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RORY
Jackson has been avoiding me all week. Even at school, the only reason I knew he was there at all was because others had mentioned him. When I text, he takes forever to respond, and we haven’t hung out alone since the night of the Valentine’s Day dance.
From the way he’s acting now, I’m almost certain what happened between us that night wasn’t all in my head. It was real. A brief moment of insanity that will never happen again. Jackson is sending me that message loud and clear with his actions. He’s never been one to face his problems head on, so if avoidance is how he’s choosing to deal with this, then fine. I’ll embrace my crazy and realize that cold feet can sometimes make a person do things they’d normally never dream of.
Except now I’m sitting here on a Friday night having an impromptu double date with Jackson and some random woman. The four of us sit in awkward silence as we look over our menus. Eyeing Brad out of the corner of my eye, I could strangle him right now, and he has no clue he’s done anything wrong.
“Hey y’all. I’m London and I’ll be your server this evening.” The young guy stands next to me as he fills our water glasses. “Can I get anyone a drink to start with?”
“Yes, please,” Jackson and I say in unison.
We make eye contact and both of us let out a nervous chuckle.
“Get used to it Vanessa,” Brad interjects. “These two have many inside jokes and weird quirks. Sometimes it feels like they share a brain.” Brad’s fingers brush the hair away from my shoulder before lightly grazing the nape of my neck. “We’ll have a bottle of the Louis Jadot Chardonnay.”
“Great choice.”
“I’ll have a beer,” Jackson quickly adds before the server walks away. “Coors on tap if you have it.”
“Yes, sir,” the server responds. Once again, the four of us are alone.
“So.” Vanessa takes a sip of her water. “You two are engaged. When is the wedding?”
“Beginning of April,” I answer in a vain attempt to be polite to this stranger.
“Jackson here is Rory’s maid of honor,” Brad says, without looking up from his menu.
“Stop calling it that.” My tone is harsher than it should be, but it irritates the hell out of me when Brad makes the same tired joke over and over.
“No, it’s ok. Doesn’t bother me any.” Jackson smiles and gives Vanessa a wink.
Why does that annoy me? Jackson and I have been on many double dates. I’ve seen him in serious relationships and even picked him up the morning after a few one-night stands. I’ve never felt hostile or jealous toward any of those women. So why do I suddenly have the sudden urge to claw this particular woman’s eyes out?
“See, babe. It’s all in good fun. Jackson knows that.” Brad dismisses me and takes charge of the conversation. “The two appetizers I was told to try are the wagyu tartare and the softshell crab tempura.”
“Yum, that all sounds delicious,” Vanessa purrs. Ok maybe she didn’t exactly purr. Good lord, I need to quit.
“Jackson’s allergic to shellfish,” I mumble.
“Oh my God!” Vanessa turns to Jackson with her hand covering her perfectly colored red lips. “Why didn’t you tell me when I suggested we try a sushi restaurant?”
“Because there are other things on the menu that I can eat. It’s no big deal.” Jackson shoots me a look and I’m left wondering what I did wrong. “You seemed excited to try this place out, and I was happy to oblige.” Jackson leans into her, smiling.
The server is back with the wine. Thank God.
“Shall I—” He motions for Brad’s glass, and I know he’s offering to let him taste it before he pours the bottle.
“Nope, we know what it tastes like,” I quickly interrupt him while holding my wine glass up in the air.
With an irritated look, the deflated server pours my wine and then moves on, pouring for the rest of the table as he tells us about tonight’s specials. Gulping my wine, I listen to Brad order the appetizers, and then I allow him to order for me as well. I’m too busy trying to calm myself down to care what the hell I eat. When everyone has ordered, I listen as the three of them talk. Every once in a while I remind myself to join in so it doesn’t look weird that I’m sitting here drinking in silence. After the appetizers, main course and many, many glasses of wine, my blood pressure is back to normal.
“So, Jackson, tell me about the meaning behind your tattoos.” Vanessa traces the outline of Jackson’s phoenix with the tip of her finger.
“It’s pretty cliché. It’s a phoenix rising from the ashes, but it holds meaning to me. I suffered an injury playing football during my senior year of high school. It forced me to reevaluate my goals and life plan.”
“That’s terrible.” I watch as Vanessa’s finger moves from the wings to the swirls of black and grey smoke before finally stopping at something no one ever notices. “What is this? It almost looks like hands connected in some way?”
Next to me, I feel Brad stiffen. Shit, this is not going to be good. Just take another gulp of wine, Rory.
