Page 38 of The Late Hit
“Q, what goes in hard and dry then comes out wet and soft?” I ask the super inappropriate joke.
He just stares at me, blinking. It’s almost like he’s in shock that I would tell such a naughty joke.
“Gum, duh! What’d you think it was?”
Looking at me, he just shakes his head laughing. I just smile back at him.
Our waiter returns and sets down our drinks and takes our orders—the usual for me and steak cooked medium, eggs over easy, breakfast potatoes, and a side of fruit for Q.
“Where’d you go just a few minutes ago?” he asks, eyes full of concern, but his expression isn’t one of annoyance.
A smile slowly stretches across my face. I imagine it looks like the Joker, a little crazy, a little unhinged.
“I was looking around and spotted the couple next to us,” I say, gesturing my head toward the couple I’m talking about. “Watching them, I can tell they’re on a date and it’s new.”
He squints his eyes looking at me with a questioning look.
“How do you know they aren’t just friends? You blew up at our waitress last night for assuming we were just friends, which we are. Why are you assuming they’re together?”
“Well, first of all, it’s better to assume two people are together than that they aren’t, that’s just common sense. Second, look at his body language. He’s nervous as fuck, but when he looks at her, his eyes flare with desire.”
I watch Quinton watch them. He’s seeing what I see.
Turning back to me, he folds his hands, placing his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands.
“Okay, say you’re right, that doesn’t explain why you just disappeared.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I pick up my coffee, blowing on it before taking a sip. I take another drink, savoring that first taste of caffeine. It’s my favorite thing in the morning. Placing the mug back on the saucer, I look at Q.
“Watching him all nervous made me think of my sixteenth birthday. Our parents and Asher’s parents surprised us with an early dinner here in the city. Ash had plans for us to betogetherwhen I turned sixteen,” I say, giving Q a look that he should understand what kind oftogetherI was referring to. “Anyway, watching the nerves roll off that guy made me think of how nervous I was that whole dinner because I wasfinallysixteen.”
He nods his head in understanding, but he doesn't keep eye contact. He’s frustrated, and I can’t say I blame him. I just want to get through breakfast, and then I’ll spill my story. Taking another gulp of my coffee, I decide to change the subject.
“How’s it feel not having football this weekend?”
Changing the subject was a good call. I watch his shoulders ease and he relaxes in his chair, bringing his coffee up to his lips for a drink. Only I can’t take my eyes off his lips. The way his thick, full lips contrast against the white mug. Nervously, I bring my lip in between my teeth and nibble.
What is wrong with me? Who is the doe-eyed girl?
Brunchgoesoffwithouta hitch. We laugh, joke, and converse. No more zoning out and getting lost in the memories.
Getting up and pushing in our chairs, we navigate toward the exit. The city has only gotten busier while we were eating brunch. It’s a beautiful fall day. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining bright, and the weather is a perfect sixty-five degrees. As we head toward Grant Park, Quinton soaks in the city. During that ten-minute walk, my mind starts wandering. Internally, I’m psyching myself up to open myself up and spill my heart.
There’s a vacant park bench overlooking Buckingham Fountain. It’s there that I decide to tell my story. Sounds of children screaming while their parents chase them surround us, joggers run past us, and groups are gathered around taking pictures.
Settling onto the bench, I look straight ahead, watching a little boy and girl run around playing.
“He was my best friend,” I begin, sensing Q turn his head toward me. “Our moms met when we were five. They were both working on a charity fundraiser for the hospital. Asher’s mom always loved party planning. From her first meeting with my mom, the two just hit it off, becoming fast friends. This was before my mom’s personality shift.
“From then on, the two were inseparable, which led to Bryce and me becoming best friends with Asher. More often than not, when Mom had a shift at the hospital, we would go to the Nelsons’ instead of staying home with the nanny. Grace wasn’t able to have more kids after Asher. She always wanted a large family, so Bryce and I became like her kids.” I pause, letting a tear go.
Talking about Grace and how she took us in like we were her own children riddles me with guilt. Guilt over the fact I haven’t seen her in too long. Quinton, sensing my need for comfort wraps, an arm around my shoulders, placing his other hand on my thigh. Still unable to look at him, I keep staring ahead, watching the kids run around before continuing.
“Grace would always joke that Asher and I would end up married and then Bryce and I would officially be family. As we got older, Friday nights became family nights with pizza and games. Holidays were spent with the Nelsons. Once we hit seventh grade, Grace fixed up a guest room to be my room. She said that we were getting too old to have coed sleepovers.” I chuckle, a small smile spreading across my face.
“You two had already kissed, hadn’t ya?” Quinton asks with a twitch of his lips. Turning to look at him, I smile bigger. “Yeah, at the sixth-grade end-of-the-year dance. We were slow dancing to Taylor Swift. How cliché.”
Quinton chuckles.
