Page 142 of Talk Nerdy To Me
Every minute seemed unbearably long and drawn out to me, so I’m not entirely sure how he managed to lose track of time.
“There’s not going to be a second date, Maxwell,” I tell him as our bill is dropped off at the table.
Maxwell nods. “Very well. Nice meeting you, Britt Sterling. I’ll inform my mother this was not an ideal match. To be honest, you’re a little dull for me,” he adds as he stands and walks out.
“I’ll get the bill,” I say under my breath as I reach into my purse.
This hasn’t been my favorite day of the week.
A body slides into the seat across from me, and I glance up, unsurprised to find Base lounging in the chair as he leans back in Maxwell’s abandoned seat.
“I guess we’re technically at a dinner table tonight after all. I was going to invite you out with all of us,” Base tells me, gesturing toward the table full of the band.
Sticks lifts his chin, giving me a wave. Taylor starts to stand and come over here, but Sticks pulls him back down. Randy starts kissing the back of his hand, for whatever reason. Vince’s eyes are on the menu, not even aware anything is going on.
“It looks like a band outing. I’m glad things are going well,” I tell Base as the waiter swings back by to take my tab.
When my eyes land on the ones across the table again, it actually hurts. I’ve seen him too much for one day.
He just stares at me, a small smirk on his lips.
“The tour went better than Vince expected, which actually pisses him off, because he thought he had us all figured out. Now he sort of likes us…almost,” he proceeds to tell me, his smirk still fixed on his face.
I nod. “I suspected as much,” I tell him, looking around for Alex, my waiter.
“Last I saw you, you were on your way to scout locations for some of Harley’s games to come to life. Find anything?” he asks, leaning up.
“I narrowed the selection down to three that met all her specifications and ensured the pictures weren’t overselling the properties,” I amend. “And it won’t be a relevant achievement for two years because Harley plans two years ahead for events of that scale.”
I glance around again, seeing Alex caught up at another table he also has to tend to.
I really want out of here.
“I sent you some backstage passes you never redeemed,” he tells me.
“I know,” I answer, looking back down at my lap to where my hands are privately shaking.
Those never made any sense to me. Why send them? He was supposed to be angry at me and then learn to be happy about everything else.
He pulls out his wallet, confusing me, and retrieves a folded piece of paper.
“Before I left, I asked someone for a favor,” he tells me as he unfolds the paper. “I knew you’d break down all our issues for someone, and they finally sent me the chart you apparently constructed to prove how wrong we were for each other.”
I eye the table, knowing I definitely can’t crawl under it now. That would be humiliating even for me.
“Harley?” I guess.
“No. Tag,” he tells me as he lays down a version of the chart in his handwriting. “He read it off to me when I was in New Jersey. Apparently you have it showcased on your creative board in your living room.”
I’m not sure why I’m feeling a sense of horror to know he’s in possession of that knowledge. I should feel relieved that he’s taken measures to finally understand why this ended at a stalemate.
“It seems harsher when things are listed out of context. I apologize. You weren’t supposed to ever see that,” I tell him, sincerely wishing Alex would return with my card so I can go.
He scans the chart, lips twitching. “You’re just as harsh on yourself, Britt.”
That’s not true. That chart was just to make other people stop asking the what-if questions so redundantly, but I can’t tell him that.
“The thing about you is that you’re honest, and the biggest problem is that you can’t be honest with me because I have subpar listening skills and grow immediately defensive when faced with even minor critique and/or criticism,” he goes on, pointing at the section of chart that does indeed list that as a severe issue.
