“Sure.”
I ran back to my room, taking the long way around so that I wouldn’t run into Adam and Michelle. When I got to there, Rachel was nowhere to be found.
What was I supposed to wear out to dinner with Justin? Where were we going?
He was wearing khakis and a button-up, so I grabbed a light blue summer dress out of my closet and slipped it on.
I added a pair of cream-colored wedges, a long gold necklace, then brushed my hair and added some lip-gloss. But then I hesitated. Should I really be doing this? A weird shiver of fear slid up my spine. I had no idea who this guy was, or what he was doing here. Last night he was acting like a complete thug, and tonight he was dressed like an investment banker. Every part of me was screaming that this guy was bad news.
But I didn’t care. Something about him was captivating me, pushing me toward him and whatever that entailed, even if it turned out to be bad.
I headed out the door, and as I walked back across campus, I had to resist the urge to run. Justin was unpredictable – what if I got back there, and he was gone?
But he wasn’t gone. He was sitting on a bench.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
***
We took the T to a restaurant on Stuart Street called Ferguson’s.
It was a steakhouse, the kind of place they didn’t have in Ohio, at least not where I was from. It was dark inside, with candles on the tables and crisp white tablecloths.
The maitre’d pulled my chair out for me, and I was so surprised I almost fell over.
They filled our goblets with sparkling water, and I opened the menu.
“Have you been here before?’ I asked.
“No. But I’ve heard it’s supposed to be good.”
“It looks good.” It better be, for the prices, I thought. A steak cost fifty-eight dollars. That was ridiculous.
“Yeah,” he said. “They…ummm…the reviews for this place are excellent.”
There was a silence as we both looked at our menus. For some reason, I realized, things were becoming awkward between us. I shifted in my seat.
“What are you going to get?” he asked, finally.
“Um, maybe the grilled haddock. You?”
“Steak, definitely.”
“Cool.” I shut my menu and folded my hands in my lap. Around us, people were drinking wine and laughing and talking. I felt ridiculously out of place.
We lapsed into silence again. This was getting more and more awkward. It was like we were both afraid of saying or doing something wrong. Which was ridiculous, since apparently Justin had broken into my dorm room last night. How could he be worried about doing something wrong after he’d already done something like that?
The waiter came to our table.
I ordered first, and then Justin ordered his steak.
“How would you like that cooked?” the waiter asked. He was a short man with a white mustache, and he sounded bored.
“Well done,” Justin said.
The waiter frowned. “Are you sure? This is an excellent cut of meat, and overcooking it takes away the aged flavor.”
“The aged flavor?” Justin asked, looking at him incredulously.
“Yes.”
“Well done,” Justin said again. He closed his menu and handed it to the waiter, who was looking a little peeved.
“Any sides?”
“What does it come with?” Justin asked.
“Nothing. You need to order your sides separate.”
“Oh.” Justin took the menu back and looked at it. “Mashed potatoes. And corn.”
He looked at me. “Sound okay?”
“Sounds good.”
The waiter sighed, picked the menu back up, and left.
“What a dick,” Justin muttered. “How was I supposed to know it didn’t come with anything?”
“I didn’t know either.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Really. Why should I know that their meals don’t come with any sides?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you’d probably been to places like this all the time.”
“No.” I shook my head. “In fact, places like this kind of make me uncomfortable.”
He grinned. “Me too. But I wanted to take you someplace special.”
“You don’t have to impress me,” I told him. “I’m pretty low maintenance, really.”
Suddenly, he pushed his glass away. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“But we just ordered.”
He shrugged. “So what? We didn’t eat. And besides, I think a place like this can take it.”
He stood up, took my hand and led me out of the restaurant.
Once we were out on the street, I was relieved. The air in the restaurant had been stuffy and warm, but outside the night was cool. It was still light out, and Justin kept holding my hand as we walked the streets of Boston.
He took me to Quincy Market, where we ordered brownie sundaes for dinner, and ate them at a tiny wrought-iron table on the cobblestone street.
When we were finished, we got coffee, and when I went to put sugar in mine, Justin stopped me.
“Bubbles,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s a superstition.” He pointed to the bubbles on the top of my coffee. “If you eat them, you’ll have good luck.”