Crazy Girl(25)

When she leaned back in her seat, releasing my arm, her warmth left with her. Twisting in my seat, I faced her again. The bartender had placed our drinks in front of us and she was already sipping hers. I cleared my throat and picked up my beer. “So that’s why you were watching that couple in the back? They made you happy?”

Setting her drink down, she sighed again, but this time with disappointment. “No. That was something else.” I glanced back at the couple she’d been watching when I’d entered. A young blonde waitress had just dropped off the check and as she walked away, the man stared at her ass. Not just a casual glance, but a full-on, lean-over-and-watch-her-walk-away look at her ass.

“He’s looked at every woman in this bar but the woman sitting at the table with him,” Hannah noted.

“Maybe they’re not together?” I suggested.

“They both have rings on their ring fingers,” she argued.

“Men look sometimes.” And that was true. We couldn’t help it sometimes. It doesn’t always mean we’re sex-obsessed assholes, it’s just nature. “Was he a douche about it? Yes,” I agreed. “But he’s not inhuman.”

Hannah shook her head. “I know. It’s her. It’s how blind she is.”

“Huh? What?”

“She doesn’t even notice he’s doing it.”

I watched her as she stared at the couple. “Did it occur to you that maybe she does notice?”

Twisting her neck, she cut her gaze to me. “And what? She’s pretending she doesn’t notice?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. In my experience, people choose to see, or not see, what they want to.”

“You think she’s playing dumb?”

“I don’t know. But I wouldn’t settle on one conclusion. Life is complicated and assumptions only do one thing.”

She flattened her mouth in a look of annoyance. “Makes an ass out of you and me,” she mumbled.

“Precisely.”

“You’re so cliché,” she snickered.

“Hey.” I waggled a firm finger at her. “Never judge a book by its cover.”

She snorted, moving her gaze to her drink, her eyes hooded in disappointment. “I think I’m right about them. I think she thinks she’s his world.”

“Hannah,” I said her name softly. “She probably is. You don’t know what he feels for her. Maybe he’s having an off day. You’re assuming too much about a casual observation.” I didn’t find it so odd that she observed them, or even that she’d noted her thoughts about them, but I was confused as to why she seemed to take it so personally; almost as if she felt obligated to carry the painful burden of this woman’s supposed ignorance.

“No, I’m not,” she insisted. “If he wants to look at other women, he could at least respect her enough to do it when she’s not around. He’s being blatant. And that’s the kind of thing that breaks my heart.”

“Really?” I snorted.

“Yes, really.”

“So you think you’re going to find a man that will commit to you and only you and never look at another woman again?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, not. But that guy,” she jabbed her thumb in his direction, “is a douche. And that woman is blind.”

“And it’s none of your business,” I argued. “And since it’s not your business, you shouldn’t take it so personally.”

Scowling at me, she retorted, “I’m not taking it personally. It just makes me sad.”

I shook my head. Women. Sometimes it seemed like they just needed something to be upset about. Flashing a cold glance at me, I assumed noting my frustration, she remarked, “You asked, Wren.” Her tone sounded deflated, as if she were ashamed of herself—of her thoughts. “I told you, you’d just say I was crazy.”

She took a long swig of her drink, and I scratched the back of my neck, unsure of what to say. Apparently, she didn’t either. Her gaze was downcast; she was visibly upset by this. But why? Why did she care so much? I couldn’t ask. I just couldn’t. This was too deep for a second date, which was really a do-over first date. I was perceptive. I knew there was more to this, that this little freak-out was personal for her in some way. She had baggage written all over her. But today wasn’t the day to delve into that. I was already questioning my own sanity for asking her out again, I didn’t need to give her any more reasons to scare me off. My best bet was to change the subject and hope we sailed into smoother waters. This subject was destined to tank our evening. Raising her hand to brush some hair behind her ear, I noticed there was something written on her palm. I didn’t even think about it as I gently grabbed her wrist, holding it still while I read what was written on her hand.

Don’t overthink it.

“What is this?” I smirked after reading it. Pulling her hand from me, she fisted it and held it to her stomach almost protectively, a grimace taking her features.

Shaking her head, she answered, “Just a reminder to myself.”

I blinked a few times, wondering if she’d elaborate. She didn’t. Again, I wasn’t sure if I should push and ask her about it or let it go.

“I Googled dolphin training,” she said. Okay then. Looks like we were moving on.