The Moment We Began (A Fairhope New Adult Romance) (6 page)

He doesn’t bother asking me if I like red
wine, which I don’t.

He also orders an appetizer without asking for my
opinion.

I’m not wearing a watch, but I’m
guessing we’ve only been on this date for about fifteen minutes
and I’ve already got him pegged. Sure, he’s more handsome
than the average guy, but other than his looks, I’ve been out
with this exact guy before.

Guys like this start out very charming. He says
all the right things. Wears all the right clothes. Makes all the
right moves. But eventually, he’ll make it clear the only thing
they really cares about is himself. I already know that every time he
asks me a question that appears to be about me, he’ll quickly
turn the conversation back to him. He’ll continue to do exactly
everything he wants to do tonight without asking what I want, but
then try to pass it off like he’s being the ultimate gentleman.

He’ll expect me to be very impressed by him
by the time we leave the restaurant, and when I’m not, he’ll
either turn into a mega-jerk or he’ll try harder by announcing
that he wants to take me to some other mystery place that will turn
out to be some excessively romantic hillside where he’ll try to
get in my pants.

I usually play along with these guys and stroke
their egos long enough to make it through dinner and the drive home,
but I’m not in the mood for listening to him talk about himself
all night. Maybe it will be more fun to not play along. I’m
curious what he’ll do when I refuse to fit into his perfect
plan for the night.

When the server brings the wine and a basket of
bread, I place my hand over my wine glass and shake my head. “I
actually don’t like red wine,” I say. “Can you
bring me a vodka and cranberry?”

“Of course,” the server says. He pours
Braxton’s glass, then sets the bottle on the table and leaves.

“I’m sorry.” He tugs at the
sleeve on his blazer. “If I’d known you didn’t like
red wine, I wouldn’t have gotten a whole bottle.”

“If you had asked, I probably would have
told you,” I say.

He laughs a little, but doesn’t know how to
take it. I can tell I’ve put him off balance.

He clears his throat and reaches for the bread,
offering me a piece first.

“Thank you,” I say. “I love the
bread here.”

He lowers the basket on the table, his expression
pinched. “You’ve been here before?”

I look around. “A few times,” I say.
“Never on a blind date, though. I usually just have guys take
me to the country club. I’m comfortable there and everyone
knows me, so I feel safe.”

“Would you rather have gone there instead?”

“No, this is really nice,” I say. “You
surprised me bringing me here. It’s a nice change.”

He smiles, but it’s forced. I’ve taken
the upper hand here and he doesn’t like it one bit.

The waiter brings my drink and takes our order. He
doesn’t order for me, which is a relief. While we wait, Braxton
asks me basic questions about my life and just as expected, ends up
mostly talking about himself.

“What’s your major?” he asks.

“Political science,” I say. “Mostly
concentrating on pre-law courses.”

It’s the perfect chance for him to ask me
where I want to go to law school or why I want to be a lawyer, but he
doesn’t.

“I’m a senior at Emery this year,”
he says. “I’m starting back in a couple of weeks. I’m
pre-med, hoping to get into Fairhope Coastal for med school.”

I almost laugh. A doctor and a lawyer. Looks great
on paper, but if we got married, we’d probably never see each
other.

Not that I can really see myself as a lawyer. My
mom has had her heart set on it since I was little. I think she has
this idea that since she got pregnant half-way through law school and
never finished, I can pick up where she left off. It was easier to
just do what she wanted than argue about it, but when it comes time
to start applying for law schools, I’m going to have to put my
foot down. No way am I putting up with another three years of this
crap after undergrad, much less the rest of my life.

After our food arrives, Braxton continues to talk
about his career aspirations and what it’s like living in
Atlanta. By the time I’m done eating, I’ve heard about
his perfect GPA, the various awards he’s won over the past few
years, and how he’s sure he’ll have no trouble with
med-school after acing his MCATs.

Meanwhile, I’ve had three drinks and am
happy to just let him blab on and on.

At least he’s pretty to look at.

When there’s finally a break in his endless
love song to himself, I speak up. “Do you want to go to this
bar in Fairhope with me?” I ask. “A group of people are
throwing a little welcome home party for this friend of mine, and I
told them I’d swing by.”

