Free Agent by J. C. Nelson Page B

for you. You said you always wanted to try them. Since we’re eating on my dime, I thought you might want to try something special.”
    I carefully moved my hand away, keeping my eyes fixed on him, and flagged down the waiter. “I’m allergic to scallions,” I told the waiter. “Just bring me veal.” I’m not certain they actually had veal, but given my tone, the waiter wasn’t going to argue.
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Liam. “I didn’t know about that.”
    â€œYou don’t know anything about me.” The food came out and we ate in silence. Liam would comment or ask questions, and I’d nod or answer in monosyllables, like every other time I’d done this. When dinner was done, and the band started to play, I knew it was time.
    â€œI can tell something is bothering you,” Liam said. His forehead was creased and he had barely touched his meal.
    â€œReally?” I asked, my tone shrill. “You think you can tell what is going on with me?”
    He recoiled. I knew he was realizing that something was going truly wrong. Really, it was the click of the trap. His lips moved as he tried to come up with a comforting response, but all that came out was, “Yes, I thought so.” He leaned across the table to put his hand on my shoulder and I shrugged him off, looking at his hand the same way I would a dead rat.
    â€œLook,” I scooted my chair slightly away from him. “I’m not certain what you think is going on between us.”
    His eyes went wide and a confused look passed across his face. I knew I’d hit the mark. He began to rub his fingers together and if he bit his lip any harder he’d draw blood. I was going to draw blood anyway.
    â€œI might have sent some mixed signals.”
    The cracks in his face opened wider. Any minute now he’d start trying to fix things. He put his hand to his temple. “I’m sorry. I thought, I mean, I thought maybe you—”
    I went for the kill, letting my voice rise to where the neighboring diners began to stare. “You thought maybe I liked you? Because I let you take me on a merry-go-round? Because you took me to the nastiest Italian restaurant in the entire city? Because you dragged me to some burned- out playground in a slum? What part of that says ‘romantic’ to you?” Every word cut my own heart. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like anything.
    â€œCarousels and swings are for children, Liam. I’m an adult, and I thought perhaps you were one too. Obviously I was mistaken.”
    His face looked hollow, his eyes didn’t focus, and the edges of them shone. “I must have been mistaken too.”
    I swiped the check from the table and took my jacket. “Don’t bother with the check, and don’t bother calling.” I marched out of the room, and on the way I gave him one last look. I wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t in the script, because it sent the wrong message. I looked back anyway, hoping that he was on his feet and coming after me. The others never came after me, but for one split-second I harbored a hope he would. I remember him sitting at the table with a half bottle of wine. I remember the band playing and couples dancing near the stage. I remember the magic flowing off of him as he cried, or maybe that was just my tears.
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    I RENTED A room for Goldy Locks, barricaded myself inside, and wept before the mirror until my makeup ran in rivulets down my cheeks. I turned on the faucet and the shower and left them running. Soon the mirror was covered in fog. Then I called him.
    â€œIt’s done,” I said. I couldn’t keep my chin from trembling, and I’m sure my voice did too.
    He looked like an impressionist painting through the steam. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œWhy did you do it?”
    â€œA prince and princess belong