Page 59 of Playing the Backbeat

I look up again, eyes locking with his. He looks as serious as I’ve ever seen him. My stomach drops. My palms begin to sweat. My head swims.

What the fuck does that mean?

“Everything okay?” Stephanie asks, pulling my attention to her as she drops into her seat.

My eyes flit over to Dylan’s table, and I catch a glimpse of him eyeing Stephanie with something close to…no, that’s not resentment. Is he really so doom and gloom about not having a date to this wedding that he can’t be happy for me having a good time? He’s the one who set me up.

“Of course.” I smile.

“I guess it didn’t work, did it?”

Shit, can she hear my thoughts?I meant what I said. Stephanie is kind, but I’m just not interested in pursuing more…

“No food,” she says playfully, hands wrapping around her stomach with disappointment.

I laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as unsettled as I feel. “Let’s see if I’m luckier tonight.” I stand, nodding toward the hallway with the restrooms. “My turn to give it a shot. I’ll be right back.”

I don’t look at Dylan as I hurry away from my table. I race into the bathroom, but since I don’t actually need to be in here, I fix my lipstick, fluff my hair for no reason, wash my hands, and genuinely just try to buy time.

It feels disingenuous to go through this date, knowing I don’t see a future. But I’m not a dick, so I’m going to finish out the night and hope Stephanie and I can be friends after this. My head starts to throb, and I press my fingers to my temples and lean against the wall for another minute.

Dylan.

He’s gotten in my head with this entire thing. Pushing me to open up. Encouraging me to start dating again. Filling my head with dumb compliments and making me think this messy shit-show stage of life is actually a good thing. He’s fucking wrong.

I need to finish this date. Get home. Hide in my room and find a fucking job. Dylan will move out, and then we’ll go back to being friends who annoy each other and get on each other’s nerves, and all of this weirdness will disappear.

He won’t see too much.

He won’t push me to do more.

He won’t…he won’t be around. And that’ll be better for both of us.

He won’t make me laugh or surprise me with new slivers of himself that only I get to see. And that won’t make me feel special.

I spend another minute collecting myself before leaving the restroom, only to run straight into the fucking guy invading my thoughts, my text messages, my dating life, and my goddamn apartment.

“Jesus, Dylan.” I close my eyes, placing my palm over my racing heart. “You scared the shit out of me. What the fuck are you doing outside the women’s restroom?”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You…you looked upset.”

“I’m not. I was trying to make the food come.”

“What?”

“You know the thing where someone goes to the restroom and the food…” My voice trails off because he’s looking at me like I have three heads. “Never mind. I’m fine. Sometimes people just go to the bathroom, Dylan. We’re roommates. You should know this.”

“Why are you always so combative?”

“Why are you being so overbearing?” I throw back at him. “You’re going to ruin my chances with this woman. Is that what you want?”

I don’t mean it. Not really. He wouldn’t purposefully ruin my date, especially given everything it took for us to make this happen. But he lurches back, looking at me in shock, like I’ve just hit him.

“No. Dee, I didn’t mean to ruin it. Do you like her?” His question is quiet.