He hesitates. I’m on the edge of my seat
waiting to see which way he’ll swing. Mega-jerk or over-the-top
romantic.

“I was kind of hoping we could keep it just
the two of us tonight,” he says. He leans forward, his arms
resting on the table between us. “I know this really gorgeous
spot just down the beach from here. I’d love nothing more than
to grab a blanket and walk on the beach with you tonight. I think
there’s really something special about you, Penny.”

Over-the-top it is, then. I like that better than
the alternative, but I’m disappointed I was so right about this
guy.

“Aww, thanks,” I say, patting his hand
twice, then standing up. “That’s really sweet, but I
should get home soon. I promised my friends I’d come out there,
and it’s really important to me.”

He scrambles to his feet. “Oh, well, I don’t
want to take you home,” he says. “If you really want to
go to this party, let’s do it.”

“Yeah?” I’m surprised he’s
still trying.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’ll be
enough just to be with you.”

I smile, but suddenly have the overwhelming urge
to cry. I would give anything to hear words like that from Mason, but
from this guy, they mean nothing.

Still, I wonder if I’m being too hard on
him.

I shrug my shoulders and start walking toward the
door. He takes a few long steps to catch up with me, opening the door
just before I get to it.

“Wait,” he says. “Is that a
yes?”

I turn to him. “Tell me something, Braxton.”

“Okay,” he says, shifting his weight.

“Why did you really want to go out with me
tonight?”

His gaze darts toward the shore, but it’s
too dark for us to see the water from here.

“I thought you were gorgeous in your
pictures,” he says. “I really wanted to meet you.”

“Bullshit,” I say, my lips buzzing
slightly from the alcohol. I’m not drunk, but I’m on my
way there if I can get to another glass before the buzz wears off.
“You probably see pretty girls all the time up in Atlanta. I
bet you have them knocking down your door. So why me? Why does a
handsome guy like you go on a blind date?”

He puts his hands on his waist, pushing his blazer
back. “I’ve heard really great things about you from my
mom,” he says. “I’m not seeing anyone in particular
right now, so when she mentioned a possible date, I was excited to
meet you. It’s not every day I get to go out with a beautiful,
intelligent woman like you.”

I smile and shake my head. He’s not actually
going to be honest with me right now, and I guess I wasn’t
really expecting him to be.

“Come on,” I say, reaching for his
hand. “Let’s go have some real fun.”

He takes my hand and we walk together to his car.

“Are you always this blunt on a first date?”
he asks.

“No,” I answer truthfully. The only
guy I’ve ever just been able to be myself with is Mason, but
he’s never actually taken me on a date. “But I’ve
always wanted to be.”

Leigh Anne shouts and waves me over toward the
bar.

It’s crowded in here still, but we’re
early. Knox isn’t closing the bar until ten, so most of our
other friends aren’t here yet.

She stands and gives me a huge hug. “I’m
so glad you made it,” she says. She buries her face in my hair
and whispers, “He’s cute.”

“Cute and perfect,” I whisper back.
“And completely wrong for me.”

She makes a face.

“What can I get you guys to drink?”
Knox asks from behind the bar.

There’s country music playing through the
speakers. He’s decorated the place with balloons and a big
welcome home sign. There are two dozen red tulips sitting on the bar
in front of Leigh Anne with a little note sticking out that says ‘I
love you’.

I swallow down a bit of jealousy and turn to my
date. “Braxton? What are you drinking? And no more bullshit red
wine tonight. We’re drinking real drinks from here on out.”

“I’ll take an IPA,” he says.
“What do you guys have here that’s good?”

I shrug. I guess beer is better than nothing. He
and Knox start talking pale ale and Leigh Anne pulls me onto the bar
stool next to hers.

“Jenna and Colton and some of the other
servers should be here soon,” she says. “Summer’s
here, but she went to the bathroom. Is Preston coming?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, thinking
back to the sadness I’d seen in his eyes. “He said he’d
try to stop by.”

Braxton finally picks his beer and then,
surprisingly, asks what he can get for me.

“Jack and ginger,” I say.

Leigh Anne’s eyebrows go up and I smile. I’m
determined to have a good time tonight. I’m so over being
depressed about Mason all the time. Why can’t I get him out of
my head? He has me so turned around, I can’t even get through a
single night without thinking about him.

