His fork clinks the plate when he drops it in mock offense. “Fine, I was too dumb to be checking for you back then, but I am now.” He retrieves his fork but doesn’t bring his bite of linguine to his lips until after he says, “You’re beautiful.”
I sip my wine to hide the heat creeping up my face, but watch him with the same quiet fascination I did when we were kids. It really doesn’t seem fair that some people are genetically blessed to be hot all their lives, while the rest of us had to wait for modern technology and karma to take pity on us.
Eventually, the screaming thirteen-year-old girl inside my head quiets, and I lean back in my chair. “I can’t figure out if it feels like it’s been forever or—”
“Like no time has passed at all?”
“Yes! What is that?”
“I was thinking the same thing a few minutes ago,” he agrees. “But then I remembered we reconnected because Zola’s having a kid and I feel my age again.”
“Right? Who decided any of us are grown enough to raise a whole human person?” I’m laughing, but I know in my bones she’s ready.
“Is she still with the same guy she was dating when I left? Jason something?”
“Nope” is all I offer. “But she’s got this.”
“What about your parents? How are they doing?”
“My mom’s good. I think she enjoys embarrassing me with these dates almost as much as Zola.”
“I can’t be mad at that. Saved me from having to work up the nerve to ask you out myself.”
On the outside I’m rolling my eyes likeshut up,but inside, the screaming teen is back.
“And your dad? How’s he feel about all this?”
“You’d have to find him to ask,” I say without thinking. I’m as surprised as Ash looks by the words tumbling out of my mouth, but I’m even more surprised that I don’t immediately want to shove them back in. They’re true.
“Your parents split up?”
“They did,” I confirm. And though my admission doesn’t feel as heavy as usual, tonight I’m also fine to leave it at that.
“So, what about you,” I say, buoyed by how relaxed I feel. “Last year of med school, right?”
—
Dinner with Ash is like pulling an old dress out from the back of the closet. It’s fun to try on and you’re kind of proud it still fits, as if that’s some great accomplishment. But even if it looks good—and it does, it looks good as hell—I’d rather be in sweats.
Which is the next step on the night’s itinerary as Asher and I say our goodbyes outside.
“I don’t want to seem too eager or anything,” he says, shifting his weight. “But this was fun.”
“It was,” I say easily. “I’m really glad we did it.”
He moves to join me, and I notice how nice it is not to have to crane my neck quite as much to meet Asher’s eyes the way I do with Ro. I also notice that this is far from the first time tonight I’ve compared these two men who have little in common outside of me.
“So, how’d I do? You gonna give me another shot sometime?”
He really does look the same. Like he’s been waiting for me in a time capsule buried under the football field. Along with my wire retainer and training bra.
Ash’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and a not-so-small part of me is tempted to satisfy an old curiosity about kissing the quarterback, but I can name a million reasons the hug I actually give him makes so much more sense.
I’m still wrapped in his arms, when Ash repeats his unanswered question. “You’re gonna give me another shot sometime. Right?”
When I tilt my face up to respond, we’re closer than I’d expected. The biggest, goofiest smile spreads across Ash’s face at our nearness.
I hope he doesn’t notice when my own smile falters, just a little, as I dodge the question with a gentle, “I’ll text you later.”
