The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,75
to think about it first.”
“Ashley, what’s going on?” Buck suddenly demands.
“What do you mean, what’s going on? I’m planning a trip to visit you.”
“Why now?” he wants to know.
“You’ve been complaining that I haven’t been carrying my weight in this friendship and I’m trying to prove that I’m willing to do my part.”
The looks on his face suggests he’s not buying it. “It seems to me that something else might be at play.”
“Like what?” I force him to say what’s on his mind.
“Like maybe you don’t like the idea of Jessica flirting with me so you’re going to claim me for yourself.”
“Claim you for myself? What are you, a gold mine?”
“I am a gold mine,” he answers seriously. “I’m a find for the right woman. My question is do you suddenly think you’re that woman, and if so, why? Because honestly, Ash, you’ve never shown any interest before.” I feel myself bristle like he’s accusing me of playing games with his heart.
“You said this morning that you might be interested in kissing me,” I retaliate, completely ignoring his insinuation that I’m some kind of flighty game player.
“I did.”
“And? Did you mean it?”
“Maybe.”
“Buck, if I’m playing games then so are you.” I’m really getting annoyed now.
The waiter chooses that moment to bring our appetizers. He places the fish cakes, soup, and salads between us before putting empty plates in front of us. “Can I bring you anything else?” he asks with a skeptical look that questions our ability to handle what we already have.
How about a vacuum to suck the strange energy out in the air? I don’t say that, but seriously, what I was hoping would be a night that would bring some clarity about my feelings toward my friend is quickly turning into an uncomfortable ordeal.
We stop trying to make conversation and focus on our food. The only communications are grunts of appreciation and the occasional comment of, “Pass the salt,” or “Quit hogging the goat cheese.”
When the waiter comes by to clear our dishes, I get up to powder my nose. Buck stands when I push my chair out, and I snap, “Sit down. You don’t have to impress me with your fancy manners.” Then I practically storm off.
When I get to my destination, I stop and stare at myself in the mirror like I’m a stranger. Completely objectively, I decide that I’m a pretty hot stranger. My hair is shimmery and soft looking, my makeup totally badass, and I’m pretty sure my dress could bring grown men to their knees. Apparently, not Buck though.
I reapply my lipstick before going back to our table. I’m not going to let this night end without finding out what’s going on in that mind of his. While I’m guessing we could have a long and happy life together, are we really each other’s soul mates? That’s what I need to find out.
Chapter Forty-Three
May 14, 2016
Dear Molly,
I watched Pretty in Pink for probably the thirtieth time with Sammy tonight. As always, I’m in awe of how you walked into the prom with your head held high to show that preppy SOB that you were good enough on your own. You didn’t need his validation or the approval of his snotty friends. You had your pride and your best friend at your side. Nothing else mattered.
The takeaway is always the same, but it’s so profound I find I never get sick of it. It’s better to be alone than to compromise who you are. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll be rewarded by things working out.
Our waiter was obviously waiting for me to come back to the table because the very instant I sit down, our entrees are served. He puts the pork loin in front of Buck, gives me the catfish, and places the ravioli between us.
“Don’t you dare eat more than half of those potatoes,” I point at them with the blade of my knife.
He raises his eyebrow at me in a supercilious manner that indicates he thinks I’m acting childishly. I have to admit I kind of am, but I’m still mad that he insinuated I was toying with his affections.
“You know this is a restaurant, right? We could always order more.”
“I don’t want to have to wait,” I tell him. My plan appears to be to keep my mouth full of food, so I don’t have to actually talk to him.
Buck scoops up the spuds with a spoon and reaches across the table to dump them on top of my