Black Number Four (13 page)

Something is bound to break under the weight of these glares.

My phone buzzes with a text from Skyler.

- Any way I can get you to reschedule tonight? I’m dead tired and really just want to stay in my sweat pants. –

- So stay in your sweat pants. You’re not getting out of this date. –

- :( You hate me. –

- Quite the opposite, actually. See you at seven. And I’m serious about the sweats. -

I shove my phone back in my pocket and rub my leg with my hands, trying to get warm. I’ve been thinking about Skyler all week, about our date and where I should take her, but I haven’t received actual words from her until now. She skipped class altogether yesterday, which left me confused and double fisting two Starbucks drinks. I took a picture of her cup where the drink was written and texted it to her with a simple question mark as the caption. She responded with a meme of Grumpy Cat saying “no” and that was the most I got. The rest of my texts went unanswered, she avoided Greek Library and the cafeteria from what I could tell, and when I asked her Little if she was okay, I just got a smile and a shrug as she moved past me down the hall.

I had a feeling she was going to try to bail on tonight, but I also knew I wouldn’t let her. It’s obvious Erin is telling her to stay away from me, but that’s not part of my plan. Erin is a speed bump and I’m driving a big ass truck with no regard for her attempted warning to slow down or stop.

“You coming, bro? We’re gonna grab some drinks at Ralph’s,” Kade says, motioning to the door with Christopher and a few other pledges.

“Probably not a smart idea to get hammered before my date,” I say, standing. “Have one or five for me.”

He shakes his head. “You got it, man. Don’t get too caught up in this girl – pledging is about spending time with your brothers, you know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come by and spoon you later, boo. Promise.”

The guys laugh and Kade punches my arm. I wait a few minutes after they leave before pulling myself from the couch, my feet and legs still red and sore from the ice water. Checking my phone, I realize I only have a few hours before I see Skyler. I consider writing a scene of how I want the night to go, of how our relationship would unfold if I didn’t have an ulterior motive. I’d pick her up in a nice rental car, we’d go to dinner and then walk on the beach before sharing a romantic kiss. We would date off and on throughout the seasons, battling the drama of Greek life and maybe parents or friends trying to keep us apart. We’d be the fan favorites, they would all root for us and the episodes where we made up would send rankings sky high. It would make for a good show – an addicting show – maybe quality enough for my final project in Writing for Television.

But the reality is we’re getting cancelled after the first season, no matter how I write it.

“Make it quick, Dad. I’m busy,” I answer, locking my apartment door behind me. Of course he waits until I’m leaving for the sorority house to call.

“Well hello to you too, Son.”

I roll my eyes, like we’ve ever been the kind for niceties.

“I just wanted to see how things were going. I haven’t heard from you. Are you watching her?”

“I’m going to hang out with her right now. I think I might have her convinced to let me help with tournaments this semester.”

“Perfect. Attaboy,” he says, coughing. I picture him holed up in his office while Mom paints in the foyer, his mind more focused on poker than spending any time with her. “I know I don’t say it often, but I’m proud of you, Son. Putting your old man’s dreams before your own is very admirable.”

I scoff. “I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I?”

He’s silent for a moment before answering. “I just, you know how much this means to me, and whether you agree with it or not I appreciate you doing this for me. If I could do it myself you know I would.”

“I know, Dad.” I sigh, kicking a rock with my shoe as I walk. Dad used to play poker when he was younger, back before he met Mom. After he found out she was pregnant with me, he joined the Army to provide for us, and that became more important to him – or so he says. He never really dropped his dream, and since he couldn’t hold a high position in the Army and gamble, too, he forced me into it. He was convinced his “pride and joy” bouncing baby boy would make him proud.

He taught me from a young age and I tried as hard as I could to impress him, to learn from him, but the truth is I’m just not that great at poker. I wanted to be when I was younger, when I didn’t realize I wanted other things in life, but I failed miserably when placed next to his expectations. I’ve won small tournaments, but I get obliterated when I have to play anyone with real talent. I hate seeing disappointment on my dad’s face when I lose, but not as much as I hate the pleading look he gives me when he asks me to keep trying. This is it, my last chance to show up and be done with this shit forever – to finally do what I want.

Maybe it’s good that he called, maybe this is what I needed to focus tonight.

Dad coughs again, a loud and wet cough. “Okay then,” he says. “Call me when you get everything squared away.” He always ends our phone calls with that, and I never know what he means. It’s military talk for getting things in line, but I can’t tell what exactly he means – when school is in line? When Skyler is in line? When my life is in line? Who knows. He always asks, and I never call – I just wait for him to do it, instead.

We hang up just as I reach the house and ring the doorbell. I hear a scurry of feet before it opens, three bashful girls standing in the opening. I flash a smile. “Good evening, ladies. I’m here to pick up Skyler.”

Two of them look to each other and visibly swoon, which is actually pretty amusing. I’ve never been a bad looking guy, but I wouldn’t exactly say I’m swooned after. Perks of a small school and dating pool, I guess. The third girl, who hasn’t taken her eyes off me, suddenly realizes none of them have said a word and moves aside quickly to let me in. “I’ll go grab her. Do you want a drink or anything while you wait?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” I smile again and she nods, her mouth open slightly, before turning toward the stairs. I stand quietly with the other two for a few minutes, none of us saying anything. I smile at them and they smile back, and then we’re back to just standing and staring.

