“And then you went from intern to reporter?”
“I had to work my way up like everyone else. When I finally became a full-time writer, I was doing the sections no one cared about until I proved myself. Then I started getting the good stuff.”
He stared at me as he hung on every word, as if he was truly interested. “Do you—”
“I don’t understand why you’re asking all these questions.”
His expression didn’t change and his body didn’t flinch as I cut him off. Now, he just stared, for a very long time, his dangerous eyes looking deep inside me like he could see my soul. “That’s what friends do.”
“I’ve got enough friends. I don’t need any more.”
He was still again, this time slightly surprised by the words that came out of my mouth. Then the corner of his mouth rose in a smile. He tilted his head back and downed the rest of his scotch before setting the empty glass on the table. “The reason I came to this booth the night we met was because I thought your fire was sexy. I liked the no-nonsense attitude. I liked the confidence. You’re strong, successful, and sexy. That’s all you. But this…” He nodded to me, referring to something in my body that he didn’t specify. “This is fear. Fear is not sexy.”
My breathing increased slightly, and a wave of heat suddenly came over me. The embarrassment drenched my skin, and I suddenly felt like I was on display, buck naked and covered in scars.
“You’re either heartless…or heartbroken. I hope it’s the second one.” His arms remained on the table, his fingers around his empty glass. He stared at me with those brown eyes, and instead of being the strong and silent man he used to be, he showed his hand…and he was more observant than he seemed. “I’m not asking for more. I’m just asking to be treated with respect. I would have already walked away if I didn’t like you. But I do like you. I want to keep seeing you. But this—” he shook his head “—bullshit needs to stop. If you want to keep seeing me, then we need to be friends.” He opened his wallet, left a couple bills on the table, and then rose from the booth. “If you’re brave enough for that, call me. If not, then have a good one.”
I grabbed dinner before heading back to the apartment.
When I walked inside, Charlie was at the dining table, sitting in just his sweatpants without a shirt. He was leaned forward with his elbows on the table, his fingers twirling in his hair as he stared at the computer.
I set my food on the table and took a seat. After pulling it out of the bag, I opened it and ate in silence, my satchel on the floor beside me.
Charlie straightened and looked at me over the edge of his laptop. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I pushed my food around with my fork and took a few bites.
Charlie continued to stare at me. The energy from his gaze danced across my face. “Everything alright, Carson? What did Vince say to you?”
My work problems seemed insignificant now. “Charlie… I think you were right.” I kept my eyes on my food, replaying the conversation with Dax in my head. He called me out on my bullshit, and I had no defense, no rebuttal. It was one thing for Charlie or my sister to say something, but Dax and I hardly knew each other, and he read me so easily.
“About?”
I shrugged. “Everything…”
He knocked on the table, getting my attention with the sound. “Hey, look at me.”
I closed the top of my box and pushed it away. I wasn’t hungry anyway. I finally lifted my chin and looked at him.
“What happened?”
“Dax and I got a drink. He started asking me all these questions about work, and I shut it down.”
“Why?”
“I just didn’t think it was part of our relationship.”
“If you can’t talk about anything personal, then what are you supposed to talk about?”
I shrugged. “I was pretty rude to him. He said he wanted to be my friend…and I said I had enough friends.”
His eyes filled with disappointment. “Yeah, that was a dick thing to say.”
I didn’t tell Charlie about his other comment, that Dax knew I was damaged, heartbroken, destroyed…or I just didn’t have a heart at all. My outgoing personality and wildness didn’t hide the truth deep inside. Dax could see it, and that suddenly made me vulnerable. “He basically told me to change—or he didn’t want to see me anymore.”
Instead of giving me a lecture about the whole thing, Charlie just stared at me, sympathy in his eyes. “Last weekend, he was asking questions about you.”
“Like?”
“What your deal was.”
“And what did you say?”
“Nothing. But he is surprised how detached you are.”
“I thought a guy like him would love that.”
He shrugged. “Not sure. It’s hard to figure him out.”
“Yeah…” That was one of the things I liked about him.
“You know… I like him. He’s a cool guy.”
“You hardly know him.”
“Yeah, but I like what I do know. I think you should call him.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’m pretty embarrassed, I guess.”
Charlie’s eyes fell, like he felt my pain just as I did. “I can see that. But you’re strong, Carson. You’ll overcome it. And I think this is a good time to slow down…and maybe work on moving forward instead of finding the next distraction.”
I worked long hours, interviewing people, chasing down sources, building the article and rewriting it over and over, dodging Vince as he harassed me for the completion of the project.
But no matter how busy I was, I still thought about Dax.
And everything he said.
I sat in my cubicle, one of the last people at the office. The fluorescent lights had drained my energy by shining down on me all day, time was impossible to distinguish when I was surrounded by four walls.
I pulled out my phone and stared at Dax’s message box.
I could just cut my losses and move on, but I did like Dax. And Charlie was right. I wasn’t afraid of anything, so I shouldn’t be afraid of the mirror Dax held in front of my face. I typed out a message. Can I buy you a drink? I stared at it for a while before I sent it off. I wasn’t even sure if he would text me back.
Why would he text me back?
I set my phone down.
He texted me seconds later. Scotch. Neat.
I was rarely nervous, regardless of the circumstance. Put me on a rocket to the moon, and my pulse wouldn’t exceed eighty beats per minute. But I sat alone in the booth, my palms a little sweaty, my heart racing more than it should. I had my glass of Bordeaux in front of me, his scotch sitting there waiting for him.
Then he slid into the booth across from me, in his usual t-shirt and jeans. He grabbed the glass, took a drink, and then regarded me with that intense stare. “Let’s try this again.” He leaned forward toward me, his fingers resting on the top of his glass, his eyes both hostile and kind at the same time.
I knew I should apologize, but that was hard for me to do. Admitting my wrongdoing wasn’t the issue. It was just the fact that I’d done something wrong in the first place. I was a kind person who had been on a tough road for a while, and my response to everything around me was to be cold and distant because I was broken. But that wasn’t the solution. “I’m sorry…for the way I spoke to you.”