And right there at the curb was my gorgeous boyfriend, wearing cuffed jeans, arms crossed over his chest… and leaning against a red Porsche.
Sixteen Candles! I positively melted. I put my hand over my heart and said, “Jake Ryan! You Jake Ryaned to pick me up tonight!”
The scene would have been perfect if Trip didn’t look so annoyed. “Christ! What took you so long? I’ve only been standing out here like a jackass, holding this pose for like an hour.”
I bounded down the few steps and crossed the sidewalk that separated us, sidling up to his chest and slipping a hand around his neck. His “anger” broke at that, and I watched his lips twitch, trying to contain a smile as I slid my fingers into the back of his hair and said, “Oh my God please just whisper yeah you for me. I think I’ll die.”
He lost the battle with his smile as his face cracked into a wide grin. “Yeah, you have way too big a crush on that guy. Yeah, you are really making me jealous right about now.”
I pecked him on the cheek and said, “Yeah, you are like the cutest thing ever. Even if you forgot the sweater vest.”
“I drew the line at the sweater vest.”
“Well, now my night is just completely ruined!” I joked.
He just rolled his eyes and opened the car door for me.
I slipped into the passenger seat and sank into the soft, white leather as Trip made his way to the driver’s side. I ran my hand over the dash, asking, “Is this your car?”
Trip started the engine with a glorious, retro rumble. “Nope. Borrowed it from a friend.”
I looked at him questioningly. “You happen to have a friend that just happens to own an antique Porsche?”
“Yep.” He buckled his seatbelt and slid on a pair of shades. “It’s Paul Newman’s.”
My mouth gaped open as he put the car in gear and we took off down Wilshire Boulevard.
The restaurant Trip chose was not at all what I was expecting. I’d thought we were going to go to some fancy-schmancy eatery where there’d be celebrities at every other table. Where he took me instead was an off-the-beaten-path Mexican place out in Encino. I don’t know why I was surprised. It was such a Trip thing to do.
He surrendered the keys to the valet, along with a fifty dollar bill. He saw the look I shot him at that, put his hand at the small of my back, and escorted me into the restaurant, explaining, “I’m not taking any chances with that thing,” which just made me laugh.
As soon as we were in the front door, I fell in love with the place. Every cheesy, Mexican cliché was on full display, from the sombreros hanging on the wall, to the pi?atas suspended from the high ceiling, to the mariachi band playing on the small stage along the far wall.
I absolutely loved it.
Trip gauged the expression on my face, and it made a wide grin split his features. He took my hand as the hostess led us through the dining room, but when she started to put the menus down at a booth near the stage, Trip whispered something to her I couldn’t hear as he slipped a bill in her hand. She changed direction and led us to a private table in a darkened corner instead.
Once we were alone, I said, “Hey. Henry Hill. How come we didn’t come in through the kitchen?”
He got my Goodfellas reference and started to chuckle. “What am I, a clown? Do I amuse you?”
Before I could tell him what a funny guy he was, he said, “I’ve learned it’s best to tip beforehand. You get better service that way.”
“Fair enough, Mr. Wiley.”
He looked at me then, frozen in the act of placing his napkin across his lap. “You know, you’ve only called me that once before.”
I took a sip of my water. “What? Mr. Wiley?”
“Yeah. During our interview. You said that exact same thing to me. You never… You never call me by that name.”
“Because it’s not your name.”
“Yeah. But even people who knew me growing up can accept that I changed it.”
“Not legally, though, right?”
He leaned back in his seat and shot me a sham dirty look. “No. Not legally. What’s your point?”
“That it’s just… all for show. Trip Wiley is all just smoke and mirrors. Trip Wilmington’s the guy I fell in love with.”
I’d never seen him smile quite so big. “And that’s why you’ll always be my rosebud.”
That was a new one. “Well, you’ll always be my… tulip… Dear.”
He cracked up at that. “Not my rosebud. My Rosebud. Citizen Kane, remember? You’re my happy thing before the fame, before the money.”
How adorable was that? I gave him a shy smile, touched that he thought of me in such an endearing way. I was sure, however, that he was just talking about who I used to be for him. After the past few days, I hoped I was coming to mean even more to him now than I did then.