I smile coyly at him, but I don’t break our eye contact. I actually allow his stare; almost welcome it. I decide to join in the banter and ignore the sexual undertone of his statement. “I only drink three types of drinks.” Then holding one finger up in the air, I say, “Beer with ice.” Holding a second finger up in the air, I say, “Martinis.” And finally, holding a third finger up, I finish with, “And champagne, but only with a strawberry.”
Then smirking, I decide to go for it and throw a detail from our first meeting at him. Without any perk or animation I say, “And oh yeah, an occasional shot, but then you already knew that.”
Running his hands through his hair, he raises an eyebrow. “Yes I do. I remember that very well actually.”
And there it is again. A ménage of shuffled signals where words and body language aren’t always in sync, but emotions and body language seem to be oddly connected. With my mind and body having had enough of the chaos, I let it out. I just say it.
“River, what kind of game are you playing? Is this your way of luring me in, because if it is, I’m not interested? I’m not a groupie!” I finally manage to say what’s been on my mind, and I feel relieved.
He moves toward the center of the booth. He’s inching his way closer to me, but he’s still a good distance away. Putting his fingers on the table, he starts tapping it. He looks at me intently and says, “Dahlia, I’m not playing any game. I’m just interested in you, and I know you’re not a groupie.”
His fingers stop tapping the table, and he reaches over to where my hand is clutching the hem of my skirt. He takes it and rests both of our hands on my leg, his over mine. I notice he hasn’t laced our fingers together though. He clears his throat before saying, “I’m just trying to figure that night out. Believe me, the facts are pretty clear, but it’s the whys I’m struggling with.”
River looks at me for a beat, dragging his tongue over his lower lip before continuing. “This is how I remember it. I was singing a gig at the USC Campus Bar. During a break I went to grab a beer. I met the most incredible girl whom I don’t think even knew that I sang in the band, but loved music. We seemed to hit it off. We did a couple of shots, drank a few drinks, and talked without any pretense. I asked her to wait for me after the show. She didn’t say anything about having a boyfriend or not sticking around and then when I finished she was gone.” With his eyes still piercing through me, he pauses as if waiting for a response even though he hasn’t asked a question.
The restaurant seems very quiet as I return his gaze and just nod my head in agreement. All the while knowing what he said is the truth and knowing what he hasn’t asked for is the answer.
Before River can continue, the waiter returns with our drinks and asks us if we’re ready to order. River asks him to give us a few minutes. Once the waiter leaves he raises his glass and out of politeness I do the same. “To beautiful days,” he says and clinks his glass to mine. I can’t help but smile that he remembers my concert t-shirt that I wore that night and the toast he made then, but this also infuriates me.
“That’s what I mean!”
“What?” he says, actually looking confused.
“That! You’re back and forth with me, with your actions, with your emotions. You act like you don’t remember me, then spring on me that you do. You flirt with me and then you stop on a dime. You kiss me and then you pull away as soon as I touch you. You’re mad then you’re not.” I don’t stop to take a breath or let him speak before finally raising the hand he’s holding and letting it go. “You’re holding my hand, then . . .” I trail off, not sure of how to finish that thought. Tearing my gaze from his, I try to rein in my emotions, to wipe the flustered girl up off the floor.