Progress (Progress #1) (3 page)

Adam walked away, flexing his jaw and mumbling all the way to the back.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. What the fuck just happened? What’s going on here?

I couldn’t look away, but I couldn’t speak. There was absolutely nothing familiar about the situation, and I had no idea what Jesse wanted from me.

He fidgeted with the coupons and I stared at him defensively, scared of what he might say.

Or what he wouldn’t say.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his head down.

“Is there something I can help you with?” I shoved my trembling hands behind my back.
The bastard can see right through me, can’t he? Maybe he preys on the innocent. Perhaps it’s the booze; he reeks of whiskey. Or maybe I’m just overreacting.
“Speak, dammit.”

His chin jerked up. His eyes widened at my audacity and then flickered to my nametag. “That’s right. Charlene.” My name rolled off his tongue.

I took a small breath. “Charlie,” I mumbled.

The room began to spin, and I had a hard time keeping my eyes in one place. I leaned against the counter for support, and tried to block the panic attack from coming.

Please, not again.

Fat.

Gross.

Obscene.

Loathsome.

Monster.

“Something wrong?” he asked, standing upright again. “Am I bothering you?”

I immediately went on the defensive, protecting myself from another blow. Because with my experience, nothing good could come from my situation. His eyes were glossy, his smile was unsettling, and I didn’t trust anything about him at the moment. I set my jaw and crossed my arms over my chest. “A little, yeah.”

He furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side, like every cocky motherfucker I’d come across before him. Just another surefire sign that he was about to crush me with words.

So I eliminated the situation before he could speak.

“It’s a little busy in here tonight. If you want to make yourself useful, Karalee could use a dishwasher in back.” I swallowed, thinking twice about my candor when I saw the disappointment in his eyes. But instead, I hit him harder. “So why don’t you just go back to your jailbait, sweetheart? I’ve got some tables to clear.”

I grabbed a rag and turned away from his smirk.

“Wait, Charlie!”

I glanced back and he shook his head. He narrowed his eyes and chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, and I was just about to say goodbye when he cut me off.

“Have a drink with me.” He paused, seeming shocked by his words.

My mouth hung open.

I’m sorry, could you repeat that?

“Yeah.” He nodded, agreeing with the voice in his head that initially thought it was a good idea. “A drink. Tomorrow. After work.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering what his angle was. I had flashbacks of my one-and-only Homecoming during my junior year. The cute guy that asked me had seemed sincere. I found out later he only asked me as a dare.

Or maybe Jesse was callously cruel and wanted to string along the fat chick. That seemed the most likely reason for him inviting me to do anything.

But…

My head and heart weren’t entirely in agreement this time.

Because
what if?

Just what if he’s different?

The situation couldn’t have been any stranger. The more I shook my head, the more he nodded. The more I fidgeted, the more he relaxed. And the more I doubted, a voice in my head dared to hope.

He gave me a small smile and his eyebrows lifted in anticipation of my answer.

“Yes.” It was almost a whisper and I couldn’t believe I said it.

“Did you order our food?” Christy walked out from the restroom and interrupted our painful interaction.

He shook his head, and his smile shifted. “Sorry, I forgot. I was just chatting with Charlie here.”

His eyes returned to mine, but they’d sobered in the past few minutes. More sober than they were when he first walked in, anyway.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Could we get a large Hawaiian pizza to go?”

I chuckled in disbelief. He’d just asked me out and now he was leaving with a girl barely old enough to drive. “Sure,” I said sardonically, punching the order into the computer. “But you’ll have to sit in the lobby. The bar doesn’t allow anyone under eighteen.” I gave them a sarcastic smile and turned on my heel, heading back toward the kitchen.

When I glanced back before opening the swinging doors, Jesse hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

His smile was a mile wide.

Chapter Three

Charlie

Eating and sleeping were out of the question leading up to my meeting with Jesse. My mind stirred with scenarios. None of it made any sense. A sexy and mysterious man wanted to have a drink with me. I was the furthest thing from his type, so there was obviously no threat of intimacy there for either of us. It had to be a joke, right? An awful, cruel, and hideous prank that would end with my leaving in tears. I’d just have to toughen up and stay on the defense until he proved otherwise.

My parents always told me that the teasing would end after high school. They were right. College was much easier on my self-esteem. But I’d avoided anything remotely dramatic and exciting my entire life, so accepting Jesse’s request for a drink certainly posed its risks.

Still, there was something about him.

Volatility sparked in his dull eyes. They comforted and soothed, but sobered and warned. And for some unexplained reason, my mind never stopped moving when he was near: a firefly trapped in a mason jar.

I waited in the booth after work the next night for what felt like hours, though it probably wasn’t much more than thirty minutes. The bar was full for a Thursday. Laughter and chatter filled the restaurant, and the sounds of glasses clinking, bussers clearing tables, and voices from the kitchen resonated in my ears.

