David shook his head in disagreement. “The only difference between you and me is that I don’t mind working for it. But that’s only because you’re calling the shots.”
“Well, of course,” I said, pretending like this was all obvious, known, and understood.
We were silent for a moment. I was lost in thought and the anxious ‘what-ifs’ buzzing in my chest. David seemed unbothered, taking his last turn into the parking lot of an Italian chain restaurant. It wasn’t until he put the car in park that he said, “So are you in? Driving lessons.”
I tried to smile as I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s worth your time.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?” There was something earnest and wanting in his voice. I wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt.
“Alright,” I whispered, too confused to protest. “David?”
His hand paused before he opened the door.
“Why is this the simplest and hardest thing we’ve done?” I gestured between him and me.
David smiled and gave a lazy shrug. “Because it’s fun. It’s us.”
The restaurant was dimly lit,a slight contrast to the bustling energy of patrons inside. Kids ran back and forth from table to table, occasionally knocking into David and me as we made our way through the building. People left chairs pushed out, making the walkway an obstacle course. And the high volume of classical music made me wonder whether they wanted to encourage people to go to clear the traffic jam at the hostess’s booth.
“David,” Weston greeted, finding us meandering through the throng of people.
“Where’s everyone?” David scanned the place in disapproval.
“That building beyond the courtyard.” Weston pointed toward the stained-glass doors, propped open, letting the breeze in and the smell of pasta out.
“Didn’t realize the party was this big.” David’s words nearly got buried beneath the squeals of rampant grade-schoolers. But his friend didn’t notice, turning his attention to me.
“Yara.” Weston smiled. “It’s good to see you. Glad you’re here.”
And it actually sounded like he meant it. I returned his smile, a sense of calm settling over my shoulder that at least one person wouldn’t side-eye my attendance. Being a football player’s (fake) girlfriend came with expectations. The players’ partners were their extensions, potential chess pieces in a grand marketing story.
“Next time we scrimmage, you’re on my team, yeah?” Weston asked.
My smile grew wider. “No promises I’ll be a great asset. I had only one trick up my sleeve.”
“It was a great trick.” Weston patted a very distracted David’s shoulder. “All good?”
My brows pinched when David shook his head. I opened my mouth to say something, but Weston beat me to the punch. “Yara, do you mind giving us a second? The courtyard’s a good place for air. A couple of the guys are out there now.”
An easy, polite dismissal. It shouldn’t irritate me, and yet, I release a heavy sigh after David and Weston start toward the opposite end of the restaurant.
Why hadn’t he told me he was nervous?
Why didn’t you ask?
The phone worked both ways. And though David and I had become in sync in pissing one another off, being there for each other would take effort. I resolved to do as much. David wasn’t the person to spill out all his worries unprompted. But I could be the person who prompted.
The courtyard was home to a mini garden, with dying flowers and browning leaves. There were a handful of guys talking near the fountain, like Weston said, but none of them looked familiar. I wasn’t in the mood for introductions. But that didn’t matter too much when I saw Covee Bailey sittingby herself on a bench in front of a man-made waterfall. I perked up.
“Hey, girl.” I stopped in front of her.
Covee looked up, eyes squinted with confusion, before a smile lit up her eyes. “Yara?”
She was up, hugging me before I could get another word out. I laughed, wrapping my arms around her as if we were long-lost cousins.
“What are you doing here?” I asked once we finally released each other. Last I’d seen her, she was sitting in the back of an org meeting with her nose in her laptop and a stern look on her face. She was far more relaxed now. Hair out of her braids and coiling around her cheeks, dress hugging at her waist before flowing down her long legs.
She shrugged. “With Weston.”
