Jeremy stood, replaced my twenty with another of his own, and put his hand on my back to usher me out.
“Thank you,” he said to the waitress.
“No problem,” she called as we walked away. “Hey, wait. Can I ask you a question?”
Jeremy stopped and turned to her. “It’s only fair.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Chapter 8
We were out on the street when Jeremy handed me back my twenty.
“What’s this?” I asked, blinking at him in confusion.
“Never seen money before?” He grinned.
I waved the bill in the air. “I left this to pay the bill.”
“And I’m giving it back to you.”
I shifted my purse strap to the crook of my arm. “But you don’t need to pay. I know you’re watching your money and—”
“I can afford to buy you a soda. Plus, I’m about to come into thousands of dollars.”
Standing next to him really emphasized the difference in our height. “Seriously, you don’t have to—”
“I don’t have to do anything, Meg. I want to.”
His words were so solemn and sincere. His tone made me take the money and put it in my wallet. We were just standing on the sidewalk. I was not sure how to end it all, and it was frankly feeling a little datey. “The nerve of that waitress,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “How did she know I wasn’t your girlfriend?”
The truth was, I was secretly rejoicing the tiniest bit because the waitress had asked him what I wanted to know. Oh, I’d cyber-stalked him over the weekend, of course, but there was a curious complete absence of relationship status. Plus, we weren’t friends online. From the limited info I could glean with him being a friend of a friend—namely Luke—I hadn’t seen overt evidence of a GF, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. But he’d told the waitress he didn’t have one, and then he’d promptly hustled me out of there, probably trying to avoid an awkward moment with her while she asked him out on a date.
It didn’t matter, though, because I’d heard all I needed to know. At least I could rest assured that his beautiful gazelle-of-a-girlfriend wouldn’t come looking for me. That was encouraging. His nonexistent GF would no doubt be a foot taller than me and could step on me with her stilettos or pummel me with her fake boobs.
“You obviously look too judgey to be my girlfriend,” he replied with a smile. There were those perfect teeth again. I’d always had a weakness for good teeth. Must have been the damn braces. Harrison’s teeth were perfect, too. Okay, so maybe Jeremy did meet a couple of requirements from my Future Husband Checklist. Wait. What had Jeremy said about me being judgey?
“Hey, I might be judgey, but I was right,” I pointed out.
“Don’t be smug,” he replied.
I shrugged. “In addition to being judgey, I am smug.”
He shook his head. “Fine. I’ll admit sometimes what you see is what you get, but that’s not always true.”
“It’s mostly true.” I sighed.
“You’re stubborn.”
“Yes, stubborn, judgey, smug. No wonder I’m still single.”
His eyes narrowed on me for a fraction of a second. “Yeah, that reminds me, you never told me what happened with your doctor boyfriend.”
I frowned. “How did you know he’s a doctor?”
“Luke told me. He’s a history professor like you, right?”
“Right.” I nodded slowly. It felt too weird to talk about Harrison with Hotty McFox. “It’s a really long story and it’s getting late and—”
“It’s barely past seven,” Jeremy pointed out.
“Which is getting late for me on a school night.”
He arched a brow. “Are you serious?”
“Well, not seven itself.” Oh, boy. My nerd flag was flying high. “But by the time I get home, have dinner, and grade some more papers—”
“I can help with that.”
“Help me grade papers?” I gave him a skeptical look.
He pressed his lips together as if to keep from laughing. “No. The other part, dinner. I know a great pizza place a block form here. Wanna go?”
“Go?” I blinked up at him. “With you?”
“Yes.”
“To dinner?”
“For pizza,” he clarified.
“Tonight?”
He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair. “I’m beginning to think I didn’t say that in English. Let me try again. Do you want to go get some pizza for dinner right now with me, tonight?”
“I’m...” My mind went blank. We’d finished our interaction. He’d purchased a Sprite for me. I’d been smug. We weren’t supposed to see each other again until tomorrow.
“I’m...kinda on a diet,” I finished lamely. And I was. It was true. I’d recommitted to my diet yesterday after seeing the evidence of the Häagen-Daz in the trash, and fondly remembering the half a donut from the flight, and the fact that I might just need to fit into my Regency gowns after all. Empire waists hid a lot, but they also could make a pot belly look a lot like a pregnancy.
“First of all,” Jeremy said, “you don’t need a diet.”
What? What was this? A man who said I didn’t need a diet? What sort of creature was he? Harrison would give me a disapproving frown if I so much as mentioned dessert. He never said anything, of course, because that would be rude, but he also never went so far as to say anything as crazy as I didn’t need a diet.
“And secondly,” Jeremy was saying as I tuned back into his words, “most pizza places sell salads, too, if that’s what you’re into.”
I wasn’t into salads. Never was. Never would be. But it was true. Most pizza places did tend to also offer salad. He’d managed to refute my argument, but didn’t the man recognize the universal sign of trying to get out of something? The ceremonial offering of lame excuses?
“I really should get home, but thank you.” I took a step away, toward my Jetta.
“Oh, come on, Meg. I dare you to.”
Dare? Dare me? He dared me to go eat pizza and/or salad with him? I choked on my laugh. “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me. I’m not five years old.”
“It’s just pizza.” His tone was low and cajoling. “Come on. It’ll take a half hour. I promise.”
Now that was an argument I could get behind, one that appealed to my sense of time-management. I sighed. “Okay, fine, but only half an hour, and no asking personal questions.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He led the way down the street, but paused to ensure I was at his side. Which was also nice. Harrison had a tendency to walk ahead of me because his legs were so much longer, and when I asked him to wait, he’d tell me I was walking too slow.
The pizza place was a hole in the wall around the corner. When we went up to the counter and ordered, Jeremy paid and I let him. Even for a woman with a Herstory bumper sticker, I had to admit it was nice to not have to pay individually like Harrison and I always had. It just seemed more efficient when one person paid.