lifts an eyebrow. “You have to be drunk to sleep with me?”
“Just buzzed.”
Now he laughs again, teeth glinting in the muted light. “See, I told you you were funny.” But he raises his hand to call the server and orders another round.
“That was easy.”
“At least one of us is.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, something I hadn’t intended to do, something that feels foreign. Strange. Nice. Wrong.
More drinks come, and we take our time. We don’t talk about work or money or errands; none of the lies that litter the minefield of our pseudo-relationship. Chris tells me a story about his childhood, when he decided to help his mom by digging up all the beets in the garden so they could have them with dinner, but instead he accidentally dug up the dahlia tubers she’d planted and spent the whole night putting them back. I tell him about the time in elementary school when my dad discovered I’d been charging people five dollars to eat at my lunch table, and he made me donate the money to the school lunch program, which didn’t even exist, since everyone who went to the school was a millionaire.
Chris struggles to finish his beer while laughing. “So you’ve always been delightful.”
“That’s one way to describe me.”
“You ready to go?” He pushes the empty bottle aside, and I nod, even as all the warmth generated by the cocktail and conversation seeps out of me. I reach for my wallet, but Chris waves me off, leaving too much money on the table and standing to help me into my coat. “I meant it when I said you looked beautiful.”
“You don’t have to flatter me,” I say, trying to piece my armor back together as fast as humanly possible. For three years, I’ve had a very simple mission: do nothing. And now I don’t know what to do. Do I sleep with him and keep up the guise? I’ve done it before, I can do it again. But something in my chest tightens at the thought, begging me not to. It’s that spark of the old Reese, the one I thought had been extinguished as she lay at the bottom of the cliff, blood in her hair, the lies that comprised my life sprinkled around me like so many pieces of glass.
I feel the soft press of Chris’s fingers on my waist as we weave our way toward the door. It’s only Tuesday, but the bar is packed, winter ushering everyone indoors. The cold air is a slap in the face when we get outside, and I shudder, folding my arms across my stomach.
“Where’s your place?” Chris asks, glancing up and down the empty street. “Did you drive?”
“I took a cab,” I lie.
“Okay.” He lifts a hand to hail one, but when a car approaches, I wave it away, keeping my eyes on the ground when Chris turns to me. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s exasperated. That he wants to come over. See where I live. See if there’s any truth to the rumors that there’s money in the walls.
“What is it?” he asks. His breath hangs in the air between us, dissipating slowly, like his patience. I’ve made enough people unhappy to recognize the signs.
“Not tonight,” I say finally.
A muscle in his cheek twitches, like he’s gritting his teeth, but all he says is, “Fine, we’ll go to my place. You okay to walk?”
“Not tonight,” I repeat. “Not anything. I had a nice time, but I don’t want this to be just about sex.” If I weren’t so painfully anxious, I’d laugh at the lie. All I ever wanted it to be about was sex. I didn’t even want to know his name. And now I need to know. I need to know everything.
Chris’s eyes widen appropriately at my unexpected attitude adjustment. “That’s very different from what you’ve been saying.”
“I changed my mind.” My thighs start to ache from the cold and I rock on my feet to keep warm. My fingertips are already numb.
Then Chris smiles and takes half a step back. “I knew I could do it.”
“Do what?”
“Make you want more. Lure you in with my charming personality and witty repartee.”
“That’s not it.”
“Sway you with my cooking and good manners.”
“You’re so off base.”
His smile expands. “I know the answer, but I’ll ask anyway: can I walk you home?”