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“Uh, hi,” Fitz replies, and his hand moves to the back of his neck. Am I making him nervous? I’ve never seen him nervous before. “WHG is sponsoring the Alamos, my sister was supposed to come tour but her kid is sick,” he explains.
I didn’t know he had a sister. Truth be told, I don’t know a lot about the man in front of me. His calm, measured demeanor has kept me from knowing how he felt about anything. I had seen his parents a few times - graduation, a pep rally or two when the lacrosse team was in finals - but beyond the fact that they owned WHG, I was clueless.
“That’s too bad,” I say, trying to impress empathy in my voice as I look up at him, but fail miserably. I was surprised when he came through the door, but if the last three years in A.A. have taught me anything, it was that everything happens for a reason.
“Do you mind?” He nods toward the bar, and I shake my head, shrugging.
“I’ll be here,” I say, and point to the table a few inches away. He nods, and pulls his jacket off, hanging it over the back of one of the chairs before stiffly walking toward the bar. I watch him go. His pants have got to be custom, with how tall he is. The way they fall in all the right places.
I pull out my phone for the first time since arriving.
DYLAN ANTON (1)
GROUP TEXT (3)Alex, Carla, Penny, Vic
VIC MONTERO
OMG
ALEX CALLOWAY
Stalker
PENNY ROBINSON
Let us know if you need rescue service.
I swipe away the group message, and open Dylan’s.
He's sitting twenty feet away, probably the closest we've been in months, and he can't even come talk to me in person?
DYLAN ANTON
Who is that?
Jesus, how do I even answer that? To Dylan, of all people. I spotted him in the stadium seats at the front of the suite when Vic and I arrived fashionably late, as always, fighting Dallas traffic to get here after work. Dylan gave me an awkward wave when we walked in, returning to his conversation with Carla - before she realized Alex and Penny were about to waterboard me for information about Fitz, because Carla’s loose lips could quite literally sink ships.
I sigh as I respond to Dylan.
PIPER DELMONICO
We went to school with him, small world.
Why did I downplay it? To Dylan? Dylan, whose decade of sobriety was the only reason I had found my way to my first meeting. Dylan, whose brother had been playing on the Alamos as long as Nolan had. Dylan, who, at one point, I was sleeping with more than without.
That was long-since over, especially since resigning myself to dating again after a New Year’s Eve spent alone with Bex, a spicy werewolf novel, and a bowl of cookie dough, which realistically, is how I plan to spend my birthday in just a few days.
“Everything ok?” I nearly jump as Fitz steps up to the table next to me, a clear drink in his cup. He takes a sip, and then sets it on the table.
“Oh, yeah.” I lock my phone and put it face-up on the table. “Just some family stuff.” So much for my rigorous honesty. He nods, and stretches his arms out in front of him. With one hand, he unbuttons the sleeve of his dress shirt, rolling it up slowly before doing the same to the other. And I watch. Every. Agonizing. Moment.
Like a surge of heat, I feel my face flush, and I’m forced to look away. I’m practically salivating.
Maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve done anything. Maybe I’m getting a PMS hormone rush. Or maybe, without the immediate wall I’ve had up around Fitz, once always accompanied by Andy, I’m realizing just how much I’m attracted to him.
It’s all three. All three things are probably true.
His burgundy curls. His deep green eyes. Even the smooth, hard planes of his face, devoid of any emotion.
