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“On and off,” he interjects.
“Still.”
“Kitty Cat.”
“I’m a reporter. I can’t help my natural curiosity. Indulge me.”
He sits up and leans across the table, his ocean-blue eyes hidden behind the mirrored lenses of a pair of expensive sunglasses.
“Her name’s Beth. We started dating when we were kids.”
“Kids, as in the fifth grade?”
“College,” he corrects. “I sat next to her in Applied Sciences. She smiled at me, and I was a goner.”
“So, she’s pretty.”
“Very.” He dips his chin.
“And you two argued enough to break up several times?” I guess.
Either frustration or regret flattens his mouth. I’m surprised when he answers. “We argued a lot. Over stupid shit. Then I was drafted by Miami and the move to Florida prompted another breakup. Six months later, she moved down there.”
“She moved in with you.”
“Yep.” He leans back again, face pinched, head turned. Topic over. But I’m not done yet.
“And that was it?”
He shakes his head gravely. “Why do you want to know? You’re not writing about it.”
“I’m shamelessly nosy. Comes with the job.”
He huffs in agreement.
“Please?” I press my palms together. A few silent seconds tick by before he gives in.
“She lived in Florida for a while, and then we had another argument and she moved back to Ohio. I stayed in Miami and ultimately injured myself. Once I was out of the game permanently, we reconciled, and I moved into her apartment here in Columbus.” He spins his water glass on the table. “She booted my ass out, so I lived with my buddy Dax for a few months. Helped him redesign his new bar until I found a place of my own.” He shrugs. “And that was it.”
“Are you sure? You two have found your way back to each other every other time. Why not now?”
“Trust me. I’m sure.”
“Did one of you stray?”
“Cheat? No. I don’t cheat. Neither does she. Things just became...hard.”
I know exactly what he means. North and I had our share of dumb arguments and avoidance, and neither of us cheated, either. Sometimes breaking up is as easy and as complicated as two people who can’t work out their differences.
Our lunch arrives and we dive in.
“Maybe our story should revolve around you and Beth reconciling,” I say. “Readers love a second chance.”
He finishes his tacos, swipes the cloth napkin over his mouth and, still chewing, watches me from behind mirrored shades.
“Maybe our story could revolve around the way you want North back.”
My stomach pools with disgust. “I don’t want him back.”
