“Oh shit. I’m so sorry,” he says, grabbing ahold of my arm and helping me up.
Looking down at my blouse, which is now covered in oil and teriyaki sauce, I lie and tell him, “It’s okay.” When I shift my eyes up, I can see the embarrassment on his perfect face.
“That top is ruined.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I’ll just have to go shopping then.”
“Let me make it up to you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“No, it’s not,” he says. “But it would make me feel like less of a dick.”
“It’s really—”
“Stop being shy and let him make it up to you,” Brooke calls out from across the room, her words blemishing my face in my own embarrassment.
With a smirk on his face, he asks, “What’s your name?”
“Tori.”
He holds out his hand to me, and when I slip mine into his, he says, “I’m Landon.”
His eyes are deep brown, nearly the same color as his hair, which is cut short and gelled. He’s clean-shaven with a preppy look to him that makes the all-American statement.
“What’s your number so I can call you to make plans?”
He pulls out his cell and adds my number before slipping it back into his pants pocket. When he reaches down to pick up the case with his knives, my cell buzzes with an incoming text.
Unknown: Sorry about the shirt.
When I look up to him, he’s smiling. “Had to make sure you weren’t trying to blow me off with a fake number.”
He takes the case from my hands and drops his voice when he says, “I’ll call you later.”
I watch him as he walks out of the kitchen, and as soon as he’s gone, Brooke squeals, “Oh, my God! He was totally flirting with you.”
Shoving my cell back in my pocket, I roll my eyes and walk over to the sink. “Flirting? He wants to take me on a date because he ruined my shirt, Brooke. That’s not flirting, that’s pity.”
“Well, you better take it, whatever it is because you need to get laid.”
I yank the bowl she’s holding from her hands. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re uptight, Tori.”
“Aren’t I allowed to be?”
Brooke dries her hands, and when she sets the towel down, she looks at me with compassion. “Of course you’re allowed. But it’s been months. Don’t you think you should start putting yourself out there?”
“I am out there.” My defense is weak at best. We both know I’m hiding.
“You’re a terrible liar. Look, Trey was a grade-A dick, but not every guy is like that.”
Pain grows thick in my chest, building pressure around my heart that I will to dissolve. I wonder how much longer this will last. She’s right, it’s been nearly seven months since I broke up with Trey. We’d dated since high school—I gave him four years of my life, and I thought he was the one. But it turned out, I was just lying to myself. I was blinded by familiarity.
From early on, Trey had been physical with me. What started out as meek pushes and shoves eventually morphed into slaps and punches. But I stayed with him because I loved him. At least, I thought I did. I now know differently. I’d convinced myself that if I just loved him a little harder, if I behaved a little better, that he’d stop.
No one knew what was happening behind closed doors—we hid it well. It wasn’t until Brooke ditched her blind date one night and returned to our dorm room much earlier than expected that she walked in on Trey hammering his fist into my back. That was the moment my world fell from its axis. Our dark secret of abuse and lies had been discovered by the one woman who would fight harder than Trey ever could. The only difference—she fought for me, not against me.
“If he calls, take the pity date.”
I swallow past the memories and nod my head. “Fine. I’ll take the pity date . . . if he even calls.”
“Girls, come on! We’re gonna be late!”
While Landon finishes up in the shower, I run around the house like a crazy lady with her head chopped off. Typical weekday morning.
“Mom, I can’t find my other shoe,” Emily hollers from her bedroom.
“Well, if you’d put your things where they belong, it wouldn’t be lost.”
I grab a to-go mug from the kitchen and quickly brew another cup of coffee before remembering I never went through the girls’ school folders last night. Shit!