Neither of them speaks for a few moments. She waits for him to return to the first thing.
“Listen, Haley, it’s no secret I’m not politically correct,” he finally begins.
“I’m worried it goes deeper than that.”
He drums his fingers on the table with his free hand. “Can I ask you something? What are you doing here with me if you have concerns about my character?”
“I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re wondering why women you respect, like Gail and Mona and Carrie, can’t stand me.”
Haley laughs. “I respect Carrie?”
“I do. I don’t like her and I definitely don’t agree with everything she says, but damn, she’s got convictions. And she stands by them. And she tries to help people. I think it blinds her in certain ways, but when I’m picking teams? I’ll choose her over the Brandon Exleys and Jordan Bockuses of this world every time.”
Haley leans forward, her elbows on the table. “Are you over her? Tell me the truth.”
“Completely. She scares me.”
They both laugh.
“I don’t get it.” Haley meets his eyes. “I don’t get how a guy like you goes from a Carrie to a . . . me.”
“You obviously don’t see yourself clearly.”
“Freckly jock,” she tells him. “Poor dresser. Inexperienced. And don’t tell me that doesn’t matter to you.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.”
“Liar.”
“The fact that you think that matters to me proves you don’t know much about guys.”
The crimson begins its slow creep across her cheeks. “Okay. So educate me.”
Now it’s his turn to look uncomfortable. “What, you want Intro to Guys?”
“I want Richard 101. The SparkNotes version.”
He turns her hand over in both of his. His thumbs trace deliberate, slow circles that she feels all the way to the soles of her feet.
“I’m . . . imperfect. But loyal. I make mistakes, but hopefully not the same mistake twice. It helps to have someone you trust tell you when you’ve messed up. My sister is like that. Totally has my back but lets me know when I get it wrong.” Haley feels herself smile. It’s cute the way he talks about his little sister. “I told her about you.”
“Really?” Haley’s mind races, trying to imagine that conversation.
Richard smiles. “She said you sound way too cool for me and I’d better not mess this up.” He squeezes her fingers.
She feels the heat spreading across her cheeks. But she squeezes back. “You keep slipping into the second thing,” she says quietly. “We weren’t quite done with the first.”
He looks thoughtful. “You and I went off the rails that day at the orchard.”
“You seemed to think that rape is another term for morning--after regret,” she says.
“I don’t,” he says firmly. “I think they are two very different things. But both are real. And both have endless . . . permutations. One’s a crime. One’s a whoops. The problem is, sometimes we disagree on how to tell them apart. And I know damn well there are people out there who would burn me at the stake for saying that, but that’s what I think.”
She reaches for her glass with her free hand. Takes a sip before responding. “I think it’s your vocab choices that piss people off. For example: ‘whoops’?”
“I’ll spell it out,” he says. “Two people at a party. Both have a lot to drink. They start grinding on the dance floor. They end up spending the night together. They realize in the morning that had they been sober they never, ever, would have hooked up. Whoops.”
She glances away. At the paintings on the walls. The other diners. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“I do. I’m sorry if that upsets you. I’m not particularly proud of it, but it’s the truth.”
It does. Upset her. Maybe not for the reasons it should. The fact is she’s just plain old jealous. It bothered her to think of him with Carrie. Now her imagination has a closet--load of other hot women to contend with.
“Richard, what happened to Jenny? That wasn’t a ‘whoops.’ That was rape. She was passed out drunk.”
“You can’t consent if you’re passed out drunk. I get that, Haley. So what about if you’re sort of drunk? Is ‘very drunk’ rape and ‘a little drunk’ a hookup?”
“You’re asking the wrong person to split those hairs,” she remarks drily.
He breathes out impatiently. “Frankly, it’s over my head, too,” he tells her. “It’s complicated. You say Jenny was raped, and I say I have no clue what happened. Jordan said it was consensual. Is he lying to me? Or to himself? Or is that the truth? That’s why there’s an investigation. These things are hard to sort out, and it doesn’t make me a bad guy to say that.”
“You’re not a bad guy,” she tells him. “You’re just a little . . . what’s Gail’s word? . . . unevolved.”
He laughs. “I like that. Beats ass--wipe.”
She returns his smile. Neither of them has released the other’s hand.