Every Girl Does It(39)

“Can we just…” I shake my head in frustration and throw my hands up. “...pretend like everything's normal before I think of more ways to kill you?”

“Your wish is my command.” Preston winks and reaches across the table to grab my hand. And in that moment, I close my eyes, willing myself to capture the memory of what it feels like to have his strong hands wrapped around mine.

“Good afternoon, welcome to Hard Rock Café Maui.” Our waiter is a balding man in his forties who looks like he’s surfed the wave a little too long, if you know what I mean. “And let me be the first to congratulate both of you on your engagement.”

I choke on my water as I stare at the insane man in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” I say leaning in. “What did you say?”

“Well, your engagement to this fine young fellow.” He points at Preston.

Preston looks at me so innocently I almost believe the act , except part of his mouth twists up into a mischievous smile, proving to me once and for all that he’s the guilty slime bag I imagine him to be.

“We aren’t…” I begin to talk but my mouth feels like it's full of cotton. Is it hot in here? Because suddenly my body is reacting as if it’s been set on fire.

Preston puts his hands over mine and shushes me with his finger. “It’s okay, darling. Let’s let the poor waiter read us the specials.” He looks toward the waiter, and then elbows him and whispers, “Foreign. She gets nervous in public places here in America.”

The waiter nods at me sympathetically before leaning down and, rather loudly might I add, reading the specials in my ear.

Horrified, I look at Preston, who can’t hold back the smile creeping across his lips now. I mean, come on! He said foreign, not deaf.

I decide to go along with it and nod my head as if to say, “Wow. How kind of you to read that in my native tongue”. Oh, wait a second. He didn’t, because it was still English, just loud English. Hello! Foreign people don’t have different hearing decibels.

“So,” I sigh, looking at a totally joyful Preston. “What country am I from?” I ask, rolling my eyes. I’ll so regret this.

“Yes!” he says, doing a small fist pump in the air. “Spain?” he asks.

“No, my skins not dark enough. Try again.”

“Morocco?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Oooo, fun. Yes, let’s do Morocco!” I clap my hands in excitement, then remember how angry I still am at Preston. Well, maybe one day we can be friends. A very long time from now. “I’m still mad at you,” I remind him, hoping he understands his little joke doesn’t make everything better.

“Of course you are, but do you know why you're mad at me? Because I’m betting the reason you’re mad isn’t a reason at all.” He puts his menu down as if to challenge me.

“Well, I don’t see how I could be getting any of my assumptions wrong. Plus, like I said before, words don’t lie.”

“And what about intentions?” he asks.

“Are you ready to order?” The waiter bounces in front of us out of nowhere, causing me to spill my water all over the place. “It’s okay,” he shouts, looking at me sadly. “I’ll clean this up..”

People are now staring at us wondering why in the heck our waiter is speaking so loud. I want to smile and wave and tell everyone it’s just a big joke, but instead I duck my head and cover my face with my hands.

The waiter bounces in front of us, and yes, I mean he actually does bounce from side to side, as if there is some sort of music we don’t know about playing in the background. Poor guy. He then brings us coconut shrimp with dipping sauce. At one point, I contemplate stuffing everything in my mouth just so Preston can’t have any. But I realize he’d probably just order more, and then I’d look like a glutton. And he’d make up some lame excuse to the waiter about how in our country we eat our food all at once. Then the waiter would throw me another sympathetic glance, while speaking rather loudly to Preston about how it won’t do my figure any favors. Thanks, bud. Got it.

My mouth is full, but I don’t care about being attractive right now. “So, who are we picking up?” I look down at the greasy mess and sigh. I better start running a few extra miles when I get home. I take a sip of water.

“Ashlyn.” Preston says, but I don’t hear him. I’m busy drinking my water so fast, I’m sure my stomach will explode, thinking it’ll somehow kill the burning sensation in my chest.

“I'm sorry. I thought I heard you say Ashlyn.” I choke.

“I did.” He smirks.

I shoot him a look which can only be described as hazardous to his health, while he beams at me as if I just confessed my love.

"Um, I’m sorry, but did you ever stop to think how awkward that might be for me? Or how hurtful?” I’m ready to get up and leave, but he pulls me back into my seat.

“Do me a favor?” He’s now looking at me with those smoldering green eyes. I hate him for it.

“What?” I groan.

“Don’t make any rash decisions until after the airport. I give you full permission to beat me to death if you’re unhappy. Wait, actually, I take that back. I give you permission to beat me if, in fact, your assumptions are correct.” He tilts his head to the side and asks, “Deal?”