To See You (10 page)

Layton’s hand found its way on top of mine. “Hey, it’s never too early or late to want changes.”

I couldn’t take my gaze off his hand covering mine. He had long fingers with small calluses that tickled my skin, and his palm was warm.

He caught my gaze locked on the sight. “Oh, sorry. God, I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries.”

“It’s okay.”

When he pulled his hand back quickly, my fingers felt cold. The absence of his warm palm left me hungry for more of him. For
him
!

This guy, Layton Griffin—enigmatic introvert, chunky monkey, resident funny guy, and apparently a Casanova—scared the shit out of me. There was no polite, educated, ladylike way of putting it.

“Excuse me, I have to use the ladies’ room.”

Layton stood while I lumbered out of my chair, tripping over my own two feet, rushing to get away from the unfamiliar sensations I was feeling.

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror—the few wispy layers of my blond hair framing my face, the lipstick smeared off my top lip, the tiny speck of mascara under my eye, and the heart beating wildly in my chest. It was racing so hard, I could see it pounding against my skin.

I closed my eyes and took big gulps of air, inhaling deep breaths and exhaling them with a whoosh, trying desperately to calm myself.

Stalling, I peed, washed my hands, and pulled out my phone to text Janie.

CHARLI
: SOS. Please text or call shortly and say you need me. Bad breakup, death in the family, whatever you want. Need out of a dinner. Please.

I jammed the phone back in my small purse and made my way back to the table. Of course, Layton stood again as I approached, and had also waited for me to come back before eating. The food had arrived and was displayed around the table.

“Good thing none of it’s hot,” he teased.

“Looks amazing,” I said, and picked up my chopsticks to place a few rolls and pieces of sashimi on my plate.

“I guess we’re not at that stage in our relationship where we can just pluck off the serving dish. Not that we’re in any kind of relationship . . . I just meant, you go ahead and take what you want.”

Layton’s cheeks pinked as he stumbled over his words, and the sight of it made my heart thump a rapid pace again. I’d never made anyone nervous before.

Was it flattering? Or was it a turnoff?

I moaned over a piece of salmon, my stomach thanking me for some food. I left the rice and moved on to the tuna.

“It’s good, really good. I was starving,” I said to fill in the silence.

Layton had busied himself with a shrimp tempura roll. At my comment, he looked up and nodded.

“It’s living up to all the hype. This spicy sauce is the bomb,” he said after swallowing.

“Why have you never been here? I’d be here all the time if I lived here.”

The back of my neck was beginning to feel damp. I didn’t know if it was nerves or excitement or both. Where the heck was Janie?

“I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve heard of it. It’s the hot place right now, but I usually do sushi takeout near my house . . . and then pizza delivery,” Layton said with a stilted laugh.

“Really?” I chuckled politely, but really? Is that what he did?

“I guess I shouldn’t admit to it.”

“I’m sure a lot of people do it.”

“You don’t.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well no, but I’m not a big eater.”

Geez, this whole conversation and evening just took a bad turn. What the hell did I know? Men probably couldn’t survive on sushi alone.

“And you’re a fitness editor, so pizza is probably a no-no.” He tried to say it lightly, to make it a joke, but his words came out tense.

“I like pizza . . . on special occasions.”

Layton laughed, and it felt like it was directed at himself. My heart sank.

“Hey, it’s no biggie. And you went out of your way to show me LA, so let’s not ruin this evening.”

My heart broke for this guy. Everyone probably judged him the way I first did when I sat in seat 2C, and here I was doing it all over again.

Just then, my purse began buzzing on the table.
Janie
.

Huh. I wasn’t sure I wanted her to rescue me anymore. I held up a finger to Layton, signaling him to give me a sec.

After digging my phone from my purse, I swiped a finger over the screen and turned my head to the side. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God, Char, you’re there! Poppy died! Waaahhh,” Janie screamed through the phone, loud enough that the whole restaurant probably heard.

“Slow down, Janie.” We had a well-oiled routine when it came to bad-date rescues. It was always Poppy or Nana and included a lot of tears.

“Popppy diiied,” she wailed, sounding convincingly pitiful.

“I’m in LA, sweetie, but I can take the red-eye home . . .”

Her wails turned to stuttering sobs. “R-r-really?”

Layton stared at me. His hair had fallen a bit on his forehead, and he pushed it back so he could give me his full attention.

“Hold on one sec, Janie,” I said into the phone and twisted my body back toward Layton. Cupping my hand over the microphone, I spoke to him in a hushed tone. “My friend’s grandfather died. Janie, the one I told you about. I have to go.”

He nodded, his face stoic.

Disappointment flooded every inch of my body. This was what I had wanted, to get out of this evening, and now he was letting me go without a protest.

“Janie, I’ll text you when I know my plans. Take a warm shower and relax,” I said soothingly into the phone and disconnected the call.

“Too bad,” Layton said, his face still expressionless.

My belly ached from a weird hunger—and not for food.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t leave her waiting.” I pulled out my clutch and started to take out my company card.

“Hey, it’s on me. I’ll get the bill and take you where you need to go.”

His left eye twitched the slightest bit, and if he wasn’t such a large and looming presence, I would have thought he was holding back tears. That wasn’t his style, though. He was too proud.

“You know what? Is it okay if I grab an Uber or a cab? I hate to send you out of your way, and I really have to go.”

