I glanced back at him, but he was right behind me. He’d already dropped off a half dozen dinners and caught up to me. “My usual poison.”
“You models and your water. I don’t know how you drink all of that every day without drowning yourself.” His nose curled as he turned toward the back station. He tapped my back with his tray first, then he hustled away before I could smack him.
Soren and I had managed to settle into a kind of friendship that had sibling-like characteristics . . . and something else. We still got into it—over the stupidest things usually—but once we got it out, we moved on until the next thing came up. I’d grown up with two sisters, so I was no stranger to constant bickering. He’d grown up with three brothers—he was just as familiar with it.
The silver lining to all of our heated debate was that we’d pretty much already called each other out on our annoying idiosyncrasies and said exactly what we thought about them. He’d cleaned up his crap more and didn’t randomly belt out some chorus that jumped into his head in the middle of the night while he was studying, jolting me awake in the process. And I’d gotten faster at taking showers to save him some of the hot water the building had in short supply every morning and didn’t run my blow-dryer with the bathroom door wide open if he was still asleep.
Common courtesies we were working out for each other. Or, as Soren called it, getting each other into shape for that amazing future spouse.
I was still in my heels from earlier, so I slid out of those once I sat at the table in the back. My feet had quickly formed callouses from the amount of heel wear, so I navigated the streets in stilettos as often as I did sneakers now. Plus, I had a subway pass, which made all the difference in the world when it came to bolting between ten different addresses in a day.
“The hemlock you ordered.” Soren slid a glass of water in front of me, then he dropped a full pitcher behind it.
“Busy place. I like it.” I scanned the restaurant, understanding why Soren liked working here. It was loud and busy and friendly, just like him. Plus, there were plenty of college-aged girls who, gauging by the appraisals they were giving him, seemed to be under the impression that Soren was an itch that had to be scratched.
“I knew you would. Just wait until you try the fries. You’re never going to leave.” He disappeared again, seeming to fade in and out of the tables like he was made of air.
While I waited for the fried, starchy dinner I knew Ellis would frown upon if he was sitting across from me right now, I found myself watching the cluster of girls. I noticed petty, stupid things, like how one had on jeans with frayed hems, or how the other had a wild chunk of hair out of place, or how one laughed like she was part hyena.
Stupid, catty girl stuff, which I liked to consider myself well above. Apparently not in this situation though. When I realized why I’d transformed into a mean girl nightmare, I squirmed in my chair. Soren might have been an annoying, loud, brother type, but he was also insanely nice to look at and had boyfriend potential slapped all over him; loyal, generous, fun, attentive, killer smile. He was pretty much everything a girl looked for in a guy, save for perhaps a few annoying flaws, but I was trying to convince myself I saw nothing appealing when I looked at him.
I really needed to hone my ability to lie to myself.
A few minutes later, Soren appeared at my table and slid a plate of food in front of me.
“I didn’t think the French fries would be enough, so I had them fry up some fish for you too. See if we can put a little meat on those arms of yours.” Soren’s fingers wrapped around my bicep. “I asked Tommy to fry up whatever else he can back there for you too, so if a plate of fruit salad with an oily, golden crust arrives next, you’ll know why.”
“You know, body-shaming applies to all types of bodies.” I put on a straight face as I glanced at him, determined to maintain it. “Do you think I felt any better about myself because kids were snickering and calling me different names than the other girls? Do you think my self-esteem took less of a hit because a person called me concave?”
The easy smile Soren lived with dwindled. “Shit. I’m a prick.”
I nodded solemnly.
“For the record, I don’t think you’re too skinny or that your arms are scrawny or anything like that.” As he said scrawny, his face drew up. “I mean, you’ve got a great body. A really great body.” He winced again, his processing a moment behind his words. “And I’m going to do what we men should do more of and just shut up and walk away.” He flashed a wave at me, backing away from the table while shaking his head.
“You’re kinda cute when you’re self-deprecating.” I grabbed a fry and twirled in the direction of the group of girls. “Might want to play to your strong points.”
Soren glanced over where I’d indicated at the front of the restaurant. “Oh, them. The Thursday night fan club.” His brows bounced.
“You have a fan club for certain nights?”
He dusted off his arms theatrically. “I have a fan club for every hour of the day.”
My face went flat. “You’re not so cute when you’re full of yourself.”
“I’m cute because my boyish charm still radiates through my rugged manliness.” He circled his face as he backed into the kitchen. “Irresistible.”
When I got back to my meal, I realized I was being stared at. By the Thursday night fan club. They didn’t seem to be fans of me. More whatever the opposite was. When I waved, all of their heads turned. Look who was playing the catty card now?
I’d barely finished my second fry before Soren appeared at my table again. “Pick a condiment.” He was holding a tray with an assortment of different sauces. When I moved to reach for one, he pulled the tray back. “But pick carefully.”
“I’m not picking what I want to put on my tombstone. I’m picking the kind of sauce I want to dip my fries in.”
“What kind of condiment a girl likes says a lot about the kind of guy she’s into.”
“What? Where did you read that? Moron’s Illustrated?”
He slid the tray in front of me again. “Oh, just the small print on The Holy Grail.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to reach for the same condiment. What did it say about my taste in men? What would I be giving away about myself if I choose it?
Why was I actually sweating what kind of condiment to pick? Nothing like a reality check to clear the crazy.
“Hmm.” Soren nodded. “Interesting choice.”
“How is hot sauce an interesting choice?” I did my best to ignore him as I shook the bottle of hot sauce over my fries.
“Because now I know.”