The Sidewalk Incident

4. The Nobu Incident

I reciprocate James's groan as our waiter returns to take our drinks order.

"Nothing for me, thanks. I'll be on my way." I say, motioning to stand, but James grabs my wrist and the waiter looks at us awkwardly as if we're in the middle of a lover's spat.

"Charlotte," he warns. "Meera wants us to stay."

"James, I just finished a seventeen hour shift, my feet are killing me because of these stupid clothes I've been wearing all week, and my Spanx is riding so far up my ass that if I sneeze it'll probably come out of my mouth. I'm exhausted, and no offense but you're the last person I want to spend my evening with."

"I know. I had the same shift. And while my knickers aren't as uncomfortable," he snickers, "we owe it to Meera to at least have one drink and say we tried."

"Fine." I huff as I sit back down like a spoilt brat. "Since she's paying: I'll have a glass of your best Scotch. Neat."

James raises a surprised eyebrow and asks for a bottle of water for the table.

"You don't drink?" I ask, and he shakes his head. "Like ever?"

"Not really. Once in a blue moon. I like to be in control."

"Figures. You don't drink coffee either?"

Another head shake. "I like steady hands."

Why did that give me butterflies? Digress, Charlie. Quickly.

"Yet, you drink that ultra sweet bubble tea nonsense."

He chuckles. "How dare you diss my Boba tea?"

The conversation surprisingly flows, and I find myself ordering a meal since I am rather ravenous.

"Sorry, mate." James adds to the waiter after he takes our order. "Please make sure you give her your bluntest steak knife, in case she you know?" He makes something I can only describe as a serial killer face, motioning as if I'm going to kill him, and I can't help but snort.

The waiter kind of smiles uncomfortably, clearly confused by whatever this is.

"Rocco," James laughs after I asked him what the name of his first pet was. "First and current dog. My mom wasn't big on pets, and I stayed in an apartment throughout college, so I adopted Rocco when we got the job in L.A."

"Ok, not to sound naive, but how do you keep him, you know, alive? I can barely keep a houseplant alive."

"That's not surprising, considering how terrible you were at botany," he teases. "But my neighbour is a professional dog-walker. They make a shit ton of money. She knows my schedule and has a key, so she takes Rocco out for a walk when I can't."

I nod, trying not to read into why I felt so uneasy upon learning about this ultra-friendly neighbour.

"Wow, you're like a real grown up. So you live alone?"

"Is that your backwards way of asking if I'm in a relationship, Charlotte?" He turns on the charm and I hate my stomach for jolting. It's probably because I'm hungry.

"Well, are you?"

"No. I'm not. Keeping my dog alive is as far as my adult responsibilities go."

James laughs, and it's boisterous and loud. The kind that makes you want to laugh along. His eyes crinkle at the edges and that darn dimple pops.

"I'm sorry for being forward, I just haven't seen you with anyone since we graduated."

"It's ok. You haven't been with anyone since—?" The smile from James's face vanishes for a second but is replaced with a kinder smile, one that's almost sympathetic.