Authors: Noelle August
Boomerang (24 page)
I read over her details: works for her father’s venture capitalism company, loves horses and haute couture, and has a quote from Kierkegaard prominent on her page: “There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn’t true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true.”
Uptight, quotes Danish existentialists. Daddy’s girl.
I think I’ve found the
one
.
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Ethan
Q: Get mad or get even?
E
verything good with you, E?” Rhett asks me as we hop into the Mini after work.
I have exactly half an hour to get home, change into casual clothes, and over to the Pink Taco—the location for tonight’s torture session.
“Yeah. Fine,” I say, stuffing my legs into the car.
“Cool, cool,” Rhett says. He pulls out of the garage, but I know he’s not through with me yet. Rhett picks up a lot more than you think he does. I know that’s why Adam trusts him. It makes him great at his job.
“You just seemed preoccupied,” Rhett says, making a left onto Santa Monica. “Not like your usual self, you know?”
What can I say? It’s the truth. I was probably a bit of an asshole today, if I’m being honest. But I had no other recourse.
My day could have gone one of two ways: I could’ve worried about my dwindling bank account—and more importantly, the fact that Mia’s going on a date with another guy tonight. Or I could’ve turned all that angry juice into something positive—which is what I did.
While Mia, Paolo, and Sadie played two truths and a lie, and then disappeared to a lunch where they probably braided each other’s hair and traded best-friend necklaces, I put my head down and worked on my booth for the Vegas show. Complete professional focus, I’ve learned, is the only way I can stay sane while Mia sits three feet away from me laughing with people who are—well, who aren’t
me.
The result wasn’t bad. I got a ton of stuff done.
“Just working hard,” I answer Rhett. “Trying to get things lined up for Vegas.” I adjust the air-conditioning vents away from me so they’re blasting at Rhett.
“How’s that going?” he asks.
“Good. I think I found a DJ for my side of the booth. A guy called Rasputin.” Having music at the booth is part of my
movement
strategy.
Rhett makes a face. “You hired an old Russian dude to be our DJ?”
“I don’t know if he’s Russian, but he’s definitely not old. He’s only eighteen. Supposedly he’s the shit right now. I think I’ve caught him at the front-end of a huge career.”
“Sweet.” We stop at a light. Rhett flips his visor mirror down and checks himself out. “And the video game?”
This is my favorite idea—a custom-made game where people can launch virtual boomerangs.
“Also locked and loaded. Jason’s cousin, Zeke, designs games for Naughty Dog and he’s setting me up. It’s going to be super realistic. Projected onto screens so everyone can see it. It’ll have a motion-sensitive glove, changeable targets, rankings, the whole deal. Zeke’s pumped. I talked to him this morning and he’d been working on it all night.”
Rhett grins at me, driving again as the light turns green. “You are gonna kill it, bro. The job’s going to be yours.”
“That’s the goal,” I say, but I’m not so sure. Mia’s just too damn smart and creative to write off.
For the rest of the drive, Rhett and I talk about the Dynamos and our newest addition, Parker, but my mind is stuck on his comment.
The job’s going to be yours.
It should’ve made me happier to hear that.
Half an hour later, I ask the hostess for a table at Pink Taco
. Specifically
a table. After Raylene, I’ve sworn off booths.
As she leads me past the bar, I see that Mia’s already here—and that her date is, too. I slow down a little, taking a good long look at them, since neither she nor Prince Charming have spotted me yet.
For two days, I resisted the urge to pull up the guy’s profile—my lame way of pretending he doesn’t exist—but I can’t do that anymore. He’s right there, on a barstool that’s turned toward Mia, a pitcher of Sangria between them.
He’s a decent-looking guy. Olive-skinned. Tall and lean, with longish wavy hair that I’m sure girls dig. He’s dressed in a dark tailored suit, which makes me wish I hadn’t changed into jeans and a casual polo. But, seriously. Who wears a fuckin’ suit to grab a burrito?
Mia is still in the floral dress she wore to work, but she’s changed her earrings from the small gold stars I noticed earlier. While diligently ignoring her. She changed her hair, too, pulling it into a braid that hangs like a dark rope over one shoulder.
With her hair that way, her small chin and her bright eyes stand out more. So does all the smooth, perfect skin along her neck. She looks delicate—and that makes me want to wrap myself around her.
