Page 32 of More Than Pen Pals

I can’t tell Mom about Leslie. Not yet. “Let me see if I can change my other plans.”

“A dinner date is better than lunch anyway,” he says. “With lunch, there’s no opportunity to do anything afterward.” He leers at me.

I glare back.

“Sorry.” His smile negates the apology. “I promise I’ll try to stop teasing you.”

“I’d appreciate it. I would also appreciate you not mentioning anything about Leslie to Mom.”

“Mum’s the word. Ha.Mum.”

I roll my eyes as he laughs at his unintended pun.

“Thanks,” I say. “Unless you hear otherwise, I’m still on with Mom.”

“Sounds good.” He doesn’t move.

“Go away.”

“You don’t want me to listen in on your conversation with Luscious Leslie?”

I grip the arms of my chair so I won’t leap across the desk at him.

His eyes widen. “That was out of line, even for me. I shouldn’t have said it. I apologize, man. Seriously.”

I take in a few deep breaths through my nose before I say, “Don’t you ever call her that again—not even in your head.”

Randall shakes his head. “I won’t. I promise.” He grabs the door handle. “Why don’t I give you some privacy?” The door clicks shut.

When he’s gone, I release my hold on the chair and roll my neck and shoulders to release the tension in my body. Nobody can rile me up quite like my brother can. Not for the first time, I think about how our roles are reversed. Everyone in the family treats me more like the older, responsible brother and him like the younger, carefree one. Most of the time I even feel older, and not because I graduated before he did.

I reach for the phone and dial Carter-Jenkins. As I wait to be transferred to Leslie’s extension, I tap my fingers on my desk. I hate that I’m already disappointing her.

“Ash?” she says. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” Except those pesky hornets are back. “I forgot I have a lunch meeting I can’t cancel. I’m sorry about this, but can we do dinner instead? My treat.”

“You’re not treating, but yes, dinner is fine.”

I suggest a restaurant far enough from her apartment that I’d need to drive her, but she counters with a place on her block. I have no good reason to insist on my choice, so we go with hers. We set a time, I tell her I’ll make a reservation, and she ends the call with no small talk. I tell myself it’s because she’s busy and not because she doesn’t want to talk to me. After all, she wouldn’t have asked me to lunch if she doesn’t want to be around me, right?

I pray I’m right.

seventeen

I’m both dreading and eagerly anticipating my dinner with Ash. I desperately want to see him, but I don’t want to tell him we can’t be together. I wish we’d been able to do lunch, which would’ve given us a deadline for ending the meal if it didn’t go well. Plus, I wouldn’t have to spend yet another afternoon agonizing over what I’m going to say and how he might respond.

I chose a restaurant on my block, knowing if it all blows up in my face, I can easily leave and walk home whenever I feel like it. If we were somewhere farther away, Ash would insist on driving me home, which would be awkward no matter how the talk goes.

Wendy enters my office, again without knocking. “You have a new client,” she declares.

“Who?”

“The newest Cub. Do you know anything about baseball?”

I laugh. “I know everything about baseball.” Then I pause, wondering if I should admit this, but since I know she’ll find out eventually anyway, I say, “And I hate the Cubs with an unholy passion.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “Seriously?”

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