Page 25 of Hot Route
MADS: Is it? I’ve never been there. Brady suggested it.
BLAZE: Of course, he did.
I pulloff my Beckham Blizzard jersey and walk into my closet. I’m meeting Brady at some restaurant tonight and have absolutely no idea what to wear. Blaze said it’s fancy, but I don’t want to dress up and have Brady think it’s an actual date. It is very muchnota date. Been there, done that, and as our Lord and Savior Ariana Grande once said,Thank you, next.
He’s a nice enough guy. Kind of spoiled, but he was raised that way, so it’s not entirely his fault. We were the cutest little cliche couple in eleventh grade. The star basketball player and the captain of the cheerleading team. From the outside, it looked perfect. But I always felt trapped. I felt like I couldn’t completely be myself with him. I had to give him the same watered-down version of me that I give to a lot of the men I date now. That’s not what I want for my future. That’s why I don’t want anything more than friendship with Brady Jones.
Flipping through the hangers, I settle on a short-sleeved black t-shirt dress and denim jacket. I go with a ‘no-makeup’ makeup look and twist my hair up into a neat bun before tying my new white Converse. Taking a look in the mirror, I see a hint of sadness in my eyes. I get like this every time Blaze has a road game. If he were here, I’d be in one of his Blizzard hoodies and my pink fluffy slippers that he calls ‘the ugliest things ever’, popping popcorn for the Sunday night game.
I miss him.
I’m sure he and Dalton will have a night out in L.A. before the team plane brings them home tomorrow. The women theremight as well be from another world. If they aren’t actual models, they could be. Tall, tan, and drop-dead gorgeous. Those are the kind of women Blaze dates.
I grab my new Gucci bag, because Blaze Beckham makes up holidays just so he can give gifts. This was my “Happy First Day of Fall” present, after he saw me eyeing it in an online ad. I guess those are the perks of working for a guy who makes thirty million dollars every year. Fifteen hundred dollars is a drop in the bucket for him. Checking my phone one last time to make sure Brady didn’t cancel, I grab my keys and head toward Donatello’s.
Twenty minutes later, I park my car in the lot where it sticks out like a sore thumb. A quick glance around at the Range Rovers, BMWs, andis that a fucking Maybach,gives me an idea of how out of place I am about to be here. The outside of the building is covered in ivy and fairy lights. A green awning hangs over the entrance.
I step out of my car and adjust my dress. Taking a deep breath, I shut the door and turn to see Brady walking toward me with a bright, white smile stretching across his handsome face.
“Madison,” he reaches his hand out and I take it, although I probably shouldn’t. I really don’t want him to get the wrong idea. But friends can hold hands, right? Blaze and I do it all the time. “You look beautiful. Although you might be a touch underdressed,” he says, taking in my denim jacket. “It’s fine, though.”
I feel like a child who just got reprimanded as he leads me through the door and to the front desk. As if I wasn’t feeling uncomfortable enough, the girl standing behind it scoffs,loudly, at me before looking at Brady. I already want to go home.
“Reservation for Brady Jones,” he says, completely ignoring her underhanded disrespect toward me.
“Right this way,” she replies with a toothy grin, leading us to the far back corner of the restaurant. I’m expecting her to sit us at a table for two, and I’m slightly horrified when she ushers us directly to a small,dimly litbooth.
For fuck’s sake. He thinks it’s a date.
“We’ll take a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon,” Brady tells the server.
“I think the fuck not,”I inwardly scream, because give me a shot of whatever you have that’s strong enough to conjure up the nerve to let this guy down gently. I need to keep his ego intact. The last thing I need is for him to pull his sponsorship from Connor’s podcast because he associates it with me. If I remember correctly, Brady is petty as hell, so I have to tread carefully.
As the server retreats to the bar, I make a point to stay on the opposite end of the booth, so my not-date doesn’t get any ideas. But he scoots over to my side, turning his body toward me.
“You look amazing, Madison,” he says, running the backs of his knuckles over my arm.
Words? What are those? I’m fresh out.
I offer him a nervous laugh and try to inch even closer to the edge of the booth but stop in my tracks when my butt cheek tells me that if I move another inch, I’ll be on the floor in front of all these people.
Get your shit together, Mads. This is Brady Jones. He used to eat his own boogers in Kindergarten.
“Look, Brady,” I start. “I don’t want you to —”
“Your wine, sir,” the server speaks over me, showing the bottle to him. He nods in approval as she uncorks it and fills both of our glasses a third of the way.
I look up at her and smile. “Can you like, fill it all the way?” They both stare at me blankly. “Or is that not a thing?” My cheeks heat from embarrassment, but I have a feeling I’m going to need to be at least a little bit fucked up to get through this.
Why did I agree to this?
The server smiles awkwardly as she fills my glass to the brim. “Are we ready to order?”
I go to speak, but Brady cuts me off.
“I’ll have the Chicken Marsala. And my date will take the Caesar Salad, no croutons.” He flashes a smile, handing her both of our menus before she walks away, leaving me looking like Billy the Bass with my goddamn mouth hanging wide open. The audacity of this man to not only order my food, but to deny me the goodness ofcarbs? So what if that was my order in high school? I’ve changed a lot since then, starting with not trying to fit into whatever body image society tells me I should be. It’s cool to order salad if youlike salad. But this girl? She wants a big, juicy burger.
I’m reminded of last week when Blaze and I had a contest to see who could fit the most fries in their mouth at once after a midnight run to Mister Burgers. I almost choked from laughing so hard while he used his finger to carefully load his mouth up like he was playing a serious game of potato Tetris. Of course, his strategy paid off when he beat me by several fries.
