When Faduma comes back, Bash orders several items off the menu as I sip the spicy tea. She promises to have everything out quickly, then leaves us alone, silence falling again between us.
“So…” Bash clears his throat. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. Did you end up going to school for creative writing like you wanted to?”
This is the part of the conversation I’ve been dreading. Where we catch up, and I have to tell him what I do for work. Because the only person who knows the full extent of my writing career, outside of my agent and publisher, is Lola. But Bash knows it’s always been my dream.
Of course, he wouldn’t forget.
“I did, yeah.”
He waits for me to elaborate, but when I don’t, he clears his throat again, takes a sip of his tea, and tries again. “That’s great, Indie. Have you… Have you done anything with it?”
“I wrote some pieces for a few online magazines. Wrote some fanfics.” I fidget with my fingers underneath the table. “I’m, uh, trying to make it as an author.”
It’s not a lie. Success is never guaranteed as an author. You can write one book that hits really well, then the next one mayflop. We’re all just trying to make it from one book to the next. But I’d rather skirt around the fact that I’ve had more success than most, because I have no desire to tell Sebastian Navarro my pen name. That’s way too vulnerable.
I’d rather eat glass.
Or watch my parents’ sex tape.
Bash waits for me to say more, but when I don’t, he offers me one of those smiles I used to live for. “I believe in you, Rosebud. Always have. Whatever it is you set your mind to, I know you’ll achieve it.” He takes a sip of his tea as I try to will my heart rate to slow. “And I’ll be the first one in line to buy a copy of your first book.”
Oh, god. I’m an asshole.
“Thanks,” I squeak out.
“I’ll always be your biggest fan. No amount of time or distance can change that.”
He may as well have picked the fork up off the table and slammed it through my heart with that one. Because he looks so earnest when he says it. Like he completely means it. And he probably does. He always did.
But I wanted more than for Bash to be my biggest fan.
I wanted to be his everything. The way he was mine.
Faduma chooses that moment to arrive at our table and, with the help of another server, loads us up with aromatic dishes that make my mouth water. It’s the perfect interruption, and the only thing keeping me from spiraling.
We kill some time talking about the food and how he found the restaurant. For the moment, my writing is forgotten, and I’d like to keep it that way.
“Are you ready for the postseason?”
The question causes Sebastian to look up at me, the movement sharp and fast. “As ready as we can be.”
“Does your team feel good about it this year? I really thought you’d go all the way last year.”
His lips twitch at the corners. “Oh, yeah? Have you been following our seasons, Rosebud?”
Shit. Way to out yourself, Indie.
I shrug, going for a nonchalance I don’t feel. “Lola’s a hockey fan.”
It’s the truth, but it doesn’t tell the full story. Lolaisa hockey fan. But only because I forced her to watch Sebastian’s games with me. Now she knows the rules and nuances as well as any die-hard fan, but that knowledge was initially forced upon her. By me.
Sebastian doesn’t need to know that, though.
“She is, huh?”
I nod. “Yep. She normally roots for the Stars, since they’re the local team, but she keeps up with everyone.”
“I see. And how does she feel about the Rogues?”