If this wasn’t what I wanted, then why was I running the hell out of there?

Because this wasn’t me. This guy—the closeness, the intimate conversation—none of it was me. Even if it felt amazing, like stoking a fire on a cold night, I wasn’t meant for this. I had a plan and I was sticking to it. Big city, even bigger dreams, and a huge life were in my future.

“It’s not out of my way—”

“It wouldn’t sit well with me. This has been great. I loved the movie. Thanks, Layton.”

I stood and so did he. We stood there in an uncomfortable silence for a beat as my mind raced, my uncertainty lingering.

I might be a successful woman but I was acting like a middle school girl, ditching a boy at the arcade. And of course, I ran.

Because that’s what I do.

Layton made the first move, leaned in and kissed my cheek. This time, he didn’t linger. It was a chaste brush of his lips, and more than disappointment flooded my veins. Shame, self-loathing, and vile thoughts wound their way through my soul.

But I had to follow through because this was so messed up.

“’Bye, Layton. Thank you.”

I rushed out into the night where a small line of cab drivers waited across the street.

S
pread out on my bed, flat on my back, my shirt wrinkled and untucked, I stared at the ceiling. “That was a bust,” I said to no one.

I closed my eyes tight and let out a deep sigh. Even though I’d done enough rom-coms and dramedy films to know the phone call was bullshit, a small sliver of me wished differently but I knew.

Was I that gross? I’d even tried to tighten up the last week. Instead of tossing the ball to Harriette on the beach, I actually walked her every morning. I thought I’d cleaned up okay and had actually been hopeful of getting the girl.

Right, not only a girl. I could do that; I was funny and full of wit. But this was
the
girl, the one worth chasing, the one worth going all out for.

And then she’d practically run the hell out of the restaurant, even taking a cab, happy to let some other nobody drive her back to the hotel and to the airport.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. For a fleeting moment, I was hopeful once again, but the screen read
PETER
. No such luck for my renewed hope.

“What’s up?” I sat up and answered the phone, but when I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, I plopped back down.

“You done with your fancy gig?”

I hadn’t mentioned my cyber-affair with Charli at all to my friends. It was less about being embarrassed and more about not wanting to share the few moments of happiness we had. Or I had.

“Yeah, I’m home.” I kicked off my loafers and heard each one make a low thud on the hardwood floor.

“A bunch of us are down at Bastion’s. Come on down.”

Harriette clicked through the room and jumped up on the bed next to me, shoving her face in mine. I guess I wasn’t alone. If golden retrievers count.

“I’m fucking tired. I don’t know.”

“Come on, Griff, don’t be a twat-waffle. We’re ordering wings, so get your fat ass down here. Plus, we’re gonna hustle some dudes in pool and we need a big guy.”

Peter was a stand-up comic, or waiter, depending on the day. He thought he was funny, but I wasn’t so sure.

“Fine, fine. I got to change and I’ll be around. Don’t get into any bar fights.”

He disconnected without a word, and I rolled off my bed and headed toward my closet. I peeled off my tux and threw it into a ball in the corner. I’d probably skip the next premiere, anyway. Opting for a worn-in pair of jeans and a flannel thrown over a Stones T-shirt, I shoved my feet into a pair of Chucks.

“Come on, girl,” I called to Harriette, and let her into the backyard for a quick pee.

She did her thing, I gave her a cookie, and I walked up the street to the main drag toward Bastion’s. It was a trendy bar with all the old-school fun stuff like pool and darts.

A small crowd of people stood so many feet away from the door smoking, and I brushed past them and into the bar. It was dim with a DJ spinning tunes in the corner.

I decided to stop at the bar first . . . I needed something to erase the earlier events.

“Whiskey, make it a double,” I shouted across the glass bar.

Lots of pretty people occupied the stools, laughing and clinking their glasses without a care in the world. Women with long, shiny hair and men in fitted Henleys and skinny jeans.

I was invisible to them.

I grabbed my drink and tossed back half, the burn making me forget the few minutes I wasn’t invisible—the half hour when Charli looked at me, not through me or around me. As soon as I removed the glass from my lips, the moment was over.

I threw some money on the bar and made my way to the back, finishing my drink by the time I made it to the pool table.

“Griff! What’s happening, man? You ditch the penguin suit?” Peter greeted me over his pool cue before bending over the table to take a shot.

“Hey, Griff.” Adam slapped me on the back and silently motioned toward the bucket of beer. “So, the super-famous Katie didn’t drag you back home?” the ass had the balls to ask me as I grabbed a bottle of Heineken.

“I’m her Saturday-night man.”

“You wish,” he tossed back.

“Actually, she’s not the girl for me.” The whiskey was now having an unexpected effect. Rather than calming me, it was acting like a truth serum.

“Oh yeah.” Peter looked up. “You’d throw her out of bed, I’m sure.”

I took a big swig of my beer and looked toward him, taking in his scrawny frame, wire-rim glasses, and unkempt brown hair. “She may prefer you, big guy!”

He ran a hand through his hair and jutted his hip out. “You know what, you may be right.” He proceeded to sashay around the table as if I’d said he thought he was funny.

“I got next,” I hollered and settled onto a stool to wait. “Who the hell are you playing, anyway?”

“I’m warming up, letting my shooting arm get ready.”

“This isn’t basketball, Pete. You know that, right?”