Lag (The boys of RDA #2)(45)
“What are you going to order?” he asks from his side of the small square table.
“Um, I don’t know.” I scan the menu again and try to read some of the selections this time. “Let me guess, you’re getting the steak?” I peek my face over the tall menu and smile at him.
“Of course. You should try it.”
“Okay.” I give in without any fight and cringe, thankful Marissa isn’t here to see how bad I am at making him work for it.
Our table is small so our legs and knees are mushed up in the space between us. After a few more seconds of footsie, we settle into a comfortable position of his knee, my knee, his knee, my knee. It takes mere minutes before I realize there is way too much knee touching going on for me to remain unaware of it for the rest of the meal.
Our waitress returns at the perfect time, right before I made a ridiculous comment about how warm Trey’s knee is against mine. I don’t even want to know how he’d respond.
Trey takes my menu. “Give us an order of the sweet potato fries and two filet mignons.” He stops and turns his head to me. “Do you like mushrooms?"
“You don’t know?” I cock my head and smile with faux innocence at him while blinking more times than I need to.
He raises an eyebrow at my gesture but then turns back to the waitress. “I’m taking that as a yes, so two filet mignons with the sautéed mushrooms, please.”
The waitress leaves and I fiddle with my water straw to fill the silence with movement not words. The band plays from their floating stage and the smell of cooked meat has me excited for this steak, even if I’m not ready to admit it yet.
Trey looks up from where he’d been watching the band with me. “I hoped you’d like it, but there’s one detail the place is missing.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
He smirks. “Cat cups.”
My smile increases as I remember the plastic cup still packed away in my kitchen box now in a corner of Aspen’s bedroom. He might not have kept his, but the fact he fondly remembers something from our time before San Francisco is encouraging.
“No. They wouldn’t fit the décor here at all. This place is too high class. They’re dog people all the way.”
“Dogs are classier than cats?”
“Absolutely, one of those Italian grey hounds. Very regal.” I sip at my water with the straw on the side of my mouth.
“I’m not sure an Italian grey hound can pull off tiki quite like a tabby can.”
I laugh at his rebuttal and try to think of another option, but as Trey’s happy face falls into something stern, my nervous butterflies start up again.
“The tiki bar isn’t the only reason I asked you to dinner tonight.”
“Yeah?” I can’t form more words than the simple response.
“I went home Wednesday night feeling horrible. I’d been so pissed at you for refusing to talk to me, but you were losing a job and burying your mother. It kind of makes all my issues a bit smaller in comparison, you know?”
I go back to pulling my straw in and out of my drink so I’m not required to make eye contact. “I didn’t tell you to make you feel guilty." Now I feel really stupid about crying in front of him.
“No, Simone.” He reaches across the table and stills my hand. “Don’t think that, but it helped me figure out a way we could solve a few of both our problems.” He stops and stares at me from across the table, but I remain silent.
“You need a job and we need a receptionist.” He leans back in his chair. “I can’t afford to pay you as much as I imagine you made at Lowry’s, but it’d be more than you make waiting tables.”
My mouth falls open a tad and I’m quick to close it. “You brought me here to offer me a job?”
“Yes. It works out for both of us.”
The anticipation I’d built up crashes taking my heart with it. Trey asked me here to give me a job. Why did I get my hopes up? And what exactly were they hopeful for? I shake my head a fraction. I’m such a moron. I want to face palm myself, but it will have to wait until I'm home.
At least the question is answered. This was definitely a non-date. “You want me to be your receptionist?” I ask for clarification because I’m a glutton for punishment. There's a small chance I’ve contracted a case of hearing distortion in the past five minutes.
“Yes.” Trey stills and reads my face, possibly realizing for the first time I’m not having the reaction he expected.
Our small waitress stops at our table with our food and Trey and I are silent as she unloads everything on the table. The atmosphere around us is heavy and she leaves in a hurry.
“You don’t like the idea?” Trey asks as he unrolls his black napkin and places it in his lap.
I hesitate in my answer while I begin to cut my steak. It does look delicious. The small round filet cut piece of meat has four large mushrooms placed on top and the entire tower is covered in some kind of dark sauce that pools on the plate. At least I’ll get a delicious meal out of this.
I answer as he takes his first bite. “What happened to the old receptionist?” I remember Trey admitted he made her buy his mom a gift at one point in time, but he’s never mentioned her leaving.
He sighs but continues chewing, “She was horrible. We’ve had three people since July and can’t keep a single one. Which is why you'd be perfect.”