Page 58 of I Think He Knows
“Engaged to be married, but I can’t help but refer to her as ‘my wife’ already, because I’m counting the days until she’s officially mine forever.” I laugh, then give him a pitying look, like I’m registering his surprise for the first time. “Oh… you didn’t think that was arealdate, did you?”
Braxton’s expression slackens further and I look down at Lana Mae, who’s still nestled under the crook of my arm. I lift my free hand and run my fingers over her jaw adoringly. “Isn’t that wild, honey? He thought it was a real date.”
“Wild,” Lana echoes, also sounding vaguely stunned by this turn of events.
Braxton’s face is darkening further and further by the second, storm clouds rolling in. But I continue to ignore him, and instead, look at his buddy. “You’re right about one thing—sheiswriting a book. Her editor wanted her manuscript to include a horrible date, which was something I obviously couldn’t help her with research-wise, so I told Lana that she should get set up with the worst per—uh, I meanfirstperson, she could find to fit the bill. Guess her sister-in-law’s doctor work friend came to mind.”
I finally turn back to Braxton and give him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry you got caught in the crosshairs, bro.”
“Very unfortunate,” Lana pipes up. She’s now sporting a barely concealed grin.
“Maybe you should send him a signed copy when it’s done, Lan.”
“Absolutely. Without you, Braxton, there would be no book. So, thank you for that.”
And with that parting blow from my girl, I steer us out of Aisle 19 and away from the fleece-clad creeps. My arm doesn’t move from its secure place around her shoulders.
The second we’re out of earshot, she comes alive, sputtering with laughter. “Carter, that was… Brilliant! His face! How on earth did you come up with that so quick?”
I shrug. “Didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of thinking that he got to go on an actual date with you when you’re clearly a million miles out of his pitiful D-league.”
“I think we might’ve ruined his weekend hiking excursion,” she says cheerily. But then, her expression clouds. “Let’s just hope that Mindy doesn’t get fired.”
I shake my head and squeeze her tighter. “Oh, please. Mindy would never let herself get fired.”
* * *
After we (barely) manage to cram our Target haul into the back of my Jeep, I drive Lan to work. She works part-time from the office, part-time from home, and I know she ends up putting in a lot of extra hours late at night to keep on top of everything. It’s impressive, how she juggles parenting and working like she does, and I was excited she had a proper morning off today. Until that freaking Braxton idiot almost ruined it.
Though I played things off as cooly and jokily as possible with Lan afterward, my blood pounds in my temples at the memory of his snooty, sneering face. Howdarehe think he was too good for her.
I glance over to the passenger seat, where Lana Mae is sitting quietly, picking at her nails, and I know she’s thinking about what just happened, too I don’t try to fill the silence, because I know my best friend. Know that, sometimes, she needs space to gather her thoughts and process what she’s feeling.
When I finally pull up to the curb outside her office building, I wait for a moment. She does too, making no move to get out. We sit like that for a minute before she quietly says, “Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Thankyoufor being a willing cart race participant.”
I’m gratified to see her smile. “I’m not sure I’d say ‘willing’.”
“Fine. Thank you for letting me throw you in the cart and push you around the store like a maniac.”
“That’s more like it. But I don’t just mean thanks for the shopping trip, I mean it for everything. For being so sweet with Allegra this morning. For pretending in front of Braxton.”
“That guy’s a total moron. I can’t believe they gave him a license to operate on people.”
“I think he mostly does Botox.”
“He’s probably poisoned his brain with the amount he’s self-injected.”
“That would explain a lot, actually.” Lan fiddles with her door handle, then gives a chuckle. “I guess, with all the dates lately, I’ve been feeling like a fish out of water. Or, more like a humpback out of water.”
My forehead creases. “Humpback… Like the whale?”
“Long story, not important.” She waves a hand. “What I mean is, every time I go on a date, I feel out of place. Like I’m living someone else’s life and not mine. The bad dates sucked, sure, that’s a given. But the good ones did, too. Even when I liked a guy, I just wanted to go home and be alone the entire time we were together. You know, like a real idiot sandwich type of person.”