“Well, you expect them to check license plate numbers before towing off a car, no matter how sure they think they are that they have the right one.”
“True.”
I walk over to a low concrete wall and sit down to wait for my car to be delivered. After offering to wait with me, he joins me. While we sit shoulder to shoulder, I think about next weekend’s baseball game with him and Marvin. I’m trying to picture the three of us in the bleachers, behind the ivy-covered wall. In my head, I’m sitting between the two of them. Wedged, more like. Marvin’s dripping relish and mustard from his hot dog onto my head.
“P-L-O?”
“Huh?” I ask thickly.
“Your number plate. That’s funny. Easy to remember, but still.”
“What’s yours?” I ask, suddenly feeling irrationally defensive on behalf of a stupid sheet of metal. I can’t see his plate from the angle at which we’re sitting to the car.
He closes one eye as he thinks about it. “Uh, let’s see. 925-CIA. So, you’re in a fair bit of trouble.”
“Whatever. You’re a dork.” I nudge him with my shoulder to let him know I’m kidding.
His laugh trails off with an “Aaah.” Then he says, “So…”
“Soooo,” I mimic, dragging it out, making it sound like “sue.”
“Whilst we’re waiting…”
“Yes?” I affect a British accent and flutter my eyelashes ‘whilst’ I look down my nose at him.
He laughs, but the nervousness is back. “Uh… huh-huh. You looked a bit like my first form teacher just then.”
“Yeesh. Sorry.”
“No, no. She was totty.” At my questioning look, he assures me, “That’s a good thing.” He blushes. “I digress. Uh… what I was going to say was… I know it’s short notice, but… tonight, I—” He stops and laughs. “I’m sorry. Your face… you look terrified suddenly. Are you okay?”
With massive effort, I manage to smile and duck my head, in case the smile came out looking more like a grimace. “Sorry. I’m a little afraid of what you’re about to say.”
“Right.” He pauses. “Why?”
I honestly don’t know, so what am I supposed to tell him? I simply shake my head, horrified that I suddenly feel like crying. I’m incredibly frustrated by my inability to have a normal interaction with a man. I keep my head down and concentrate on keeping my voice steady as I say, “You’re just being so serious all of a sudden. It’s freaking me out.”
“Oh. Right. Well, I’ll try to be less serious, I suppose.” He takes a deep breath but doesn’t say anything until, “Now I’m frightened of why you may be frightened.”
Confident that there’s no evidence of my earlier rogue emotions, I look up at him and try to smile encouragingly. “No, don’t be. I’m sorry. I’m weird. Just ignore me.”
Shooting me a look that communicates he’s unsure of my sanity, he nevertheless says, “Well, what I’ve been trying to say for about an age is… I have tickets to a concert tonight. A good one. And I was wondering…”
“Who is it?” I ask bluntly, trying to keep it light.
“Come again? Oh. Right. Snow Patrol. I bought the tickets yonks ago.”
“Who were you originally going to take?”
He blushes. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”
Coolly, I confirm, “You bought two tickets to a concert that’s tonight, and you’re just now getting around to asking someone?”
Without answering me, he eagerly asks, “Do you like them? Because if you don’t want to go, I’ll completely understand. I waited too long to ask you, perhaps.”
Part of me wants to pretend I might have to cancel some other plans to go with him, but I dislike playing those kinds of games. And I do like the band. Plus who am I kidding? The only thing I have planned is daydreaming about Fantasy Jude and watching Sandberg chase a laser pointer on the floor.
Of course, I won’t be able to count this as a date in my assignment for Dr. Marsh. Dr. Marsh can’t know about this at all. That almost makes it more attractive.
He takes my silence as hesitation based on disinterest. “Never mind.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You’re right. It’s too short notice. I’ve simply been so busy, I almost forgot about them. And I thought I’d surely have someone to take by now, be it a friend or… someone else.”
“Oh, so I’m a last resort?” I say lightly. “You just don’t have anyone else to go with you?”
He blushes furiously. “Oh, no, that’s not it at all. Believe me!” Looking down at his feet, he despairs. “I’ve made a real arse of myself. I’m sorry.”
I can’t stand to watch his torture any more. “Jude, it’s okay. I was kidding. It actually sounds really fun.”
His shoulders relax, but he still avoids my eyes. “Are you sure you don’t have something else going?”
“No, I’m free,” I tell him. “My social calendar is wide open.”
He smiles and squints over at me. “Yeah. Same here.”
I stare at his mouth as if it’s made of metal and my eyes are magnets. I can’t stop wondering what it would be like if he leaned over and kissed me. It would happen… in a movie. And it would be mind-blowing. The parking garage would suddenly smell like freesias, not hot garbage. Music would play (something heavy on the violins). And when we finally pulled apart, he would say something romantic, something along the lines of, “I’ve been waiting so long for someone like you,” or I’d even settle for something a little more gauche, like, “You’re an excellent kisser.” And neither one of us would be worried about feeling uncomfortable around each other at work.
Already, just because I’m staring at him, I’m thinking about how awkward I’m starting to feel around him. But I can’t stop staring. And he’s staring back. Of course, I probably have a big zit or a booger hanging from my nose. But at least he’s looking
