Player(31)

“You got me—I really wanted the Waldorf salad.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, but when it died down, I found myself shaking my head, marveling at the moment. At the beautiful man smiling at me from across a candlelit table with eyes like whiskey and a face like an ancient prince. I was lucky to have earned that smile, to have this time with him. I reminded myself not only to enjoy every fleeting second, but not to waste it.

“So, what else? Do you have any conversational tips for me?”

“Think up some questions you can lock and load if the conversation dies. But not the typical old what do you do, do you have any siblings type questions. It’s not an interview.”

“Okay.” I only had to think for a split second. “What’s the one song that you love, but you’d die of embarrassment if anyone caught you singing it in the shower?”

He laughed and answered without missing a beat, “‘Mercy’ by Shawn Mendes. I can’t help it, man. That kid kills me. You?”

“Well, not much music could embarrass me, but I know all the words to ‘Bodak Yellow’ and have been known to twerk whenever it comes on within the privacy of my home.” I smiled at his smile and said, “If you could be the absolute best in the world at one thing, what would it be?”

His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Composing. You?”

“You compose?” I asked, my eyes widening with my smile. “What do you write?”

“All kinds of stuff. What about you? What would you be the best in the world at? Let me guess,” he said, avoiding my questions. “Roller derby. No, reigning twerk queen—that is something I need to see before I die.”

I laughed. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Seal trainer? Tap dancer? Pastry chef?”

“Kisser. I’d like to give a man a kiss that makes him fall in love with me.”

Something in him stilled. “Dangerous request. What if you kiss the wrong man? You’ll never get rid of him.”

“Then I guess I’d have to be sure about the men who get my kisses.” I changed the subject with another question. “What’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to you lately?”

“Asking you to the club.”

I smiled. “Well, mine was going to the club, so I guess we’re on the same page.”

“Guess so,” he said quietly, though his smile was still in place.

“So,” I started, aching to relieve the tension between us, “what shouldn’t I do on a date? There has to be a list, right? Don’t talk about myself too much? Don’t ask too many questions? Don’t accidentally be nosy or rude?”

He shook his head. “Two rules: don’t drink too much, and don’t be anyone but yourself. That’s it.”

I frowned. “Except myself empties spit valves on shoes. What about my flaws? Shouldn’t I…I don’t know. Hide them? I don’t want a guy to see the bad things about me until I’ve had time to snag him.”

“Everyone’s flawed. I guarantee whatever man sits across from you has more shortcomings than you could ever possess. All you’re gonna have to do is show up and be yourself. You’ve got a rockin’ body. You’re talented and smart. You’re funny and young, and your body is rockin’.”

I chuckled. “You already said that.”

“It’s worth repeating. I just…” He gave his head a little shake. “I can’t figure out how you haven’t dated.”

My insides squeezed painfully. “It’s always been this way, Sam. It’s okay. It’s just what it is. This is just me.” I gestured to my body. “Guys aren’t interested.”

Another shake of his head, this time angry. “I don’t understand why you don’t believe me. Do you think I’m bullshitting you, Val?”

“No, it’s…it’s not that. It’s just…it’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

I twisted my napkin in my lap, squeezing until my knuckles ached. “Do you remember when you first started noticing girls?”

His frustration dissipated, his face softening with it. “Junior high, seventh grade. That was when I really started looking.”

“I was the only girl in the fifth grade who needed a bra. A real bra with underwire. It was almost overnight and bam. Hips and boobs at eleven. Kids…kids are cruel. In seventh grade, the girls had all discarded me and quit calling me by my name—they called me a slut instead. Then the rumors started about things I’d done with boys, things I’d never even heard of until they started accusing me. In the eighth grade, it was the boys. They didn’t just ask if they could touch my boobs, they touched them when they wanted, usually when their friends were around to laugh. In class. In the cafeteria. At my locker. By then, the girls were just calling me fat. And the sad thing was that I was relieved. I’d rather be fat than sexualized.”

Sam watched me, his face calm and his eyes on fire.

“Then I went to high school. My brother Franco was in my grade, and freshman year, he filled out. He couldn’t have done much of anything before that—I think he weighed half what I did. But Alex, Max, and Dante were in every single grade above me. The name-calling, the advances—all of it stopped overnight, and I don’t think I’d ever been so relieved in my life. I found my friends in band, and that was a safe place, too. Dante made sure of that. By the time I thought I might want to give boys another chance, they’d all been scared off to the point that I was untouchable.”