He was quiet for a beat before shaking his head. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” he repeated, point-blank.
“Alright then.” I removed the joy from my voice, replacing it with the seriousness this deserved. “This isn’t tit for tat, alright? You’re doing this favor because you are the sole reason I’m in this web.”
He gave me a look. “Not the sole reason. But I’ll accept being the catalyst.”
“Call it what you want.”
“This is just until the wedding,” he reminded me. “Not something we’re going to drag on for your family’s entertainment.”
“Of course. Dating a guy like you for too long would be devastating.” I wasn’t confident he was buying it, but I needed to try to put in the effort. “I’ll have to get Haven to cleanse my spirit as soon as possible.”
“Exactly.” He smiled. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
14
Hart’s declarationof potential self-sacrifice in the name of friendship heightened the priority of my learning more about David. Knowledge of the middle school version of him wouldn’t cut it if we planned on becoming a believable couple. If a guy he met three years prior could boast about being best friends, I believed David could share decent aspects of his personality.
I made a list of questions for him, ranging from favorite food to opinions on the known universe. After our football stadium agreement, David promised to meet me on-campus Saturday.
David
Rivere at 6 PM. I only have an hour window.
It’s Saturday, you can’t give me two?
David
I’m leavingat 7
Fine.
I’d do everything I could to squeeze as much as possible out of him in those sixty minutes. On the way to the cafe, I got a text from him saying,
Need to reschedule. Come at 7.
I’m already on the way.
David
so turn around?
I scoffed and continued down my path. I’d ridden the bus for half an hour to get down here. By the time I took it back, I would only have fifteen minutes at my apartment before having to hop back on the bus again. There would be no turning back.
Rivere was an underground cafe right on the edge of campus. The cobblestone steps led into a stuffy room littered with stained wood tables and Pepsi on tap. Most of the tables were full, students welcoming the weekend with karaoke and dart boards. Everyone was in either jeans or sweats. My matching plaid skirt set aged me in a way I wasn’t sure I was ready to address.
My gaze landed on the prick of the hour tucked in a booth on the far end of the cafe. I poked my tongue against the inside of my cheek, letting out a disbelieving exhale. David was in his typical attire, a baggy gray sweatshirt and matching bottoms. A bunch of guys who were sipping beer and talking with their hands surrounded him. Every single one of them had a smile on their face, including Satan himself. My gaze narrowed when I saw him laugh, an honest-to-God, belly laugh, and I had half a mind to consider the existence of doppelgangers.
I recognized three of the guys at the table. Hart sat on the end, one foot out of the booth because he was too big to squeeze in completely. Nathaniel was next to him, chunky reading glasses on top of his head. Weston Briggs was next to him, a dirty blond quarterback who I’d seen a handful of times on campus. He was the type of beautiful old Hollywood used to produce in droves.
The other three guys with them look a couple of years older. They were dressed in grey polos and khakis. Despite their varying skin tones, they somehow look like clones of one another, in some kind of time-share company or religious order way.
I grabbed a stool at the bar and asked for a ginger ale before texting David:
You realize you’re not the only one with a schedule, right? Try warning me earlier next time.
