Levi: Hey, this is really bad timing but I have a prior commitment, so I have to go silent for a bit.
Oh. My. God. Is he for real? He’s telling me when he won’t be able to write me back. How cute is he?
Me: A prior commitment? You sound like you’re writing an excuse for someone.
Levi: It’s dating show related.
An invisible pin bursts my bubble. I take the pillow behind me and scream into it before plopping back on the bed as dramatically as possible. Here I was playing the does he, doesn’t he game, and I totally forgot he’s dating other women. Is confusion a side effect of the pain meds they have me on?
Good grief. I stuff the pillow under me and play back every interaction I had with Levi today. Regardless of being convinced both one way, and then the other, there’s no denying he made me feel better.
So, even if he is the playboy everyone thinks he is, Levi is just what the doctor ordered. If he wants to be my friend, I’ll let him.
6
Levi
The candle flame catches on the necklace around Andrea’s throat, and I have to swallow the food in my mouth with more difficulty than normal. Though, out of all the women who’ve been involved in the dating show, Andrea is a good one. She doesn’t love the sound of her own voice as much as Kris and will let me get a word in edgewise.
Despite that, I’m not doing much talking. All I can think about is the phone in my pocket and the direct communication I have with Tab now.
She never answered when I told her that my commitment was the dating show. It felt wrong to lie, but now I’m second guessing myself. I may have pissed her off. Then again, she may not think anything.
Which I have to change. Tab needs to be thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about her.
“You’re quiet,” Andrea muses, and there is zero hint of Kris’ condescending tone.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“I know what you mean. This is a lot.”
She gives me a small smile, and I can’t help but smile back even though we’re talking about two very different things. I wish I could pull her aside and tell her what I really think of this show. Pretty sure that breaks a few different sections of the contract though. McNally owns me right now, unless I want to do something drastic and possibly very costly.
“I watched your game the other day. I’d like to sit down with you sometime so you can explain the rules to me because I am lost.” She laughs, but it doesn’t have the same ring to it that Tab’s does. It doesn’t warm me up, or make me feel like I accomplished something.
I wrestle out a look that hopefully appears somewhat positive instead of the “I’m sorry, I’m not going to do that” that wants to pop out of my mouth.
What I can picture is sitting back with Tab, the Sunday game on the TV, the coffee table loaded with snacks and beers. It would be like being at home.
I literally cannot get this girl out of my head. Before seeing her at the café, it was easier to navigate, but knowing I could be talking to her right now instead of Andrea, is making me fidgety. I can’t focus, and looking across the table doesn’t help. Andrea is all wrong. She doesn’t have hair the color of leather and eyes the color of the bluest sky.
“Levi, are you okay?”
“I hate to do this, Andrea, but I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll have to cut this a little short.” I catch the waiter as he walks by and ask for the check. He has to sidestep a camera to do so, but he gets the job done.
The lights feel concentrated on me, lit up like a criminal who’s trying to escape prison. One of those high-powered spotlights, tracking me across the yard. Sweat starts to form on my forehead.
I fill out the check and sign then slip my card back into my wallet. Standing, Andrea follows after. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Oh hell.
I let her slip her arm through mine as we navigate around the cameras, microphones, and lighting they set up around the table. A single cameraman follows us out of the restaurant while we get weird looks from the other patrons dining in tonight. Some even take out their phones and take pictures.
My stomach squeezes, and for half a second, I wonder if I’m actually sick. I extricate myself from Andrea when we hit the front door, and I walk quickly to my car, her heels tapping along the concrete next to me.
“Maybe I should give you a ride home?” she asks.
“No,” I say too forcefully, then backtrack. I take a deep breath and let it out. “Sorry, Andrea. I just wonder if I’m getting sick, and I don’t want to get you sick.”
