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“Hey, that’s mean,” I tell Charlie. “It’s not like I’m some troll.”
“Of course not. And you know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Don’t worry, I feel the same way.” Glancing at Kennedy, I confirm my sentiments. “It was never there. I don’t know what else to say. We never had that kind of feelings for each other.”
“We were too busy worrying if we would eat dinner and where our next meal would come from to worry about sex or dating,” Charlie interjects. “Things like that are not a priority when you’re in constant survival mode.”
“Your childhood sounded pretty rough,” Kennedy says, rubbing her stomach. “But at least you had your Cinderella moment, the whole rags to riches scenario, unlike me. My family did everything ass backwards.”
At least you have a family, I want to add but hold my tongue. It’s not Kennedy’s fault that she had a fairy tale childhood when ours was more like a nightmare.
After bullshitting for a few minutes, I announce that I need to get going if I want to make it on time to meet Regan. I still have to call a cab and take it to the other side of the city with very little time to spare.
Charlie leans in to kiss me on the cheek when I pull her into my arms. The rough fabric of her dress rubs against my skin.
“I’ll probably need your help this week with cake testing and a few other things since Alex is on the road with the team. I’m so happy they made the playoffs, but I wish he were here to have some input into this process.”
“He’s the one who wants the big wedding. Maybe you should hold off until he’s around more.”
“No, all of this needs to get done. I can’t wait until June to plan for July.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “June?”
“Yeah, if they go all the way, the Stanley Cup Final is in June.”
I pat her on the shoulder. “Let’s see if they even make it past the first round before we get ahead of ourselves.”
I can tell Charlie wants to say something but holds back. Instead, she flashes a closed mouthed smile.
While I’m not trying to be a downer, the obvious fact is the Flyers haven’t been to the playoffs in so many years that they might not last longer than the first round. I wasn’t saying it as an insult to the guys, just stating the fact that the other teams have more experience when it comes to playoff hockey.
After I say goodbye to the girls, I exit the boutique, happy to be away from all the girly shit. Men are not meant to hang out in places like these. I have women ogling me every time and wondering if I’m gay, available, or the groom-to-be. And it’s getting old.
The cab driver drops me off in front of Tony Luke’s, where I come at least twice a week for a cheesesteak. I also chose it because Regan works only a few minutes away and could walk if she had to. From a distance, it looks like an old metal diner, but, up close, the takeout-style restaurant has a long open window where you can watch them make your food.
A line has started forming down the pavement, crowds of people huddled under the awning. They have benches off to the left, but they’re almost entirely packed. I get a little nervous when I see Regan strolling toward me in an orange-and-black Flyers T-shirt, jeans, and black Michael Jordan sneakers. Charlie has the exact same pair.
Despite being so casually dressed and covered up, I still get excited thinking about what’s underneath her clothes. With her tiny frame, her chest sticks out, drawing my attention to how tight the shirt is against her breasts. Like really tight. Which makes me think about how much of an ass I am for wanting to rush through our three dates to get to the good part. But I’m not that kind of guy. Even if I want to be that guy right now.
Regan raises her hand to wave, as she comes closer. Sunlight hits her hair, making it seem lighter, more white than blonde. With her milky complexion and soft features, she looks angelic, younger even. I often forget that she’s a few years younger than me because she’s aged beyond her years by all the responsibilities she has taken on.
“Jameson,” she says into my ear as she hugs me, making a sniffing sound.
I wrap my arms around her and bend down to kiss her forehead. “Did you just smell me?”
She shrugs, casually. “Maybe. You smell good.”
I hold her at an arm’s-length to stare into her eyes. “Oh, yeah? What do I smell like? I don’t wear cologne.”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s your aftershave or soap. But you smell like…” She holds her index finger up to her mouth, thinking
it over. “I guess it’s a man scent. I’m not sure how to describe it. You smell like Jameson O’Connor. How’s that?” She says the last part with a smile that I return.
“You’re a strange one,” I say, laughing. “How about we get something to eat before my boss hunts me down? I don’t have a lot of time.”
She answers with a nod.
We walk over to the long counter, where line cooks are making food behind a window. I glance up at the menu on the wall, even though I already had my mind made up before I’d gotten here. For the most part, I get the same thing every time.
