Page 56 of Until Then

Straightening in the booth, I get to work scribbling ideas for the website and Instagram page. The kinds of photos people would like and catchy captions. I even block out what kinds of posts might work best on certain days, but I won’t know for sure until I start posting and can gauge performance.

Derrick watches me, his gaze unwavering, as I work. I don’t let the scrutiny slow me down.

When our food is ready, I pack everything away and dig into my salad.

Throughout the meal, Derrick eyes my fries with longing. He does it so often that I pull the plate closer to my side of the table.

“Mine.”

His lips curl in amusement. “I’m not going to steal your fries.”

I bark out a laugh. “Are you sure? You looked like you were considering it.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in closer to me, voice low, and says, “Trust me, Izzy. I don’t act on every thought that crosses my mind.”

My brain scrambles, and excitement skitters down my spine. Why… why does it feel like he’s talking about me?

Is it possible Derrick wants me the way I want him?

No. I can’t imagine that’s even remotely true. He might find me attractive, but there’s no way it goes farther than that. He’s too much of a stand-up guy to consider me anything more than his temporary roommate.

16

DERRICK

It’s been toolong since I’ve been out with friends, so being here now is more than a little jarring. Bars have never really been my scene, but it’s where the guys like to hang out.

Brooks claps me on the shoulder, his smile so wide and bright it’s hard not to mimic it.

“Good to see out for a change.”

“I figure it was about time.” I take a slow sip of beer. “I don’t get out much.”

I’ve always been more of a homebody.

Patrick, at the other end of the table, lets out an obnoxiously loud laugh. “I’d be a homebody too if I had a hot piece of ass waiting for me there.”

I bristle at the crass words. Not only is that an insult to Izzy, but to his own wife, too. Idiot. I’ve never really cared forPatrick, but he works with Brooks, so his presence tonight isn’t surprising.

“Watch your mouth,” I mutter.

The asshole only laughs in response. “Oh, come on, man! You can’t tell me you’re not tapping that.”

Red clouds my vision as I glare daggers at him. “She’s the same age as my daughter.”

He guffaws, his face red. Though I’m not sure whether it’s because of his hysterical laughter or the absurd amount of alcohol he’s consumed tonight. The guy was tipsy before I arrived. “What does that have to do with anything? She’s legal, ain’t she?”

Flinching, I ball my hands into fists. Men who say shit like that are exactly the kind of men the world should be wary of.

“Shut up, Patrick,” Brooks barks, his tone harsh.

Patrick opens his mouth to spew God only knows what, but Brooks points at him with a scolding finger.

“I said no.” My buddy settles into the seat across from me, head low and shaking. “Sorry about him.”

“I’m not the one who has to work with him.” I bring my beer to my lips.

My wife was killed by a drunk driver years ago, and since then, I’ve found that I don’t enjoy drinking in the way I used to. It’s not that I don’t ever drink, but on the occasions when I do, I always find myself wondering why. Why would someone drink so much and think it’s a smart idea to get behind the wheel? Why did the universe give one person the power to irrevocably change my family?

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