Page 94 of ClickBack

I wait until she looks back.

“We dated. We know each other. I’m not going to tell you she was a stranger so the picture feels better.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“But I wasn’t thinking about her after that call. I was thinking about you.”

Giselle folds the napkin over the thread. “I felt foolish.”

“You think I never got excited about something and then got in my own head?”

She gives me a doubtful look. I laugh once.

“You’ve watched me shoot free throws.”

“Jarrett.”

“I’m serious.” I squeeze her hand. “I wanted to see you. You changed your mind. I still wanted you when we hung up.”

She watches my face. I wish I could hand her the plainness of it. There was no competition taking place in that phone call. I hadn’t sat there measuring her against somebody who would do more.

“I didn’t want to stop,” she says. “I just couldn’t keep going.”

“Then we can try again if you want.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Come over. I prefer that anyway.”

She laughs, finally, and I draw her hand to my mouth. The kiss is brief. I leave her hand in mine afterward.

“There’s something I want to ask you, too.”

Her expression turns cautious. “What?”

“I’m tired of people talking like I’m available. I’d like them to know I’m with you.”

“Today?”

“Not necessarily today.”

“Because of the picture?”

I start to say no, then stop. Yesterday I wanted to call her. Today I want everybody who passed that picture around to know they got it wrong. Those are different wants, and she shouldn’t have to carry the second one for me.

“It’s part of why I’m asking now,” I admit. “It’s not why I want it.”

“I don’t want our first picture together to be an answer to hers.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then let us have our own day.”

I turn her hand over, looking at the lines in her palm. I want to take her somewhere without calculating what she will have to deal with if somebody recognizes me. I also want to be able to say who she is without checking her face first.

“We’ll talk about it again,” I say.

“Yes.”