I saw an open spot and went into my ninja parallel parking technique, saving me at least twenty bucks off the garage.
We walked to the Downtown Mall and waited under an awning until Chelsea and Bas approached.
Chelsea called, “Thanks for warning me to bring an umbrella,” sarcastically.
Evan held his hands up in protest. “I don’t officially start work until Monday.”
We hurried to the Jefferson Theater under a steady drizzle, arriving a bit early for the main act. The opener, a solo artist with a guitar on his knee, crooned some heartfelt love songs to the thin crowd.
“Do you want something to drink?” Evan asked into my ear.
I shook my head. Since this wasn’t a real date, I didn’t know how to navigate payment. I swayed along to the music and glanced over at Chelsea who leaned against Bas. At least that mission seemed to be on track.
Evan bent to say, “This guy’s really talented.”
And I suddenly hated everything about the scene: the romantic music, the fake date, the other couples touching each other without questioning their relationship. I called back to Evan, “Why are you even here?”
His face registered shock. “I wanted to knock it off my list.”
“What list?” Did he have something like Chelsea’s bucket list? Was I just an experience point for him?
“I’m trying to hit different spots in town. Like going to the university today. Reliving old memories.”
I relaxed. At least he was honest. “So you would have come with or without me?”
“Eventually. But not tonight.” He glanced over at our friends and bent closer. “You think I’d want to be a third wheel on that?”
As I scanned the audience, I noticed a pretty young woman, college age, staring at me. No, not at me. At Evan. Brazenly checking him out. I might not have been on a real date with him, but I found it pretty rude to thirst after someone who appeared to be taken. I touched his upper arm, lightly, trying to give them a clue to back off.
I wasn’t sure why I even cared since he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in me, and I had no use for a playboy. For all I knew, he wanted women to approach him—like I had that first night. But when he glanced down at where I touched him, he didn’t make a move to pull away. His eyes lifted, meeting mine, and I nearly jerked my gaze toward the stage to feign nonchalance, scared he might see the lingering desire there.
It was extra annoying because he’d been goofy, awkward Evan in the car coming over, and now I was back up in my head, reminded how fucking hot he was, how out of my reach.
But his eyes held a question, and I wanted to know what it was.
Then he looked past me, and I turned to see Bas wave and gesture at his wrist. Evan circled his hands saying out loud, as if Bas could hear him, “Are you going back to your place?”
Bas nodded, like he understood the question, then grabbed Chelsea’s hands and disappeared into the crowd, ditching us.
Motherfuck.
“I guess they’re, uh—” I started.
“Shit. Now I don’t know how long I should stay out to give them space.”
Right because he hadn’t found his own rental yet. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or insulted that he hadn’t even suggested going to mine.
The crowd had grown steadily, and as we began to jostle into each other, he leaned in and said, “Do you want to get out of here?”
Of course he’d want to leave once the pretext of our outing had run its course. “Sure.”
The night was relatively young, and outside the venue, people strolled to the many restaurants and bars still open.
“Are you hungry?” Evan asked, before leaving the shelter of the theater alcove.
“If you just need to kill time, we could go back to my place.”
He gave me a sidelong glance as if to remind me how that turned out last time. “I thought we could go somewhere and talk.” Oh. “Do you think we could get a table this late?”
