Concealed - A Hiding From Love Novel #2 (25 page)

“I know,” Beth sighs. “It was so romantic.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I know it fits a chick’s idea of some romance novel thing, but from where I’m standing? I’ve taken all the risks here. The second Alexis was faced with taking a risk, she bolted. She refused to talk to me about it. She ran home and hid out for two fucking weeks. I don’t feel like making it easy for her, Beth. I’ve made it as easy as I can…twice. Look what it got me?”

She looks at me with sympathy, and her response is quiet. “I know. But what about the other girl? Are you just using her to keep Alexis away?”

I hate that she’s managed to get me to think about this shit. I’d so much rather keep pretending. “Maybe,” I say noncommittally.

“Gabe…” Her tone is like a mother admonishing her small child.

“I’m not ready. I’m not ready to let her back in, and I don’t know if I ever will be,” I admit as I turn and look out over the tiny yard of Beth’s duplex.

She comes and stands next to me, bumping me with her shoulder. We both lean our arms on the porch railing and watch the night darken.

Alexis

Cuanto menos se diga, mejor.

The less said, the better.

I
T’S
amazing to me how resilient the human heart really is. We all think if we have a broken heart we’ll curl up in a ball and die. And granted, there are plenty of days when that’s about all I do, but the fact is I haven’t died yet. And nearly two months after I ruined my life with Gabe, I realize I am indeed going to keep on living. My nearly twenty-one-year-old heart is going to keep pumping no matter how much it hurts. Some days I wish that wasn’t the case.

The weather is warming rapidly, and as we reach the midpoint in the semester, I start to look for a job. I’ve got two more months of rent from Mom and Dad and then I’m on my own. While I’d like to work someplace that gives me experience in social work or international aid, most of those jobs are volunteer. Given that I’ll be twenty-one soon, I decide waitressing might be the best gig. It’ll get me out of the house in the evenings, give good tips, and let me keep taking classes during the days.

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m a masochist or just stupid, but I end up applying at the Indian restaurant Gabe took me to on our first real date. Within a week I get a call saying they want to hire me. I start off working three nights a week, and as soon as I’m legal they add on Saturday nights, the biggest night of their week and the one where serving alcohol gets you some pretty fantastic tips.

Every time I walk into work, I can’t help but remember the first time Gabe and I came here. The happiness on his face when he showed me the place, the way he held my hand while we waited for our food to come. I torture myself with it every night, but in a way it’s comforting, sort of like this space is frozen in time, and I can see us sitting there so hopeful and happy, so in love. Even though it hurts, I always look forward to going to work, ready to pretend yet again that the bad parts never happened.

It’s my third time working a Saturday shift when I come out of the kitchen and the hostess breezes past me on her way to seat someone.

“I just seated a two-top on seven for you, Lex,” she says, smiling.

“Thanks,” I reply, grabbing a water pitcher off of the prep stand before heading over to table seven.

As I turn the corner around the bar to get to my new customers, I have to grab the barstool nearest me. There, seated at the table in my section, is Gabe, on a date with the blonde. I choke on the breath that whooshes out of my lungs and have to bend over slightly to get my bearings. The bartender standing nearby looks at me with concern. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks.

I try to stand up straight. “Yeah,” I say, sounding weak. “Just a little woozy.”

“You want me to get one of the other girls to cover for you?” he suggests.

“No. Thanks, but we’re already short with Angie out of town. I’ll be fine.”

I square my shoulders and start toward the table.

I can see the moment he looks up and spots me. His eyes widen, and I can tell he doesn’t realize I’m there to work. By the time I’ve reached the table, I have the water pitcher held up in front of me like a shield. I don’t pause a second before I launch into my waitress speech.

“Hi, I’m…well, you know who I am, and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

I begin pouring the water into their glasses, careful not to make eye contact with Gabe while I do it. I notice a decided lack of conversation, so as I finish filling his date’s glass, I finally stand up, plaster a really poor imitation of a smile on my face, and look first at her, then at him.

She’s sitting with her hands in her lap, staring down at the table. Her hair hangs down alongside her face so I can’t see her expression, but the tension rolling off of her is spectacular. She’s not enjoying this any more than I am.

Gabe is watching me, his brow somewhat furrowed and a confused glint to his eyes. His gaze darts to the blonde for a second then lands back on me, and he clears his throat.

“Um, I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I had no idea you were working here.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” I spit out in a monotone. “Did you want a drink?”

I can see that the blonde is breathing sort of rapidly, and her head is still down. I wonder if she’s going to hit me. Or maybe even cry? I can’t imagine why she’d do either. I mean, she’s the one who has him. It’s not like I’m making some play to steal him – like I even could.

Gabe says softly, “C? Did you want something?”

