Out of Focus (Love in LA #3)

“Oh, he insisted on reserving the table to make sure we got a good one. Nice of him, huh?” He picks up the drink menu and looks it over as he speaks.

“Yeah. Nice.” He picked this place. This table. Knowing I like pasta. Knowing I wouldn’t want a table in the middle of the room. I’m so thankful I don’t need to look at the menu because I’m not sure I’d be able to retain any of the information.

Our server comes and takes our drink orders—I stick to water while he gets a beer—and Zach orders Bruschetta as an appetizer without asking me if that’s what I’d like. He’s lucky I’d never say no to deliciously toasted bread, or tomatoes, or basil.

“So, Charlie, how long have you been in LA?” Zach takes a piece of bread and breaks it over his plate. When he looks up at me, I notice that his brown eyes don’t have any traces of caramel swirling in them.

Nineteen days, I want to say, but that’s far too precise, and I know people think it’s strange when I know that kind of information. “Almost three weeks,” I say instead. “How long have you lived here?”

“Over a year now. I love it here.” No follow-up question. Hmm. Great, now I need to think of something else to say or ask. Uncomfortable silences are never great on a first date. Pretty sure I’ve read that in every magazine since I was in my teens.

“You’re from Texas, right?” I did hear a bit of a Southern drawl in his voice earlier, plus Rafael told me…

“That’s right. Let’s go Cowboys!” He smiles widely at me. Not one dimple in sight, let alone two, side by side.

“That’s American football, yeah?” I couldn’t care less about the sport, but obviously, he does.

“It’s just football here, sweetheart.” The nickname doesn’t land. It doesn’t feel condescending, but it doesn’t feel good either. I force a small smile on my face. “Anyway, tell me about you. Do you have any siblings? What do you like to do for fun? What kind of music do you like? I want to know you.”

Wow. So many questions, but at least he’s interested in me, I suppose.

I let myself indulge in the conversation, in looking at this rather attractive bloke, in letting someone know more about me. And I keep thoughts of Rafael mostly out of my mind. Mostly.

21/

you can be a little spicy sometimes.

rafael

Zach:

She’s a little thicker than I usually go for, but damn… great tits

I don’t respond. Fuck, Zach. That’s bullshit. Charlie’s body is perfect. Also, fuck him for making me think about her tits when I was finally starting to get them out of my mind.

I’m a fucking liar. I haven’t stopped thinking about them since I saw them. The image is burned into my retinas, and I hope that shit is permanent.

Zach:

Do you think the carpet matches the drapes? I bet it does.

Why the fuck is he texting me and not paying attention to Charlie? And is he for real?

Zach:

Might find out tonight.

Abso-fucking-lutely not. Nope. No way.

My fingers are itching to text Charlie and tell her to get the fuck out of there, but I can’t do that. Not unless she asks me to. But damn it, I want to. I check our text thread for the twentieth time. Still nothing.

Charlie will be fine. She can do this. I told her as much, and I believe it. She doesn’t take shit. She’ll put Zach in his place if she needs to. I know that. I just really wanna be the one to do it for her.

I swear the minutes tick by at an unbearable pace. By ten o’clock, I’m about to walk to Charlie’s place like an obsessive creep to see if her lights are on. Is she home? Why didn’t she text me back? I sent that apology twenty minutes before the date was supposed to start.

Fuck it. I’m texting her.

Yo, red, you still there?