Or watch her share a pitcher of Sangria with some other dude.
Fuck. These dates are going to kill me.
I shake off the tension in my shoulders, catch up to the hostess and sit my ass down. Then I pull my phone out of my pocket and fire up my Boomerang app. What’s interesting about all of this, I think, as I furiously search for Prince Charming’s profile, is that I have never been the possessive type—and yet, when it comes to Mia, the girl who isn’t even mine, I
am
that guy.
There.
Found him.
Brian Bergren. Originally from Scottsdale, Arizona, plays in a band, and is also currently the personal assistant to an Oscar-winning director who I’ve never heard of. Brian is looking for dates with someone funny, smart, and interested in the arts. On and on it goes, like a freaking joke. Like I’m reading a list of Mia’s ideal characteristics in a guy.
I scroll down to the
Dealbreaker
column, where people usually list things like smoking, drug use, criminal records, but ole’ Brian’s answer is just adorable.
Dealbreaker: Stanley Kubrick. I can’t date anyone who doesn’t have at least a superficial knowledge of his work. I wish I were kidding, but I’m not.
How great for Mia.
She’s just met herself in attractive male form.
“Ethan?”
I almost drop my phone.
Mia stands across from me, hands resting on the back of a chair.
“Hey—what are you doing here?” It comes out sharp, but she just busted me doing recon on her date. I think.
“I’m on my date.” She looks over her shoulder, at Brian Freakin’ Kubrick, who’s watching us from the bar.
“I can see that. I meant here at my table.”
“Oh.” Mia looks down at her hands for a second. When she looks back up, her green eyes are a shade darker. I know I’m being a dick. But I can’t stop myself. I’m a derailed train. “Well, I got a text about your date. There was a complication or something.”
“A complication?”
“A cancellation. Late. A late cancellation.” She kneads the back of the seat as she talks. I’m not sure why. Mia doesn’t get nervous around me. “Cookie sent me a text, though, and, um—they set you up with someone else. She should be here any minute.”
“Great. Thanks for the message, Mia.”
“You’re welcome. Have fun tonight, Ethan.” My attitude’s finally getting through to her, because her tone of voice really says
you’re an asshole
.
“Oh, I
will,
” I say, like I’m planning to take my super-hot unknown emergency backup date up against a wall first chance I get.
Mia cocks her head to the side, her eyes narrowing on me. “Huh,” she says. “So will I.”
“Awesome. Great.”
“Yeah . . . Great,” she says, meeting me toe-to-toe.
“So, I’ll see you at work?”
“Sure. See you at work.” Mia gives a tiny shoulder shrug. “I might be a little late, though. You know. If things go well.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding. “Nice, Curls. Thinking about going for number six tonight, are you?” I hear myself say. It’s actually amazing that I haven’t lost my shit right now. Truly amazing.
“Well, it’s too early to call. But he’d actually be number five, since you and I never happened.”
“We happened, Curls. I guarantee it. Not just once, either. We happened a few times.
At least
.” She rolls her eyes and walks away, but I’m not done. “I’m your number five, Mia!” I yell, like a complete fucking lunatic. “
I
am your
five
!”
A family in the next table looks over their sizzling fajitas at me, but Mia doesn’t stop. I watch her join Brian Kubrick—who keeps looking over like he’s trying to figure out whether he should be worried about me or not.
I send him a silent message, clearing that right up.
It was stupid of me to worry about her dating another Robby. The guy was an asshole, but he never stood a chance. Brian Kubrick, on the other hand, is a real threat. He has the potential to screw everything up.
If I allowed myself to care, which I do not,
I remind myself.
Right. Keep telling yourself that
.
The waiter comes by, taking my drink order. He’s barely walked away when my awareness shifts to a blond knockout weaving through the tables. She heads my way, looking right at me, and—
The blood drains out of my skull, and my vision grows spotty around the edges, like I’m about to pass out. But I don’t. I only watch as she walks up to my table.
Alison.
My ex.
Is here.
“Hi, Ethan,” she says, her mouth tugging up in a one-sided smile.
Seconds pass. Lifetimes. Millennia. And I still don’t have the capacity to grasp what the fuck is happening.
Alison pulls out the chair Mia had just stood behind and sits down. Her smile fades, and I see two years of memories emerge in her teary blue eyes.
“Thank you, Ethan,” she says. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”
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