The Redemption(52)

“All right. All right. Stop it. First of all, we are not in a relationship. Secondly, we are not secret lovers.”

“I know. That’s my point. You suck at hiding these things.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes. As much as he’s frustrating, he’s kind of funny too. “Stop teasing. We aren’t lovers at all.”

“Have you had sex?”

“Johnny!”

“You’ve had sex with Dex.” His face scrunches in disgust. “And besides that rhyming, gross by the way. I’m totally judging you for that.”

“You sound like Holli.”

He shrugs, not ashamed. God love him.

As he drinks his beer, I say, “Look, I’ll tell you what we’re not. We’re not lovers, secret or otherwise. We’re not friends because we can’t seem to do that without other stuff getting in the way—”

“Like your attraction for each other?”

“Settle down, Mr. Quicky with the Comebacks. No, I meant all of this baggage both of us are lugging around.”

“Maybe it’s time to lighten the load, Rochelle.”

“I can’t. I’m held to different standards. Impossible standards.”

“Not by me. I don’t like the idea of you and Dex. I mean Dex can’t do better than you, so I see why he’s in it. But as for you, Dex is pretty much rock bottom. So what’s your excuse?”

I look around the restaurant. It’s a traditional steakhouse and dim, candles on the tables, and us in a booth in the corner. I spin my wine glass around a few times before lifting it and taking a sip. He’s stopped eating and is waiting for my reply, but I’m not sure what to say, so I go with the truth, tired of hiding my real feelings. “I’m lonely.”

And there it is, a soft sigh accompanied with a side of sympathy written all over his face. “That. What you’re doing right there, Johnny, that’s what I don’t want. Not from you. Not from anyone.”

Leaning back, he drops his hands to his sides. His eyes fixed on mine. “I want what’s best for you and the boys.”

“I know. I do too. But I’m starting to feel like what’s best for me as a woman may not be what’s best for the boys.”

“Dex isn’t that bad. I mean, he’s actually kind of cool. We’ve kept him around for a reason.”

With a light laugh, I say, “I know that too, but Janice doesn’t. The tabs don’t.”

“Fuck the tabs. We don’t live our lives to justify our actions to them. Sometimes we f*ck up and sometimes the day turns out better than planned. We just have to do the best we can. As for Janice, I know I don’t have to explain her angle. You’re well aware of that. But she loves you and she loves those kids. You guys are all that remains of her son, so she’s gonna be tough on you. Probably not accept some guy strutting in like he’s gonna replace Cory.”

Looking down at the burgundy table cloth, running my finger along the fold wrinkle, I release a deep breath. “Dex didn’t strut, but I treated him like he did.”

With a slight nod in understanding, Johnny says, “I have a feeling he’s underestimated a lot.”

“But we shouldn’t. As his friends, we should stick by him. I’ve seen how much he’s changed over the years and I doubted what I knew to be true because of my own fears of being judged.”

Johnny shifts when the waiter arrives, and asks, “Would you like to see our dessert menu?”

“No, thank you,” he replies and then I repeat the same.

When we’re alone again, he leans in. “From where I sit, you have a choice to make.”

“I pushed him away,” I interrupt. “And then he slept with someone and I caught them, so there’s no choice to make anymore.”

His face contorts. “Hmmm.”

“For some reason my gut tells me he didn’t, but he wants me to believe he did.”

“What?”

“Exactly. It’s a mess.” With another sigh, I say, “We’re a mess.”

“Back up. He slept with someone, but didn’t, but wants you to believe he did?”

“I don’t know for certain, but something like that.”

“You guys are twisted.” The check arrives and he glances over it, sets his credit card down in the folder, then scopes out the restaurant. The waiter swipes it from the table, leaving us alone again. Usually by this point at dinner, he gets anxious to leave because word has spread that he’s in the restaurant. It will be a miracle if we get out of here without him stopping to take a pic or signing an autograph or twenty. Looking down at his watch, he says, “It’s almost eleven, but I’m up for an adventure. How about you?”

His excitement is contagious, so I ask, “Like old times?”

He smirks. “Yeah, but without the cop chase.”

Nodding toward the door, I say, “Let’s go.”

Thirty minutes later, the band—all four members—Tommy and me, are piled into a light blue minivan heading away from South Beach. The food I just ate feels heavy in my stomach, the awkwardness of the situation not sitting well with me. I did not have enough to drink to pretend to be cool.

“Where are we going?” Kaz asks, shifting uncomfortably next to me.