Awk-ward.

Finally, the girl returns and she and the other two run off to the other room just as Skyler walks down the stairs.

Or should I say, half-walks, half-stumbles.

She’s in heels – heels that make her legs even sexier than they are naturally but that I know she can’t stand wearing – and a tight black dress. I imagine her sisters helping her choose her outfit, telling her to pick the little black dress so that she’s sexy but not too eager. But, unfortunately for them, they won’t get to see her in it for long.

“Um, hi?” Skyler asks as she hits the last step. Her eyes are taking in my attire and she quirks a brow. “Did I wake you?”

I look down at the plain white tank top and flannel sleep pants I’m wearing, complete with dark blue fuzzy slippers. I smile and look back up. “I told you to stay in your sweats. Go change.”

“What? But we’re going on a date.” She chokes on the last word a bit and I can’t help but laugh.

“Your point? Go change, damnit, or we’re going to be late.”

“For what, a slumber party?”

I purse my lips and step toward her, pulling her close. She jumps a little when my fingertips touch the exposed skin on her back. “You know I like it when you’re feisty, so unless you want me to do very non-friend-zone things to you, I suggest you go change. And quickly.”

She swallows, her lips parting softly. “You said hands to yourself. You promised.”

I step back and shrug, smiling again. “Then don’t push me to break my word.”

Skyler eyes me for a moment more before sighing in frustration and turning toward the stairs. I smack her on the butt playfully. “Move your ass, slow poke.”

She feigns disgust but the corners of her mouth pull up into a smile before she disappears up the stairs. A few minutes later she reappears in gray sweat pants and a hot pink tank top with her letters on it. She even tied her hair up in a messy bun. “A” for effort, but I think I want to fuck her even more dressed like this.

“Perfect,” I say, grabbing her hand and leading her toward the door.

“I look horrendous,” she says, shaking her head. “My make-up is the only thing saving me right now.”

“Then you better be nice to me or I’ll make you take that off, too.”

She rolls her eyes. “So where are we going? Because clearly we can’t go out in public looking like this.”

I smile and tuck her under my arm, ruffling the hair piled on top of her head. “Calm your tits, bossy pants. I’ve got a plan.”

“I cannot believe you brought me here like this,” Skyler says for the fifth time. She takes a sip of her wine and tries to sink lower into the booth.

“It’s just Bella’s,” I remind her, laughing. Bella’s is a small but very nice Italian restaurant not too far from the coast. It’s romantic, white lights hung above an open garden type setting. Mostly everyone here is dressed formally. Everyone but us, that is. “And you look exquisite, so stop. Don’t you feel more comfortable in those sweat pants than you did in that scrap of fabric you called a dress?”

“Well obviously, but you’re not supposed to wear sweat pants to a nice restaurant where there are other people dining. Or on a date. Or in public in general, really.”

“Says who?” I ask, topping off our wine glasses with the bottle I bought.

“Says,” she stutters, her hands gesturing to everyone around us. “Says everyone. It’s just not something you do.”

I smile and shake my head. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who cares what people think. That sounds like the old you, the you that didn’t fit in and played poker at home every weekend.”

She rolls up her straw wrapper and tosses it at my head, pegging me directly in the forehead. Bull’s-eye.

“I played poker at home on the weekends because I wanted to, thank you very much,” she says, laughing. “And yeah, maybe I do care what other people think. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that – perception is reality, right?”

“If you say so,” I say, still smiling as the waiter drops off our food. We eat and talk about everything and nothing, sipping from our glasses until the bottle is devoured. I stay away from deep topics, not wanting to dive back into that territory. It killed me hearing why she played poker, even though I know I needed to ask. I’m supposed to use it against her, to figure out what makes her tick and manipulate it to break her. But instead, when she told me, all I wanted to do was walk away. I wanted to tell her I was a complete asshole and she should stay away from me and then call my dad and tell him to fuck off. But I didn’t. I asked more questions, shit got deeper and deeper, and now I’m in this game that I’m not sure I can play.

While we wait for the check, Skyler’s knee bounces under the table and she keeps looking around like she’s afraid she’s going to see someone she knows. I take it as my cue and finish off the last bit of wine left in my glass before standing and straightening my wrinkled tank.

Skyler’s eyes shoot to mine, her knee halting. “What are you doing?”

I clear my throat and pull out the best Midwestern accent I can muster, drawing inspiration from the guys I used to hang out with in Kansas. They always said I talked funny, but I think they were on the wrong end of that sentence. “Ella Mae,” I say, grabbing Skyler’s hand. She’s looking at me like she would a flying purple turtle. “I know we’ve only been together for ‘bout a year now, but I feel like you’re my whole world. I wanna drive our RV all over ‘Merica and see everything with you. I can’t imagine sharin’ my pork rinds with anyone else. And, well, I guess what I’m sayin’ is…” I drop down to one knee, fishing in my pocket for the straw wrapper I’ve been tying under the table. At this point, everyone is watching us, some have even pulled out their camera phones, sensing what was about to happen. Skyler’s face is red – not pink, not flushed – but a deep, crimson red. I can’t tell if she’s more embarrassed or pissed, but I’m leaning toward the latter. I bite my lip and pretend to get a little teary eyed as I present her with the make-shift wrapper ring. “Will you marry me?”