were no sooner out of my mouth than the new kid walked up, his engineer's hat turned to the side. Andrew started to laugh, but I was mortified.
"Looks like you're free now. So, how about dinner, Travis?"
"Um, I thought you said coffee."
Mr. Baxter smirked, and the look of it made my heart beat faster. Damn, why did he have to look so good?
"We can do that if you'd prefer. I don't know about you, though, but I'm starving."
As if on cue, my stomach started to growl. I racked my brain for a viable excuse to get out of my fate, but nothing came to mind. With a shrug, I gave up.
"Sure. Why not?"
He chuckled, even though, once again my words were coming out harsher than I'd wanted them to.
"That's a ringing endorsement if I've ever heard one. You still a fan of that Indian place on Twelfth Street, Travis?"
Mr. Baxter seemed quite good at shocking me, and this time I let him know it.
"I can't believe you remember. I told you that was my favorite place my junior year."
"What can I say? Things about you seem to stick in my mind. So, shall we then?"
I took a quick look down at my outfit and stopped in my tracks. "If you don't mind, I'd like to change my clothes first."
* * * *
I couldn't stop fidgeting with my napkin. Or my water glass. Or the silverware next to my ornately designed plate. It was a simple dinner, nothing more, but for some reason, I was nervous as hell. Mr. Baxter sat across from me, looking the picture of calm. We sat in awkward silence, listening to the music coming through the tinny speakers above our head. I tried to think of something to talk about, something that wouldn't steer us directly to my job or my stalled college career. While I was tapping my fingers against the fabric tablecloth, Mr. Baxter smiled at me.
"So, Travis, thanks for agreeing to have dinner with me."
"No problem."
I winced at my inability to come up with anything more than that. My hands were balled into fists, and I looked around the restaurant in an effort to find something to focus on.
"You don't have to be nervous, you know. This isn't really a big deal. I thought it would be nice to catch up."
I met his eyes, the green so striking it made me look away.
"Who says I'm nervous?"
As I said it, I moved my arm quicker than I meant to and sent my water flying all over the table. And onto Mr. Baxter's shirt.
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did that."
I reached across the table with my napkin, but that only caused more damage, sending the Palak soup he'd ordered right into his lap.
"Jesus, I'm so sorry, Mr. Baxter. Are you okay?"
I expected him to freak out or at least be a little mad, but his smile threw me off. He mopped up as much of the soup as he could with his napkin and mine.
"I'm fine, Travis. Don't worry. I'm going to hit the men's room. I'll be right back. If the waiter comes by, could you ask him for some new napkins?"
He was so nonchalant, which made me more scared than if he'd been screaming at me. I watched him walk away, with a huge stain on his pants and wet marks on his shirt. After he disappeared from view, I put my head in my hands. Clayton's words about things getting worse turned over in my head. I think this officially qualified as worse than my overalls. After a few moments of feeling sorry for myself, I fished out my wallet and threw some money on the table, then got up without another thought.
I had to get out of there, even though I had no idea how I would get back to Downy's to pick up my car. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, thinking of calling Clayton when I ran right into Mr. Baxter.
"Going somewhere?"
I put my phone away and shrugged.
"Um, I thought, you know, under the circumstances that maybe we should, you know, do this another time. Or you know, not at all."
He smiled and I was starting to get really confused.
"I'm not mad. It was an accident. It happens."
I rolled my eyes and tried to get through to him.
"Not like this. I mean, this is epically bad. Look at
"Looks like you're free now. So, how about dinner, Travis?"
"Um, I thought you said coffee."
Mr. Baxter smirked, and the look of it made my heart beat faster. Damn, why did he have to look so good?
"We can do that if you'd prefer. I don't know about you, though, but I'm starving."
As if on cue, my stomach started to growl. I racked my brain for a viable excuse to get out of my fate, but nothing came to mind. With a shrug, I gave up.
"Sure. Why not?"
He chuckled, even though, once again my words were coming out harsher than I'd wanted them to.
"That's a ringing endorsement if I've ever heard one. You still a fan of that Indian place on Twelfth Street, Travis?"
Mr. Baxter seemed quite good at shocking me, and this time I let him know it.
"I can't believe you remember. I told you that was my favorite place my junior year."
"What can I say? Things about you seem to stick in my mind. So, shall we then?"
I took a quick look down at my outfit and stopped in my tracks. "If you don't mind, I'd like to change my clothes first."
* * * *
I couldn't stop fidgeting with my napkin. Or my water glass. Or the silverware next to my ornately designed plate. It was a simple dinner, nothing more, but for some reason, I was nervous as hell. Mr. Baxter sat across from me, looking the picture of calm. We sat in awkward silence, listening to the music coming through the tinny speakers above our head. I tried to think of something to talk about, something that wouldn't steer us directly to my job or my stalled college career. While I was tapping my fingers against the fabric tablecloth, Mr. Baxter smiled at me.
"So, Travis, thanks for agreeing to have dinner with me."
"No problem."
I winced at my inability to come up with anything more than that. My hands were balled into fists, and I looked around the restaurant in an effort to find something to focus on.
"You don't have to be nervous, you know. This isn't really a big deal. I thought it would be nice to catch up."
I met his eyes, the green so striking it made me look away.
"Who says I'm nervous?"
As I said it, I moved my arm quicker than I meant to and sent my water flying all over the table. And onto Mr. Baxter's shirt.
"Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did that."
I reached across the table with my napkin, but that only caused more damage, sending the Palak soup he'd ordered right into his lap.
"Jesus, I'm so sorry, Mr. Baxter. Are you okay?"
I expected him to freak out or at least be a little mad, but his smile threw me off. He mopped up as much of the soup as he could with his napkin and mine.
"I'm fine, Travis. Don't worry. I'm going to hit the men's room. I'll be right back. If the waiter comes by, could you ask him for some new napkins?"
He was so nonchalant, which made me more scared than if he'd been screaming at me. I watched him walk away, with a huge stain on his pants and wet marks on his shirt. After he disappeared from view, I put my head in my hands. Clayton's words about things getting worse turned over in my head. I think this officially qualified as worse than my overalls. After a few moments of feeling sorry for myself, I fished out my wallet and threw some money on the table, then got up without another thought.
I had to get out of there, even though I had no idea how I would get back to Downy's to pick up my car. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, thinking of calling Clayton when I ran right into Mr. Baxter.
"Going somewhere?"
I put my phone away and shrugged.
"Um, I thought, you know, under the circumstances that maybe we should, you know, do this another time. Or you know, not at all."
He smiled and I was starting to get really confused.
"I'm not mad. It was an accident. It happens."
I rolled my eyes and tried to get through to him.
"Not like this. I mean, this is epically bad. Look at
Similar Books
Shotgun Nanny
Nancy Warren
A Brother's Honor
Jo Ann Ferguson
Pieces For You
Genna Rulon
Growing New Plants
Jennifer Colby
Take Me
Locklyn Marx
Hard Cash
Max Allan Collins
A Private Hotel for Gentle Ladies
Ellen Cooney
Don't Even Think About It
Roisin Meaney
Unbearable
Wren