She takes a deep breath and lifts her head. She’s a little flushed, but other than that, her face is totally neutral.

“I’ll have a shot of Cuervo and a Corona, please.” She looks up finally, and I can see her assessing me, trying to figure out how much of a threat I am. I can barely restrain myself from telling her the truth –
He hates me. You’ve got nothing to worry about.

I write down her order then look over to Gabe. I catch him watching me, and he looks uncharacteristically pensive.

“Fat Tire?” I ask him, because I know exactly what he likes to drink on a Saturday night while eating Indian food.

One side of his mouth lifts in a cynical half smile. “You remember,” he says so quietly I think only I may have heard.

“Always,” I answer in kind. Then I step back from the table.

“I’ll be right back with those drinks. Take a look at the menus and let me know if you have any questions.” I give them what I hope is a jaunty smile and head back to the kitchen, where I collapse against the wall in the back hallway and hyperventilate.

Over the next thirty minutes, I go back to their table three times, once to bring their drinks, once to take their order, and once to bring their food. I give a huge sigh of relief when they have their dinners and I can ignore them for a while.

Each time I’m at their table, they both studiously avoid looking directly at me, but the tension is palpable. She’s pissed if I’m reading the situation right, and he’s working really hard to ignore it. I can’t help but take some bitchy satisfaction in the possibility that I’ve ruined their little lovefest in what was my special place with Gabe.

The restaurant is slammed, and I’ve been on my feet nonstop for two hours when I finally get a minute to run to the restroom. I come out of the stall and standing there, obviously waiting for me, is Gabe’s girlfriend.

I give her a tight smile and walk to the sink. I hope she’s not a hair-pulling, scratching kind of girl because I haven’t been in a chick fight since Beth and I wanted to wear the same dress one day when I was thirteen, and Beth pretty much kicked my ass.

“So how long have you worked here?” she asks casually as she leans against one of the sinks.

“Um, about a month.”

“Did he know?” By the look on her face I sense she realizes he didn’t.

“Look.” I turn and face her. “I’m sorry this is awkward. I would have gotten another waitress to take your table, but we’re shorthanded tonight, so there wasn’t anyone else. I promise you, we don’t talk – Gabe and me. He had no idea I worked here, and I had no idea you guys would be coming in. It’s just bad luck for all of us.”

She looks up at me and I see tears shining in her eyes. Suddenly, I feel worse. She doesn’t seem like a bad person, and she’s obviously hurting. I don’t know why she thinks I’m a threat. He’s obviously not interested in me. I’m right across the parking lot. All he needs to do is knock on my door. He never does.

“He still loves you,” she tells me simply. “And I know he’s never going to love me. I stick around because he’s a good guy, and I care about him… a lot. But I’ve known since the first time he kissed me. His heart never left you.”

I swallow, overwhelmed by the images of him kissing her but also by the idea of me still holding his heart, by how deeply I wish for that to be true.

“I don’t think so,” I tell her, my voice gravelly. “I’m sure he cares about you a lot. Gabe doesn’t do girlfriends, so you must be pretty special.”

She gives a bitter laugh. “Gabe doesn’t do a lot of things,” she says cryptically. “But trust me on this one. He’s in love with you, and if you’ve got any sense at all, you’ll figure out a way to talk to him about it, because I know that’s all he really wants.”

She turns and strides out of the bathroom, and I carefully wash my hands…over and over again.

Gabe

No hay nada nuevo debajo del sol.

There’s nothing new under the sun.

M
Y
night is a total and complete clusterfuck. I take Carla to the Indian restaurant I’ve been avoiding for two months because it reminds me of Alexis, and lo and behold, Alexis is our waitress. Of all the restaurants in all the world…and so on and so forth. When she first comes to our table, I’m so shocked I can barely speak. It’s the only time I’ve heard her voice in months, and it rolls over me like a tidal wave, crashing down on my ears and my heart where it drowns out any other sounds.

I’m sitting there, looking around the restaurant, watching people’s mouths moving, seeing dishes colliding and chairs scooting, and I can’t hear any of it. All I hear is her,
Can I get you something to drink?
How about a Fat Tire?
Always.

Always
. She’ll always remember my favorite beer. I’ll always remember the way she sounds when she moans while I’m inside of her. I’ll always have her name emblazoned on my skin because that’s how she’s emblazoned on my soul. She’ll always be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Always
. As I watch her glide around the restaurant, giving those sweet smiles to her customers, I wonder if I’ll always feel this way about her, if I’ll always wish for something I can’t have. If I’ll always crave her voice, her touch, her breath.

I’m snapped out of my reverie by Carla standing to go to the restroom. I force a smile.

“Do you want me to get you any dessert while you’re gone?”

She gives me a strange little look. “No, I think I’m pretty much done for the night.”

I know she’s not just talking about the food.