when she told me to be selfish. I ignore it and wish her a good night as I let Hayden walk me out to his car.
“This one’s all mine now,” he says.
I already know. I saw Tory’s junker earlier. Hayden doesn’t need to know any of that, though.
“Oh, yeah? No more sign-up sheet for who gets to take the car?” I joke as he opens the passenger door for me and I slip inside. He smiles at my joke, but that’s about as big of a laugh as it gets.
I figure we’re going somewhere nice for dinner, but I don’t expect the rooftop grill on the way to Indy. Hayden keeps me guessing for most of the trip, but I figure it out when the only other option is driving completely into the city. He pulls into the lot, tucking his car neatly between an Escalade and a Porsche. He can’t afford this.
“Hayden, this is very sweet, but we don’t have to go here,” I say.
“I know we don’t have to, but I want to give you a special night.” He leans toward me and runs his thumb along my cheek. All I can think is how I wish it were Tory, and how I’m basically using him for a nice dinner because I’m too big of a chicken shit to end this.
“Thank you,” I croak out.
He gets out and rounds the car to open my door for me, taking my hand and leading me inside. A glass elevator takes us up to the roof where he’s reserved a table in the corner that overlooks the downtown lights. I don’t know what he had to do to nab this seat, but I feel as though I’m becoming a way overpriced date. This is too much.
“Madam,” he says, putting on a silly voice as he pulls out my chair. Before I sit, a hostess steps in and takes my jacket for me, draping it over an open seat nearby. Heaters hang over our heads from cords strung across the patio amidst the zigzagging lights. It’s warm, but maybe I’m warmer because of how uncomfortable I am with this entire situation. My eyes dart around in a paranoid fashion, and I don’t even hear when the waiter steps up to take our drink orders. Hayden must have answered something for me.
“You’re in shock?” He reaches forward and holds out an open palm, a crooked smile showing his teeth.
I put my hand in his and hope to feel something. He closes his fingers around my hand, and it’s as if I’m dead. My heart is pounding but only due to this sensation of feeling trapped.
“So, confession time,” he begins.
“Huh?” I shoot my gaze to his, my eyes wider than a cat caught in a hound dog’s path.
He chuckles and squeezes my hand a little, shaking it against the table softly to work out my nerves. I’m sure he thinks I’m just caught off guard by the fancy restaurant, but that’s not it. I’ve been to dozens of restaurants like this, meeting with casting directors and agents. As stressful as those dinners may have been, they were nothing compared to this one.
“So, my confession,” he starts again, and I’m so terrified that he is going to blurt out the L word that I interject with a confession of my own.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” My mouth goes dry, my voice cracking on the last word.
“You . . . can’t do this?” His touch on my hand has relaxed, his fingers unfurling and letting go. I squeeze back because I care about him.
“Hayden, I’m not . . . I don’t want . . .” My jumbled words are not enough. I am no good without a plan, and this is about as spontaneous as I’ve ever been. I don’t know what to say to make things clear, but I do know it’s killing me to see the cracks forming in his happiness. His smile has disintegrated, and the dimple in his cheek has become a deep divot between his brows.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, tears pooling in my eyes. I shake my head and kneed at his hands, trying to bring life back into them. They’ve gone cold.
His focus is off, as if he’s looking through me more than at me. He leans back in his seat, finally pulling his hands away completely.
“Tell me, is it him?”
My insides twist and burst with pain. I don’t know how to answer this because the