Page 38 of Pride and Protest
“I wanted to grab a bite if you want to come,” Dorsey said. The invitation was out before he could think better of it.
“I had a big argument planned with my mom, but I guess I could reschedule it. Do you know any Filipino restaurants?”
He didn’t, and hot spikes of shame prickled at his chest. He would always feel this way. Like he should know more, speak better. He didn’t knowanyrestaurants and it was a damned shame.
“I don’t see why I have to know—” Dorsey stopped short. The terror in her eyes made him whip around to assess the danger.
But there was no danger, only Isaiah, slick and wolf-fanged.
The man Liza knew as WIC.
ONE OF THOSE “NO” WOMEN
Liza’s chest deflated.Shit. How does this look?She suddenly felt the eyes on her now and all the cameras the eyes must have had.
“Wow, what a lucky coincidence. I didn’t know you two knew each other like that.” WIC turned to look at Liza. She smiled and pushed her chair out. Stepping back and away from the table with too much fumbling to go unnoticed. It was half cowardice, half discretion. How must they have looked together at this tiny table—cozy, even familiar?
“You guys come here often?” WIC was all levity and charm, and Liza wouldn’t have known there was any bad blood between him and Dorsey at all. Except when she looked at Dorsey, his stormy expression had turned imperious and disdainful. The shy, soulful man who liked sweet drinks and precise napkin placement was gone. Liza took another small step away from the table. He must have registered the movement because now he settled his disdainful gaze on her.
Shit.The room chilled twenty degrees.
WIC nudged her arm. “You two are bold. Anyone with acamera could accuse you of anything.” He held out his phone. When neither of them spoke, WIC continued affably, “Nah, I’m kidding. I dig it. A little diplomacy.”
Liza saw a camera flash and shook her head. Not this again. “No!” It came out louder than she meant it to. She saw Dorsey and WIC wince a little.
“We don’t come here often. Never, actually. We don’t go anywhere. Together.”
Nervous laughter bubbled up in her as she continued creeping away from Dorsey, so she’d no longer be drugged by his warmth and his cologne. Yes, best to get doused with this humiliating bucket of ice water now. Why was Dorsey so silent? Did he want another meme situation?
Dorsey pulled out his phone and looked at what Liza could only make out as a blank screen. “Liza, I forgot, I have a meeting kind of early tomorrow morning. I can’t do the thing tonight.” He offered a cool look in Liza’s direction. Sixty to zero again in one minute.
What had made her say yes to Dorsey’s invitation to drinks? Curiosity? No, loneliness was more likely. WIC was closer to “the struggle” than Dorsey would ever be. He understood her. They were a natural fit.
“No problem. I have shit to do too.” The spell really was broken. Their night ended here.
“I can drop you off,” he offered.
“No!” Liza rushed. “We, like, accidentally met here so... no need to drop me... it’s not like this was planned, so, no.”
“Thank you for such a thorough explanation of the circumstances of our meeting. I was glad to hear them again.” That he could hurl veiled accusations at her without even looking up from his phone was a fucking skill set.
“All right, maybe next time we can all go out together. Maybe get somePhilippinecuisine?”
Dorsey shot WIC a look that was as clear as a statement.Not on your life, pal.WIC’s brand of charm seemed to slide right off Dorsey, because he took his coat and slipped it on with an angry jerk. He flashed an impatient glance at Liza. Oh, he wasn’t cool; he was pissed.
“Liza, allow me to take you home,” he said. He seemed suddenly intent on getting home, even though he’d just bailed on dinner. It seemed like he suddenly realized he was ininferiorcompany. WIC went out of his way to be kind to him, and Dorsey did everything but spit at his feet.
“I’ll take the train,” she said, and waited a beat for WIC to offer, but he must’ve been stunned into silence. She lifted her chin and shouldered past both of them.
“Liza!” She heard Dorsey call out to her, but she let the wind swallow his cries.
It was well before happy hour as Dorsey sat two days later swirling a cocktail.
“What in the hell are you making, Dorsey?” David Bradley sat on the other side of the empty bar room on the ninth floor of their offices.
“I’m trying to get the ingredients just right on this terrible drink I had the other night. It was a smoky mezcal and honey-pineapple syrup cocktail set on fire for the drama.”
“If it’s so terrible, why are you making it?”
