“Glad you felt it necessary to come all the way here to tell me that.” I cross my arms. “I hope you have fun with your friend.”
“I’m sure I will. What are your plans for tonight?”
“I have a ‘friend’ I’ll be hanging out with as well.”
“Who?”
“Trevor.”
“The guy you had at the apartment that day?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure he would not be open to hanging out with you after what I said to him.”
“Goodbye, Dean. Enjoy your night.” I feel jealous about him hanging out with someone else, but I don’t, technically, have the right to be.
I walk away and feel him clasping my hand minutes later.
“For someone who’s well versed in literature, your inability to pick up context clues is very sad.” He looks down at me with a smile. “I was referring to going out with you.”
I blush. “I knew that.”
“Sure you did.”
“Where’d you park?”
“Two blocks over,” he says as we approach the corner. “But I was thinking we could take the bus today.”
“You don’t strike me as the city bus-rider type.”
“I’m not.” He pulls me toward a bus shelter. “I’m a I-remember-you-once-said-you-wanted-to-do-this type.”
As we wait for the bus, I swear up and down that I never said that to him, that I’m pretty sure he’s making that up, but he won’t admit he’s lying. He even tries to bet money on it.
I bet five dollars, but as the city bus stops in front of us, I withdraw my bet. I can remember...
“What type of dates do you think we’ll go on when we get older?” I ask Dean as he hands me a bag of popcorn.
“What do you mean?”
I lean against his shoulder as the drive-in’s movie begins to play. “I mean, do you think we’ll always do small things like movies, art shows, and dinner? We’re both, technically, low-key.”
“We are, but it would depend on the alternative.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “I’d do whatever you wanted.”
Smiling, I tell him that I know that. I can feel that.
As the opening previews begin to play, he entwines his hand in mine and asks, “What type of date would you want to go on? One of those over the top movie types?” His eyes meet mine and I can tell he’s hoping that I say no.
Laughing, I shake my head. “No. I would actually just like to experience a real city date. You wouldn’t have to drive. We could just take the subway or the bus everywhere, and we could just spend the whole night talking, trying food in every diner we pass, and maybe, if I have a high tolerance for alcohol, drinking until we can’t take anymore. You think we could do that one day?”
“I do.”
“You promise?”
“Definitely.” He kisses my forehead before the movie starts. “I promise.”
“This is our stop,” Dean says, shaking me back into the present. He pays our fare and leads me off of the bus, and then he puts his hands on my shoulders. “If we’re going to do this, which we are, we need to establish a few ground rules first.”
“Why do we need rules?”
“To ensure that we don’t end this night by going at each other’s throats.”
“What are the rules?”
“First rule,” he says, trailing his finger against my lips. “No smart ass comments.”
I open my mouth to say something smart, but he quickly shuts me down. “I mean it, Mia. No smart ass comments, from either of us.”
“What else?”
“No sexual innuendos.”
“That’s your specialty, not mine.”
“Mia...” He waits for me to agree.
“Fine.”
“Good. And last rule: If you’re uncomfortable at any point, let me know.”
“Do you have something planned that would make me uncomfortable?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. He just grabs my hand and leads me down the block, letting the cool night air bite at our skin with every step.
Shivering, I lean against him and he holds me closer, as he tells me about some of the places that we stroll by. There’s the bar where he almost fought Eric, the only guitar shop he trusts, and a row of coffee shops he used to go to every day until he, apparently, “got tired of drinking it.”
We walk past a small stretch of trees and he admits that he often runs there to clear his mind when he’s angry or frustrated after work. When I ask him how many times he ran there when I first arrived in Portland, he stops walking altogether and looks at me. Then he says, “Every goddamn day.”
“Have you done it out of anger or frustration recently?” I ask, not expecting his previous answer at all.
“No, not recently.” He looks genuine. “I haven’t had a reason to. Are you hungry?”
“Very much so.”
“Good.” He leads me back past the park and toward another stretch of downtown.
As we cross the street, he presses his hand against the small of my back, and with that small intimate contact, my heart begins to race. I almost give in and break our rule about sexual innuendos, but I hold back.
Dean stops walking as we approach a street that’s lined with white food trucks. “I think we should try something here.”
He must notice my hesitation, because he rubs my back and whispers into my ear. “I come here at least once a week on my lunch break. They have the best food in the city.” He even answers the exact question on my mind. “Yes, I really trust getting my food from a truck.”
“Okay,” I say, following him over to the first truck that’s parked at the curb.
“What do you like best, chicken, beef or lamb?”
“Chicken or beef.”
“Because you’ve never had lamb?”
“Because everyone knows you’re not supposed to try new food when you’re hungry.”
“Then we’ll get lamb, but we’ll get chicken, too, just in case you hate it.”
I laugh as he orders for the both of us. I try a Cajun chicken taco, something I refuse to attempt to pronounce, and after much hesitation, a lamb gyro. I attempt to hide the fact that it tastes absolutely amazing, that I’m silently kicking myself for not trying it sooner, but I’m sure the fact that I ask him to order another one, is a dead giveaway.
After we devour a few more gyros (okay, five more) we stroll down the block a little farther and buy a couple of sodas from a vendor, and then he makes me sit on a park bench to rest. Although there are tons of people around us, it feels like it’s only the two of us.
“What’s on your mind, Mia?” he asks, looking into my eyes.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying. You’re fidgeting, and you only do that when you’re thinking about something.”
“What if I’m itching?” I smile.
“Then you would’ve told me about it long before now and asked me to take you home. Tell me the truth. What are you thinking about?”
“I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Curious about what?”
“What happened to your dad? Do the two of you still talk?”
He looks completely taken aback, but he doesn’t get angry. “When he found out I’d confirmed to go to Western Peak, he lost his shit. He put me out.”
“What?”
“Yeah, and he...” He stops, clearly affected by the memory. “He lost our house and had to move into an apartment, and he blamed me for it for a very long time, so I stopped talking to him for years. We spoke again for the first time this past Christmas ...” His voice trails off.
“I’m sorry.”
“I told you to stop apologizing for other people years ago.” He puts his arm around my shoulder. “Are you and your mom on better terms?”
“Barely. I’ve just learned to tolerate her more. That’s all.”
He nods, looking off into the distance, and the two of us sit like that for a while. We just let our minds drive us to different spaces.
“Are you ready to do something else?” he asks as more people crowd the park.
I say yes and he helps me up, leading me down a few more streets and into a place he considers his favorite bar. He takes me right to a booth that’s tucked in the back, and instead of letting me sit across from him, he pulls me onto his lap.