Do I Know You?(10)

Graham pauses. I wait. Until—“Can I buy you a drink?” His question comes out uneven, like the first table read of whatever scene we’re setting here.

Still, I smile. Not too much, though. “Maybe,” I say. “Did you buy one for David?”

Brow furrowing, Graham studies me. “No, but I’m not flirting with David. No offense,” he echoes my words to his new friend.

“None taken,” David repeats, seeming to really mean it. In truth, this doesn’t surprise me. It seems unlikely the golden-haired, volleyball-player-built guy sitting with us is very insecure in his desirability.

“I haven’t done this in years, you know,” Graham comments.

“What? Celebrated your anniversary with David instead of with your wife—”

“No,” Graham cuts in. “Hit on someone.”

My cheeks heat pleasantly. It’s not just how forward he’s being, I realize. I . . . don’t know what Graham is going to say next. The anticipation of his every reply sends delicious shivers through me. “Well,” I say. “I think it’s sort of like riding a bike.”

“So risk of injury is high, then? Will I need a helmet to spend time with you, Eliza?”

“No.” I fight not to laugh. Graham’s quick on his feet, quicker than I remembered. “Easy to learn. Difficult to master.”

Graham hmms. Staring past me into the bar, he nods. “Mind giving me a quick refresher course, then?”

I purse my lips in consideration. “How much time do you have tonight?”

“Shit. Sounds like you don’t need the dating workshop,” David comments, sounding impressed. It makes me realize it’s the first thing he’s said while Graham and I volleyed banter like someone was scripting the dialogue for us. Banter! I repeat in my head in wonderment. We bantered!

I look at him, eager for the next round of our improvised game. My stomach is fluttering like I really have just hit it off with the cute stranger at the bar. Suddenly, though, the anticipation in Graham’s eyes fades as his expression blanks. I know the look well. Stage fright. The actor who has forgotten what comes next.

Graham’s reply comes like a slammed door. “No. I do,” he says. “I suck at this.”

What? Incredulity scatters my delight. How could Graham possibly think that? What conversation was he just having?

With stubborn hope, I reach for the spark we were just sharing. Our flirtation hasn’t collapsed, I insist to myself. It’s just—stumbled. It needs rescuing. “You can’t suck that much if you managed to get someone to marry you,” I point out.

The effort is futile. Graham’s eyes no longer meet mine. He goes on, his familiar angular features seeming to steepen like the impassive walls of his own private fortress. “What I like—liked about marriage,” he corrects for David’s sake, “is not having to date anymore.”

“Come on,” David says genially, no doubt hoping to reinsert some normalcy into the conversation. “Dating isn’t that bad.”

Graham replies instantly. “It is.” His voice is level, neutral. I know he’s drawing on years of professional experience debating. Back-and-forth is like breathing for my charming husband. Wiping the perspiration on his glass with his thumb, he goes on. “Endlessly trying to get to know someone—it’s exhausting.”

“Maybe dating shouldn’t end just because you’re married,” I say, performatively matching his lightness. I might not be a lawyer, but I played Demi Moore’s role in A Few Good Men in college. “You can still date your spouse, you know.”

His eyes flash to mine. “If she were around, that is.”

Something jolts through me. “Well,” I say, “you’re doing a pretty great job of picking me up.” Leaving Graham with my honest reply, I find I’m surprised at how quietly significant this exchange of ours is. How unusual for us. Wrapped and veiled in the distance of strangers, this conversation is about our real marriage.

It’s not just charged. It’s more genuine than anything we’ve said to each other in months.

David gets up, rolling his shoulders grandly, like he’s enjoying relieving tension. “It’s time for me to head in, folks. For whatever reason, the online-dating crash course starts at eight in the morning tomorrow. Hey—” He turns to Graham, looking seized by a brilliant idea. “Have you considered online dating? Might be just the low-pressure setting you need to get back out there.”

“I met my wife online,” Graham replies gruffly.

“Well, shit.” David looks unperturbed to have struck out. “Good night, man. Nice meeting you, Eliza.” He grabs his jacket from his seat before walking off.

I’m left wrestling with my own mixed-up emotions, maybe even disappointed Graham and I will no longer be keeping up this pretense. Everything I felt in the elevator has come rushing back, but there’s something else now, too. I won’t just be not enjoying dinner. I’ll know how different it is from the unexpected charge of the past few minutes.

“Did you order food yet?” I ask.

“No. Not yet.” Graham’s face is shuttered. It’s the gaunt ghost of his expression in the car, the one I can’t help summoning. He’s reverted to the self-consciousness I never knew to haunt my husband until suddenly, inexplicably, recently.