I was completely in tune with my surroundings as I practiced different conversations and comebacks in my mind. I vowed that the minute his attitude went sour, I’d say something snarky and leave. Sarcasm and intelligence were the only two legs I had to stand on to prepare myself for the worst possible scenario: another sick game.

And then I saw him.

Christy giggled and flirted as she completed his checkout, but he didn’t seem to care about the young ditz who had been his date the night before. His baggy black jeans rested low on his hips, and his white T-shirt clung to his chest. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body, that I could see, and doubt hit my gut like a freight train. There was no way a man like him wanted to spend time with a girl like me. Unless he had another reason.

God, I’m stupid.

“You’re nothing, Charlie Johnson. Nothing. You’re a waste of a human being. A huge, worthless, disgusting human being. Why don’t you try a salad?”

That’s where it had all started with Aaron Paulson. The first words he ever uttered to me. Seventh grade, in the hallway on my way to art class. I closed my eyes, remembering how he’d followed up his words by throwing himself against the lockers in an exaggerated attempt to allow my fat ass to get by. The laughter and mimicking of others in the hall certainly hadn’t helped matters. Everyone there that day did the same. As they continued to do for several years after.

How considerate of them.

I looked up, and Jesse stood at the side of the table with a grin. I had been too caught up in my memory to notice he’d walked over.

He jingled change in his pocket and cocked his head to the side. “You okay?” he asked.

I swallowed down the bitterness and gave him a strained smile. “Fine. You?”

He nodded, but something in his stare told me he didn’t quite believe me.

“You got any smokes?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I reached into my purse. “Will Marlboros work?”

“Perfect.” He gestured to the patio doors. “Let’s go have one.”

Since it was early spring in Minnesota, the patio wasn’t open for business yet. It was cool outside, but the snow had melted from winter, leaving us standing on wet concrete floors. I took the box out of my purse and he snatched it from my violently shaking hand.

But he didn’t seem to notice.

Pulling a Zippo from his pocket, he swiftly lit the cigarette. His white T-shirt rode up his torso when he lifted his arms to light his Marlboro, exposing his blond navel and a glimpse of his toned abdomen. He closed his eyes and pulled the smoke into his lungs in one long, sexy inhale. My stomach tumbled at the sight.

Once he opened his eyes again, he immediately offered me a smoke and lit it for me.  I tried to act casual about it, but no one had ever offered to light my cigarette before. It was a simple gesture, yet I internalized it like he’d just opened a car door for me or ordered the most expensive wine on the menu.

He gave me an endearing crooked smile. “So how old are you?” he asked.

I lifted my chin in a subtle show of strength that I didn’t really feel. “You’re not supposed to ask a lady that.” I cringed at my words.
It isn’t 1945, Charlie
. “But I’m twenty-two. How old are you?” I added in a rush.

“Older than you,” he spat out. His jaw flexed and he raked a hand through his hair.

Whoa, what was that about? How could my asking how old he was elicit that kind of reaction? His smile was gone and his lips were now pressed into a thin, angry line. Mood swings much?

A long and tedious moment lapsed.

Trying to get the casual conversation back, I went for something cliché: “So what’s your story, Jesse?”

“My
story?
” He chuckled.

“Did I stutter?” I bit back, taking a drag from my cigarette and trying to remain calm.

This is getting weird. I mean, how awkward can two people possibly be?

He smiled again, and when he finally answered, I found that I was relieved to see it. “I’m adopted,” he said quickly, his words appearing to be a confession of sorts. With an unsure tone, he lowered his voice and continued to give me tiny details of who he was. “Well, I lived with my foster family. They took me in when I was fifteen, and ended up adopting me before I turned eighteen. I have one brother and one sister—” He ended abruptly, and his jaw flexed from grinding his teeth.

I took a subtle step back when the look in his eyes shifted from playful to stony. But there was still something about him that propelled me to continue. The poor bastard was more uncomfortable than I was.

“What brings you to The Crimson? Have you always worked in restaurants?” I asked.

“Yeah, I mean I’ve always worked these kinds of jobs. Mostly delivery.” After glancing at me briefly, he relaxed his shoulders with a shrug. “I figure a trained monkey could do
your
job. At least mine involves driving a vehicle.”

What? Wait. That wasn’t funny. What a…

“Dick. Trained monkeys can drive vehicles too—very smart, highly skilled, and dexterous monkeys. And I’ll have you know that my job isn’t that easy,” I fumed.

Of all the insults I thought he could’ve slung my way, that was the last one I expected. It wasn’t the worst I had ever heard by far, but it still pissed me off. To date, it was probably the strangest conversation I’d ever had.

But my tight expression faded, and the muscles in my face relaxed when a large smile covered his face.

“Attagirl, Red. Let’s go drink.” He flicked his cigarette into the darkness and held the door for a split second so I could grab it.

“Did you just call me Red?”

His only response was a smile.

Charlene, Charlie, and—recently, with the introduction of Marco—Chuck were the only lighthearted nicknames anyone had ever given me. Calling me “Red” wasn’t exactly creative—since my hair was auburn—but I liked it.

