Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(28)
I chime in with my agreement, though I can’t think of a time when a boyfriend has gone out of his way to do something nice for me that didn’t also benefit him. Then I think of the champagne tasting, and the way Davis was going to leave my house without sex, and wonder if that counts.
It does and I know it.
I pocket my tips and do some light cleaning. I’m about to leave when—no kidding—a gaggle of skirts and suits pour in through the doors. They’re all carrying briefcases or large handbags and using very office-y words. It’s rare on a Thursday to see this sort of rush early, so I offer to stay and help Margo get them settled. There’s only one other server on the floor, and since Margo is chained to the bar, there’s no way can she handle everyone at once.
I grab a pen and pad of paper and start toward the group, who are shoving tables together and arranging their seats, when the door swings open and Vince and Jackie rush in.
“Grace. Thank God.” Davis’s best friend looks alarmed. I’ve never seen Vince’s expression anything short of playful. A dart of dread ricochets through me as I glance over at his girlfriend. Jackie’s brown eyes are wide with alarm as well.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, business gaggle forgotten.
Vince does a quick survey of McGreevy’s. “Davis isn’t here?”
“No. He said he had a thing today.”
“Yeah. He does. He’s not at home.” Vince says this as if thinking to himself, his focus elsewhere in the room. His piercing blue eyes return to me. “When is the last time you saw him?”
I hesitate a moment before admitting, “He left my house just before midnight.”
Jackie’s alarm fades to a soft look of surprise, and even Vince forgets his immediate concerns to give me a lopsided smile.
“Nice,” he says approvingly. “When did this happen?”
“It’s pretty new,” I hedge. And pretty temporary, I decide not to add.
“If he comes in here, text me. Have your phone on you?” His cell is in his hand and he asks me for my phone number. I rattle it off, pulling my iPhone from my back pocket. Davis’s last text—a round peach that looks more like a lady’s derriere than a piece of fruit—sits on my screen with my follow-up texts. A new text pops up on my screen reading Vince.
“Got it.” Before I chicken out, I ask, “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be okay,” Vince assures me, but when he presses his lips together, I wonder if he means it. He grasps Jackie’s hand and asks if she wants to stay here while he goes and looks for Davis, and Jackie immediately turns to me.
“Grace, are you all right alone?” she asks. “I’ll stay here with you if you want me to.”
“I’m fine.” Gosh. That was nice. Jackie and I don’t know each other very well, but she’s genuinely offering to sit with me. I force a smile. “I have to get these customers settled, and then I’m done for the day.”
“You’re sure?” Jackie takes a step forward and tilts her pretty face.
“Totally sure. Thank you.” I don’t want to take her away from Vince, who looks like he might need her more than I do. I include him in my next statement. “Will you let me know he’s all right?”
“Will do, Gracie.” Vince uses Davis’s nickname for me, but it’s more brotherly coming from him.
I try not to worry about Davis as I take orders and make drinks. Vince and Jackie are on the case. After a bit of debate, I decide not to text Davis. I don’t want to bother him if he’s trying to be alone and deal with whatever “thing” he had last night.
On the drive back to my house, my evil imagination suggests he’s visiting an ex-girlfriend for some sex therapy or that he’s drunk himself into a stupor of mourning or rage, or maybe he wrecked his Mercedes and he’s lying in a ditch. I quickly dismiss the doom-filled thoughts. Davis isn’t the reckless type.
At seven o’clock I receive the text I’ve been waiting for from Vince.
Davis is at home. Fine but wants to be alone. Sorry to worry you.
I text back a simple Thanks, but my worries aren’t allayed.
I understand Davis wanting to be alone. Whenever something goes awry in my life, I prefer to suffer in silence too. I thumb through the memories of my past—those times I spent enduring by myself. Whether I was holed up in my teenage bedroom while my parents screamed at each other, sobbing in the stadium’s bathroom at the site of my college graduation because my father stood me up yet again, or soaking in a cooling tub of bathwater with a glass of wine after my stupid boyfriend of two years broke my stupid heart, being alone has been a horrible way to get through hard times.
What I wouldn’t have given for my mother to come into my bedroom and apologize for making me endure her and my father’s mutual hatred. Or for one of my friends to notice I was missing and come check on me in that stadium bathroom. I wish I’d called up Roxanne the time my stupid boyfriend broke my stupid heart. She would have listened. Sobbing on her shoulder would have helped.
I was too stubborn to admit that until now.
Davis doesn’t have to spend the evening enduring whatever tough time he’s going through alone. He has me.
I’m going over there. At the very least, he’s my friend and I have as much of a right to check on his well-being as Vince and Jackie.