But if he doesn’t want me, then fuck him.
His loss.

Of course, I’ve given myself this little
pep-talk several times over the course of being in love with Mason
Trent. It usually only works until the next time I see him, when my
knees buckle again and my heart breaks as it hits the floor.

Well, dammit, not this time.

If he’s really done, then so am I. And if
moving on means dating guys like Braxton for a while, then so be it.
I don’t have to marry the guy, right? Maybe I’ve been
going about this night all wrong. Instead of trying to calculate our
compatibility and see him as a potential boyfriend, I should just be
trying to enjoy myself and go with the flow.

Knox sets my drink down, and I lean over the bar.

“Can I get two shots of tequila, too?”

Knox looks at Leigh Anne and she holds her hands
up. “Don’t look at me,” she says. “She’s
a grown woman. She can handle it.”

Knox pours the two tequila shots and I slide one
across the wood toward Braxton, throwing him a challenging look.

I expect him to push it away or tell me he doesn’t
plan on staying long. Instead, he lifts the shot glass up in a kind
of toast, then throws it back without so much as a wince. I’m
impressed. I grab his hand, then pour salt between his thumb and
index finger. He raises his eyebrows at me, but doesn’t pull
away. I lean forward and seductively lick his hand, then down the
shot. Braxton picks up a lime and I eat it right out of his hand, my
lips grazing his fingers. He bites his lower lip and I realize that
narcissist or not, he’s hot and he’s interested in me. I
suck the juice from the lime, then toss it on the counter.

With the alcohol buzzing in my system, I throw my
arms around his neck and kiss him, hard and strong. A couple of
people around us whistle and clap and my lips smile against his.

“Want another?”

He kisses me again and I close my eyes, then tap
the bar and hold up two fingers.

By the time Knox shuts the bar down, I’m
well on my way to wasted.

Braxton only did the one shot with me and has been
nursing his beer for the past half hour.

Now that the bar is officially closed, Leigh Anne
is ready to start drinking. “Until I’m twenty-one, I just
don’t want to get Knox into any trouble,” she says.

I love Leigh Anne with all my heart, but I wish I
could find a few flaws in her every once in a while. If nothing else,
it would make me feel better about being such a mess lately.

“Do a shot with me,” I say, laying my
head on her shoulder.

“Okay, but not tequila,” she says. She
leans over the bar to get a closer look at the bottles. “Can
you make me something that’s going to taste good on the way
down?”

Knox leans toward her and gives her a long kiss.
“Whatever you want, my love. Tonight’s your night.”

I grab Braxton and kiss him again, but it’s
empty and meaningless. A poor substitute for what Leigh Anne has. I
feel like a cheap knock-off, and I hate myself for it.

The door to the bar opens and Leigh Anne clears
her throat and gives me a subtle tap on the arm.

I break away from Braxton’s kiss and turn to
see who has come through the door.

Mason stands alone just inside the entrance. He’s
staring at me with a mixed expression I’m way too drunk to
decipher, and I realize I couldn’t have timed it more perfectly
if I’d tried.

He had to have seen me kissing Braxton, and he
doesn’t look happy about it. At all.

Preston comes through the door and nearly runs
right into him. Mason seems to wake up. He stuffs his car keys in his
pocket, then shakes his head and tears his eyes away from me, but I’m
glad that for once, he actually showed some kind of reaction. I’m
glad it bothered him. It’s about time he got a taste of his own
medicine.

I never expected him to be alone tonight, but I’m
glad he is. Now, it’s his turn to sit back and try to pretend
he doesn’t care that I’m with someone else tonight and he
can’t have me. I don’t even turn to say hi to him. I work
to focus all of my attention on my date, but my body is hyper-aware
of Mason’s presence now. My skin flushes with warmth and I have
to sit down.

Braxton sits on the stool opposite me and starts
telling some story about a vacation he took to Germany earlier in the
summer with some of his buddies. I think it has something to do with
the beer he’s drinking, but I can’t concentrate. The room
is spinning now, and I feel sick to my stomach. In some dark corner
of my mind, I’m aware of the fact that I’m out of
control. I know I’m doing a horrible thing by leading this guy
on just for the sake of having a fun night and making Mason jealous.