A short struggle passes between them before Seth sighs and says, “Fine. I’ll put in the order. PB and J burgers and beer good for everyone?” He doesn’t wait for confirmation before disappearing.
“This table looks good,” Logan says, and pulls back a chair for me to sit.
I perch on it then turn to study him, feeling confused. This is weird. Like we’re on a date. He looks outrageously handsome in his black button-down and fitted jeans. Does he always dress like this, or just for dinner? I refuse to entertain the thought that he may have dressed up for me.
God, and he looks great without clothes too. A perfect body, with strong, powerful shoulders, amazing arms. A fucking six-pack. Karma is cruel.
It occurs to me that, although we “dated” as two poor teenagers in a small town, I can’t remember ever going on a date with him. We didn’t even go to junior prom together, since I couldn’t afford a dress and Logan hated to dance. Instead, we stole some of his dad’s beer and condoms and broke into the long-abandoned shoe store off 1stStreet to mess around. I swiped a pair of left-behind pantyhose stockings as we left to commemorate the experience.
Not that this is a date. I have to remember that he—begrudgingly, reasonably—doesn’t even want to be seen with me. He made that very clear when outlining the pros of eating here—no locals, no one who might recognize me. Asshole. As hypocritical as it is, it’s one thing formeto feel ashamed, but it’s another forhimto feel that way about being seen with me. Why help me at all if I disgust him that much? I don’t need his pity.
That stiffens my spine and my resolve. I’m not here for Logan; I’m here because I’m stranded.
I’m not giving back the jacket though. It’s too cold for that level of pride.
“Did you ever imagine us sitting at a place like this in Sagebrush?” Logan asks.
“No.”
“It’s crazy how much has changed.”
“Yes.” I immediately waver at the shame of my rude, short answers. It’s one thing to say in my mind that I’ll ignore him but… Yes, he insulted me, but he’s letting me stay at his house for free. Maybe I should offer to pay?
I can’t afford that. Stuck in Sagebrush with an overheated van that I can’t afford to fix…it already teeters too close to disaster. Homelessness would push this into catastrophe territory.
“You’re not even curious about how this came about?”
Pride is a luxury of the wealthy. I sigh. “Yes, I’m curious,” I say begrudgingly.
He smiles at my yielding.
Seth reappears and drops pints of beer onto the table before dropping himself into a chair.
“Seth with beer! The hero we need returns.” I take a large sip of my lager.
Seth smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re the returning hero,” he says, and it sounds just mocking enough that I stiffen. I can tell, despite his manners, that he is not happy to see me.
“More like the prodigal son?” Logan says.
“Naw, poor metaphor,” I protest. “I’m not returning for good.” I make sure to make eye contact with Seth as I say this, and his expression relaxes slightly.
“But Seth already put in an order for the fatted calf,” Logan jokes.
“True,” I allow, smiling. “I’ll be a prodigal son for a burger.”
“So tell us where you’ve been,” Seth says.
“A bit of everywhere,” I hedge.
“But where do you live now?”
“I basically live wherever I want,” I say. “I’m a dirtbag.”
I laugh a little at their expressions. Both seem to want to protest the negative-sounding word on my behalf.
“It’s a title I hold with pride,” I explain. “It’s like being a beach bum, but for rock climbers. I live out of my van, Clunker, and travel around to climbing destinations. Chasing the waves, if the waves were walls.”
“How long have you been doing that?” Logan asks.
