looks angry, honestly.
Not at me, though. When I approached the truck after work, he’d given me a soft look. And then he’d let out a sigh.
Something is bothering him. I can feel it.
Once again I'm struck by the realization that men just confuse me. Rickie always gives off a dangerous vibe. It’s more sexual swagger than violence. But now he’s in a mood that should probably frighten me. But it doesn’t.
Reardon, on the other hand, looked like a Vineyard Vines advertisement in crisp preppy shirts and white-toothed, harmless smiles. Yet he stabbed me in the back at his first opportunity. And when I called him on it, he screamed at me and called me a stupid whore.
And he slapped me. I was terrified. That’s the part I never mentioned to Rickie, or anyone else. It's just too embarrassing.
I truly believe that most women are born with an instinct that helps them figure out who’s scary and who’s safe. But mine just never kicked in. This is why I avoid men. It’s a pretty good reason, too. I should have said no to dinner.
But I didn’t.
At the noodle shop, we’re given a plum table by the window. I put my napkin in my lap and pick up the menu. Honestly, this is a treat. Rickie is right that I never go out anymore. I haven’t had the emotional energy to reconnect with friends, or go out on dates. Anxiety has eaten my life.
I glance around at the restaurant, which only has a few patrons so far, because it’s early. But everyone here looks so relaxed and happy. This is just what I need—a short break from reality. For the next hour, I can be just a lucky girl who’s out for dinner with a ridiculously attractive boy.
The waitress arrives, and we order. Rickie thanks the waitress. Then he turns those gray eyes on me, and asks me a polite question. “How was work today?”
“Fine. Good, actually.” He listens respectfully while I prattle on about data collection.
“So why public health?” he asks suddenly. “How’d you choose it?”
“Well, at first I thought I wanted to be a doctor and literally save lives. My father died young of a heart attack.”
“Right. That really sticks with your brother, too.”
“I know. So I started college as a premed bio major. But then I took some classes on healthcare policy.”
“And you loved it?”
“No, I got angry.”
Rickie grins. “Go on.”
“The way we deliver healthcare in this country is so screwed up that the doctors can’t even do their jobs. I mean—there are politicians who can’t stand the idea of food stamps for hungry children, because one able-bodied guy might accidentally get a free sandwich he didn’t earn. Those same guys will defund women’s healthcare—all of it—no matter that the data shows that free healthcare for poor women reduces all government expenditure. They will burn it to the ground just so one undocumented immigrant doesn’t get a handout, or just in case somebody gets an abortion.”
And now I’m getting worked up. Again. It’s a real mystery why I don’t have a lot of dinner invitations.
But Rickie just reaches across the table and smooths his thumb across the back of my hand. “Go on.”
“I just need science to win. That’s all. Public health is about making good policies. I need the grown-ups in the room to make the decisions. Or we’re all lost.”
“That’s admirable,” says the new, subdued Rickie.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” I finally ask. “You’re quiet and it’s creeping me out. At least when you’re flirty and crass, I know how to handle you.”
“Sorry.” The smile he gives me is sheepish. “Rough day.”
That’s when the waitress brings us two steaming bowls of food. I’ve ordered the salmon fried rice, and it looks like heaven. I unwrap my chopsticks eagerly. God, I need to get out more often. And I will eventually. After I unfuck my life. Somehow.
Rickie ignores his own bowl to watch me dive in. Then he puts his beautiful face in his hand, and asks me the question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. “So tell me—why did I once crassly offer to stamp your V-card?”
Crud. I never wanted to have this conversation. “What if we just pretend that never happened?”
He waits.
I take another life-giving bite of rice and then sigh. “Oh, this is going to sound ridiculous. Because it was. I told you this truly pathetic tale of imagining myself in love with someone. And I confessed that I’d…” Yup, this was going to sound stupid. “I’d