“Dude, what is this? Are you a model now?” Colson asks.
I roll my eyes. “I wear some tight clothes and suddenly I’m a model.”
“Well, yeah. You normally walk around in baggy shit that doesn’t show off your figure.” Colson shrugs a shoulder. “You look really good.”
“Thanks.” I smile as I walk to the fridge and grab one of my prepared glass water bottles infused with lemon. When I turn around to face them, I catch Maverick checking me out, and instantly feel my heart kick into high gear.
“So, the date’s tonight,” he says, meeting my eyes.
“Yep. I have to go do my makeup but he should be here soon.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“I don’t know yet.” I open the water bottle and take a sip.
“Does he know you love the movies?”
“I didn’t tell him that, so unless you mentioned it, no.”
“Hm.” Mav keeps staring.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He blinks rapidly and looks away. “Have fun on your date.”
“I will. What are you guys up to tonight?”
“No good,” Colson says.
“So, the usual?”
Colson smiles. Maverick is on his phone now, not paying attention. I signal a peace sign and walk out of the kitchen with my water and my feelings. If they’re planning on their usual Friday night that means they’ll go to a bar, pick a fight, pick up some girls, and bring them back to the house. If I’m lucky, I’ll be passed out by the time they start screwing them and if I’m really lucky I won’t be here in the morning to deal with the walks of shame, but I have the worst luck when it comes to that so I’m not holding my breath.
Chapter Eleven
“This is good,” Brian says to the waitress as she sits us in a booth near the windows.
“This is nice.” I smile as I look around. It’s probably the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been to while I’ve been here. Not that I’ve been to many regular restaurants at all while I’ve been here. Or dates for that matter.
“I’m glad you like it. I hear the lasagna is great.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Brian smiles. “Do you drink wine?”
“Not particularly, but I’ll have some if you’re having some.”
“I was thinking we could order a bottle.” He looks at the wine list.
“That’s very . . . grown-up. I’m down to share a bottle.”
“It does feel very grown-up, doesn’t it?” He chuckles. “My mom likes dry red wines, so she kind of put me onto those.”
“That’s cute, so you drink wine with your mom?”
“When I’m home I do.” He glances up at me. “She was the one who told me about this place. UNC is my parents’ alma matter, so they drive over whenever there’s a big game.”
“Drive over from where?”
“Wilmington.”
“Is that home for you then?”
“Yep.” He smiles wide. “I’m a Carolina boy through and through.”
“I can see that.” I smile back. “What do your parents do?”
“They’re both chiropractors and have their own practice.”
“That’s very cool. My parents are nurses.”
“That’s awesome. I guess our parents chose careers that’ll never go out of business.”
“Yep. What are you planning on doing after you graduate?”
“Become a chiropractor.” Brian chuckles. “I have four more years of school ahead of me. What about you?”
“I’m going to play in the National Women’s Soccer League.”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow and looks at the waitress when she comes by to ask for our drink order. He orders wine for us and we put in our food order since we both know we’re getting the lasagna. When she walks away, he looks at me again. “So, professional soccer.”
“It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted. I figure if it doesn’t work out for me, I can always go to nursing school and follow in my parents’ footsteps, but I won’t be able to try out for teams in ten years.”
“I’m sure you would be able to.” He frowns.
“I mean, sure, you have Pearce and Formiga who both competed in their forties, but it’s not the same. You play hockey, you know how it is. You give your life to a sport and your body starts to slow down at some point.”
“You make a good point.”
We continue talking about our plans for the future and find that we have a lot in common. After dinner, I’m feeling full, a little buzzed, and grateful when Brian pays for dinner, so when he asks me if I want to keep the night going and go to a bar where his friends are hanging out, I immediately agree. The bar is only a block down from the restaurant, on Franklin Street, so we decide to walk over there, pushing through the now crowded sidewalks. When we get to the bar, we hand over our IDs for the bouncer to check and Brian makes small talk with him as we walk inside.
“I take it you come here often,” I say over the loud music.