He ordered a drink from Paulina before we got back to the booth, and she brought it to him immediately. He held up a finger to stop me from speaking while he downed most of it in one gulp. Swallowing, he wiped his mouth.

Okay, he needs to stop touching his lips long enough for me to figure out why I’m still sitting here. I don’t think this friendship is going to work. Up, down, and sideways, this guy is all over the place.

“Girlfriend?” I squeaked.

Oh. My. God.

So
none of my business!

And did I really just ask him if he had a girlfriend? This night is a fucking nightmare.

“Nope,” he murmured just before taking another swig.

“Boyfriend?” I asked, trying to disguise my blushing cheeks by making light of my previous question.

He rolled his eyes. “No boyfriends either, Charlie. I don’t really date. What about you?”

I had no idea what to say. It was a simple question, but had a complex answer.

“I guess I don’t really seem to date much either…” I trailed off, not wanting to divulge the fact that I’d never been on a date before and never had a boyfriend.

“Why?” he asked.

I slouched in my seat. “Oh, well, I just do other things. I mean, like hobbies.” No one had sounded more pathetic than I did in the history of ever.

“Oh.” He nodded sympathetically. “So no one wants to date you. Got it.” He smirked and my body stiffened. “And those other things have you convinced you’re happy, huh? Well good for you,” he added sarcastically.

The normal response should’ve been for him to inquire about my hobbies, not ram a shiv into my side. I shifted uncomfortably, twisted my necklace, and remained quiet. In an attempt to keep the conversation as shallow as possible, I wanted to ask leisurely questions in order to avoid bringing out his offensive nature. But there hadn’t been a single comment about my weight yet. It confused me. It was usually the first—and easiest—thing people brought attention to. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Did you go to college?” he asked.

“Yeah—nothing exciting, though. Just business college.” I didn’t want him to ask me about high school, so I quickly changed the subject. “When’s your birthday?” I was the queen of dumb questions, it seemed.

He bit his lip, smiling. “December seventeenth.”

“Do you have any hobbies? Anything you do for fun?” I couldn’t stop the ridiculous questions from spewing out of my mouth. Word vomit. My brain wouldn’t stop. The whole thing ended up feeling like an interview.

“Sure.” He shrugged.

“And…?”

A wrinkle creased his forehead and he let out a laugh. “Um, I guess I like chess. I play drums. Ah, um… I ride my bike. Is that good, or do you need to know more?” He scratched his head and his knee bounced under the table.

Uh oh.

It’s getting weird again.

“If you could have lunch with any three people in history, who would you choose?” I fidgeted, feeling uneasy, and my heart raced in anticipation of his answers. Every time I spoke, my questions were more ridiculous than the last, and the interaction was so exhausting that fatigue began to settle in.

“Where are these coming from? They’re ridiculous. Are you getting them from some ‘How To’ book on what to ask a guy on a first date? Why do you need to know all of this useless information?” he asked, and ran his hand through his hair in distress.

Date?

Aggravated, he looked up at me and exhaled. “I gotta go.”

I swallowed and tried to smile. “Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Me too.”

I was both relieved and oddly disappointed.

Well, that was horrible.

I’d like to go home now.

Maybe Dad left me a gallon of ice cream in the freezer. I’d like to consume as much as possible and try to forget this night ever happened. Though I’m sure five years from now the thought of this night will induce several back-to-back anxiety attacks.

So much for trying to live a little.

He downed the rest of his beer and set the mug on the table. “Um…bye,” he mumbled as he walked toward the front door.

I would’ve moped on my way out, but I wasn’t sure what the proper reaction was supposed to be. Was that a date? If it was, how was I supposed to know? It hadn’t really lasted long enough to constitute as anything.

And if it wasn’t, why did he take offense to my seemingly random and harmless questions? Nothing about the night made sense—including my ridiculous rambling. How was it I could talk to a guy like Marco with ease, but with Jess it was so forced? What made him different? Was it me, or was it him?

I walked out to my car with my thoughts all over the place. I scratched the back of my neck, replaying the conversation over in my mind. By the time I got to my Taurus, I still hadn’t noticed that Jesse was sitting on my trunk.

“Hey.”

I jumped and took a stumbling step back. He scared the piss out of me.

He sighed and kept his eyes down. Trapping his bottom lip between his teeth, he jingled his key chain between his knees. The noise was distracting. “I don’t like people much,” he said, lighting a cigarette he’d had stashed behind his ear.

“That’s okay. You don’t need to explain, I’m sorry if I offended you—”

“Stop. That’s not what I meant.” He let out a breath, trying to find words to say. Confliction riddled his eyes, and with a grunt he pushed off the trunk. “Never mind,” he said, throwing his arms up in defeat as he began walking away from me.

“Hey, Jess?”

He stopped without turning.

Stop it, Charlie.

Right now.

Just go home and end this.

This just wasn’t meant to be. You’re only torturing yourself.