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I’d told my dad I didn’t know what I was doing. Did Tackle? Was he as confused about this as I was? I assumed I was only a notch in his bedpost, but if that were the case, why was he being so persistent? Because I was a challenge? And what was the deal between him and Nick?
There was only one way for me to get the answers. I grabbed my jacket and raced down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, hoping he hadn’t left.
He looked up as I waited for the light to change to cross the street, and while our eyes met, he didn’t otherwise acknowledge I was headed his way.
I walked inside and told the hostess I was meeting the man seated near the window. The man who stood and pulled a chair out for me when I approached.
“Hi, Tackle.”
“Hello, Sloane.”
“We need to talk.”
“I agree.”
“My dad knows there’s something going on between us.”
He nodded slowly. “I wondered if you told him.”
“I didn’t.”
He studied me for a few seconds.
“He said he figured there was, based on your behavior and mine.”
Tackle leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “How did you respond?”
“Not with much, other than to answer honestly when he asked if I knew what I was doing. I told him I didn’t.” I waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. “Do you know what you’re doing, Tackle?”
He leaned back in his chair and looked left and right. “No fucking clue.”
“Why are you here?”
“I can’t answer that either. I wish I could.”
“My dad told me to think long and hard about whether I wanted to walk away without taking a chance.”
“A chance at what?”
I cocked my head. He was the one who had been in such hot pursuit of me. Now, he was playing dense? “I’m sure he meant a chance at having more sex.” I was so tempted to get up and leave. I closed my eyes and silently counted to five. If Tackle didn’t speak by the time I did, I wouldn’t just walk out. I’d go back to the office and put in for a transfer out of the Boston office to a place far enough away that I’d never have to see my brother’s best friend again.
“Listen, Sloane…”
“You have ten seconds to finish that sentence.”
“I like you. I always have. And to be completely honest, I’ve wanted to have sex with you since you were old enough for me to think about it without feeling like a pedophile.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Let me finish.”
I stood. “Not necessary. I get it. The reason you’ve wanted so desperately to talk to me was only so you could be the one to give me the brush-off. Fuck you, Tackle.” I raced out of the restaurant and into the cab that someone had just gotten out of.
“Where to?” the driver asked as he pulled away from the curb.
“Somewhere that will get me back here in no less than fifteen minutes.”
“How ’bout Fenway?”
