rude to decline at that point," Richard explains in that lazy tone.
I nod, lips tight. "Right. Always rude to decline."
Richard tilts his head and his eyes narrow. "Did something happen between you and him in the desert?"
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I lean back in the chair, hoping my face isn't red alert. My nails dig so hard into the chair that I think I might gouge the wood.
