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I chuckle, remembering the jar of miso that she’d asked me to open just the day before.“You should really work on your grip strength,” I advise.
“What for?I’ve got you around now.”There’s a new lightness in Carleigh’s expression when she meets my eyes, the sense of awkwardness gone.“I’ll be back with something for you.You guys want a wing menu, too?”
Quinn nods.“Absolutely,” he answers, then she walks away.He turns to look over his shoulder, and once she’s a few tables away, he looks back and says, “Dude, you’re so into her.”
“What?Carleigh?No.”Quinn’s eyebrows raise again, and I shake my head.“Not everything has to be like that.”
“I agree, not everything has to, but this definitely is.”Quinn takes a long sip from his beer.“I’ve known you for a thousand years, Kennedy.I know that look.”
I scoff.“Piss off.”
Quinn shrugs.“Fine.So, you don’t mind if I ask her out, then?”
I glare at him remembering why I hate old friends.They’re the worst.They know you too well and they’re impossible to hide from.
“I knew it,” Quinn says gleefully.“Don’t worry, I’m hands off.Since you’re clearly hands on-”
“I swear, Quinn, I’m going to rip your throat out.”
“Very mid-2000s Rambo of you, but you’re definitely too weak for that.”
“Oh screw that, I’m definitely strong enough!You want to go outside and try, bud?”I challenge, the threat neutralized by the laughter I’m speaking through.
Quinn grins at me again, a mischievous look in his eye.“You’ve been trying for years to get a rematch from that time I kicked your ass at your mom’s.”
“That was in elementary school, bud!No way would it go that way today.”
“Meet you by the flagpole after school, I guess.”
I laugh, but can’t think of what to reply.Right when I come up with a good response, Carleigh reappears carrying two laminated menus and a beer.
“Amber ale, local brew,” she announces, tossing down a paper coaster and then setting the already-sweating glass in front of me.“And two menus.I’ll give you guys a couple minutes and be right back.”
“Thanks.”I watch her walk to another table, her hands in the pockets of the apron, before finally looking at the menu.There are a lot of flavors, but I’m a simple guy.All I need is an order of the salt and pepper, and probably the mango habanero.Though, there’s a flavor with a stupid name that has sumac and oregano in it, and another that’s got kimchi in the actual name.“Quinn, what are you getting?”
He doesn’t reply right away, so I look up from the menu.He’s just sitting there, grinning at me.“You’re gone,” he teases.
I look over at Carleigh again, so Quinn probably has a point.Not that I’ll ever admit it to him.She’s taking an order from a table filled with guys in wannabe suits, but ever the professional, she’s still got a smile on her face.One of the guys beckons her to come closer, a finger pointing up at the speaker and then at his ear.I squint, trying to read lips – it always seems to me like I should be able to do that pretty easily, but it never works out that well – there’s something about noise, then the guy lifts his menu.Carleigh leans over to speak to him.A disgusting feeling arises when the guy is staring down the neckline of her shirt.
One of the guys is speaking again.I strain to hear, and manage to catch something about a lager and then, sure enough, a request for her phone number.From where I’m sitting, about half of her face is visible, which is wearing a strained, polite smile I know isn’t genuine.Her reply to the guy is too quiet for me to hear, but a second later, the guy reaches out and wraps a hand around her small wrist.
My body tenses, not sure what to do.I don’t want to go roaring in like a white knight – I know Carleigh well enough to get the feeling she’s not any kind of damsel in distress – but at the same time, I really hate the uncomfortable expression on her face, and want to help.But before I must make a decision on how to do that, she’s already extricated herself and is backing away, tucking her hands in her apron again.I try to catch her eye when she passes by our table, heading to the back, but fail.
Quinn doesn’t seem to have noticed anything with his face buried in the menu when I turn back.“You think they make their own buffalo sauce?”he asks.
“Er, I don’t know,” I answer, distracted.“You know, I’ll go ask Carleigh.”
“What?No, I don’t need to know that badly.”Quinn replies, but I’m already out of my seat.“Oh hell, whatever.”
I ignore Quinn and follow Carleigh’s path toward the bar.I linger sort of awkwardly outside the door to the kitchen, ignoring the annoyed look the bartender is giving me.Mercifully, she reappears after a couple of minutes, pushing her way out of the kitchen with her shoulder.I try to read her face, but it’s excessively neutral, her eyes as dark as ever.
She jumps when she sees me.“What’re you doing over here?You need something?”she asks.
“Quinn had a question about the buffalo sauce,” I blurt loudly.In a much gentler tone, I add, “And I saw that guy grab you, I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Carleigh’s face softens, her mouth almost pouting.“Oh,” she breathes, shaking her head.“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
