Not so much.
“You look beautiful,” I managed to say through my tight throat and the even tighter tie. “Really fucking beautiful.”
She dipped her gaze over me, her eyes lighting up in that way that told me she liked what she saw. “Dude. You look hot all dressed up. Like, really hot. I never thought I’d prefer you in something besides a pair of board shorts and a bare chest, but hel-lo.”
I grinned, but my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I’d been right. This is what she wanted from me, even if she didn’t know it yet. “If you like it, then you’ll get it anytime you want.”
“I’ll take both versions of you, please,” she said, grinning. She ran her hands over my shoulders, smoothing my jacket. “I never thought I’d see you in one of these. It’s blowing my mind.”
I forced a smile. “I wear them for work all the time, Ginger.”
“I know.” Her hands fell back to her sides and her smile faded. “Is something wrong? You seem…upset or something. Different.”
That’s because I feel different right now. I shook my head and continued smiling, wanting nothing more than a shot of some hard liquor right now. “No. Nothing’s wrong. You ready to go?”
“Sure.” She started to grab her helmet, but I tugged her away. “Fancy people don’t ride motorcycles. They take limos.”
Her eyes went wide. “Limos? Seriously?”
I tried to read the expression in her eyes, but I couldn’t tell if she was pleased by my surprise. I knew she was trying to get away from the life of glamour and glitz, but I needed to prove to her, and maybe myself, that I could do this. That I could thrive in her world, even if I wasn’t so sure I could.
I opened the door for her. “That’s what you ride back home, right?”
“If we’re going to some sort of event?” She walked past me, her grip on her purse firm. “Sure. All the time.”
I closed the door behind us and locked it. “We’re going to an event. A date. Kind of our first date, I guess.”
“You didn’t have to…” She trailed off and stopped walking halfway down the stairs. “Oh my God. Is that…?”
When she didn’t finish, I cleared my throat. “The same type of car you use back home? Yes.”
“Wow,” she said, her voice strung tight.
She wasn’t happy with my surprise. It only seemed to solidify my belief that I didn’t belong in her world. I tugged on my hair and eyed her. “We can cancel this whole thing if you want. Take the bike and go to Islands or something.”
She pressed her lips together. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Come on.”
Deep in the back of my mind, I wondered if she was trying to picture me sitting in a fancy restaurant and not meshing the Finn she knew with the Finn I needed to be. Maybe that’s why she looked as if I was torturing her instead of taking her out.
I urged her along, using my hand pressed against her lower back to propel her along. The sooner we got this date over with and I made her happy, the better. Then we could come back home, shed our clothes, and maybe share a cold drink over some good old-fashioned American television. Maybe some football, if I could find a game.
Man. I couldn’t wait for that.
The driver opened the back for us, and I helped her inside. After following her, I settled into my seat and reached for the stocked bar. I poured myself a hefty dose of whiskey. Thank God they had the good stuff in here.
I took a long draught and reclined in the seat. When I looked at Carrie, she was watching me with narrowed eyes. I froze with the glass pressed to my lips. “What?”
“Why are we even doing this? You look miserable.”
That’s because I am. But it wasn’t her fault. It was my own. I’d done this to myself, and I would damn well suffer through it with a grin on my face. “I’m taking the woman I love out on a date. How could I be miserable?”
She eyed me. “I don’t know, but something’s off. What is it? Is it the suit?”
How could she read me so fucking well? “No. I’m fine, Ginger.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
I gritted my teeth. “Drop it. Kick back and enjoy the date, okay? Stop worrying about everything so damn much and relax.”
Her eyes flashed at me. I’d gone and pissed her off now. “No, I’m not going to relax. Something’s wrong and you’re not telling me what it is,” she insisted, her eyes flashing with determination. “Just tell me why you’re being all pissy and we can fix it.”
“Jesus, Carrie. We can’t fix everything with a conversation,” I snapped.
She blinked at me, her cheeks flushed with color. “You’re being a jerk,” she said, her voice soft. “I don’t like it.”
Immediately, shame rushed through me fast and hard and relentless. I was yelling at her when I was supposed to be showing her a good time. Being a good fucking boyfriend. I dragged a hand through my hair and forced a smile. “I’m sorry. That was mean. I’m just…tired and stressed out. Maybe I should have had another cup of coffee tonight.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said, her voice small and hurt. “You’re not being yourself right now, and it has nothing to do with coffee.”
Something snapped inside me, and I replied without thinking. “You’re damned right I’m not, because right now I’m realizing that this is the me I’m going to have to be from now on. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it much, but now it’s the only thing I can think about.” I finished the last of the whiskey and grabbed the bottle for some more. I could feel her watching me the whole time. “I used to attend these damn balls and galas, but I stood in the shadows, where no one saw me. Now when I go? I’ll be judged…and more than likely found lacking.”
“Welcome to my world.”
I slapped my hand on my knee. “I didn’t know it would be mine, too. I didn’t know…” I fought for the right words, but nothing came. “I didn’t know, okay?”
She looked confused. Her nose wrinkled up and she looked at me as if she didn’t even recognize me. “I didn’t ask you to dress up for me or to stand in the spotlight. You don’t even have to go with me when I go to those things. And I wouldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do, so don’t act like I would.”
That might be true for now. But what if we got married? Had kids? The likelihood of me being off in the background was slim to none. People would want to know all about me—all about us. I couldn’t let her down.
“But don’t you see?” I splayed my arms. “I’ll do it for you, damn it. To make you happy.”
“This isn’t you. It’s not us.” She motioned at me, then the limo. “We don’t dress like this, and we don’t scream at each other in a limo. And it’s not making me freaking happy.”
“But you want it to be us.” I took a long drink, welcoming the burning sensation, and pointed my glass at her. “You do. Admit it.”
“What?” She paled, but her curled hands twitched in her lap as if she was considering hitting me. I deserved it. “Why would you say that? I’ve never—”
“I asked you on a date, and you got all excited about fancy dresses and limos and all that shit. You know where I wanted to go? Islands. Burgers and shakes. And as you so aptly pointed out—I like them. I’m that kind of guy.”
“And I like that guy. Actually, I love him,” she said, her eyes narrow on me. “But I’ll be honest. This guy?” She gestured toward me and the bar. “I don’t like him very much.”
I sat up straight and finished my drink, then set it down a little too hard. Maybe I’d had too much too fast. “Yeah, well, it’s the guy you’re going to be stuck with, so get used to it. I’d have been just as happy eating at a burger joint.”