Chapter 9 Grayce

“Thank you for dinner, Shawn.” I stirred the lemon into my ice water, resisting the urge to look at the time on my phone. Shawn was already staring at his. His nose was wrinkled like he smelled something terrible, eyes squinting as he read whatever was on the screen.
“No problem.” He didn’t look up. I sighed and sat back in the booth, looking around. It had taken him a few good years and dozens of passive-aggressive come-ons, but the guy had finally asked me out on a date. My initial reaction had been not only no, but hell no. It had nothing to do with Shawn, but I wasn’t much of a dater. I probably would have said no to anybody. But before I could let my friend down, Alex had convinced me to go because apparently no matter how many times I forced myself to be social for her, it still wasn’t enough.
So here I was on possibly the worst date in history. Not only had Shawn barely said a word since our arrival, but he hadn’t looked up from his phone, either.
“Did you know that the United States has killed more than twenty million people since World War II?” I asked Shawn, trying to spark his interest in some form of communication. I was drawing the statistics from an article I’d read earlier, one outlining the effects of war on the innocent citizens of other countries. I had yet to find a friend who was into the stuff as I was—a fact Shawn made that clear by glancing up briefly to roll his eyes at me. Score one for Grayce. What was proper date conversation, anyway?
The restaurant was dead for a Friday night, but I wasn’t surprised. The tiny hole-in-the-wall wasn’t exactly party central, and the food mediocre at best. I was mostly counting down the seconds until this “date” would be over, and I could go home and crawl into bed, which just so happened to be one of my favorite things in the world to do. Shawn was nearly as weird as I was, if not more so, so unless we were randomly caught in the middle of an apocalypse and forced to survive with each other, this date was going nowhere.
The little bell hanging over the front door jingled, and both Shawn and I looked up just in time to see the one and only Jaxon Tate come through the door, holding the hand of a girl I didn’t recognize. Probably a freshman at the University. They spotted us at once, most likely because we were the only other two people there. Jaxon hesitated for a moment before he raised his hand in a friendly wave. Our last encounter had been nothing short of humiliating, but since Gavin hadn’t let me off the hook on the football reports, I knew I needed to make amends with the guy. So, trying not to be rude, I raised a hand and waved back. Shawn, who had nothing to lose if he was an asshole, rolled his eyes and averted his attention back to his phone.
The blonde bimbo on Jaxon’s arm stared at me distastefully. I stared back, giving her the best stink eye I could conjure up on such short notice. The waitress, who saw Jaxon wave at me, glanced over her shoulder.
“Friends of yours?” she asked Jaxon and his date. “Would you like to sit together?”
“Oh, um . . .” Looking uncomfortable, Jaxon looked back at me. Shawn was glowering into his plate, looking less than enthused at the prospect of having company. Jaxon’s date seemed just as thrilled as Shawn did.
“Join us,” I said, unprepared for the words to come out of my mouth. I think I did it mostly to spite Shawn and the shitty disaster date we were on. I needed some distraction from counting the pencil marks etched into the tabletop. At least I’d have someone to talk to if they came over, even if it was Jaxon Tate. Maybe this could be the opportunity I needed to redeem myself after that humiliating interview.
“Okay,” Jaxon said. “If we’re not interrupting anything.”
“No. You’re not,” I said, resisting the urge to scoff.
“Grayce was just telling me about how the U.S. has murdered over twenty-million people in other countries since the world war,” Shawn said.
“World War II,” I corrected him, ignoring the sarcasm in his tone. I got up from where I was sitting to join Shawn on the other side so Jaxon and his date could sit together. The waitress handed them menus and vanished.
“Twenty million people in thirty-seven nations,” Jaxon said unexpectedly, nodding at me.
“That’s right.” I looked up at Jaxon, our eyes meeting over the table. He smiled, just a little bit, and I couldn’t help but smile back. Who knew a guy like Jaxon could pull a statistic like that out of the blue?
“That’s fascinating,” Jaxon’s date said. She looked anything but fascinated. She looked downright miserable.
“Yes, it is,” I said. “Those deaths aren’t American deaths; they’re the lives of innocent people killed because of war.”
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Jaxon asked me before his date could retort. “The media never touches on a subject that might offend Americans, so those statistics are left out.”
“Of course not,” I said. “The media is biased. Maybe when reporting death statistics caused by war, the government should include civilian deaths in other countries. Women, men, and children.”
Before Jaxon could respond, Shawn, who seemed to be having the same fabulous time as Jaxon’s date, cleared his throat and held his hand to her. She looked hesitant to take it as if something on him might rub off on her—which was an unfortunate possibility, if we're honest—but she did so anyway as they introduced themselves.
“Amelia,” the girl said.
“Shawn.”
“I’m Grayce,” I said, but Amelia didn’t offer her hand. She was still looking at me like I’d crawled out from under a sewer or something, and I subtly turned my head to smell my jacket to make sure I didn’t stink. To offset the awkwardness, Jaxon looked at Shawn and offered his hand.
“I’m--”
“Jaxon Tate,” Shawn said. “I know. Who doesn’t, right?”
“Well, then,” Jaxon said. He met my gaze across the table. I wanted to kick Shawn for being so rude, but since that would be childish, I pinched his arm instead. He glowered at me but didn’t say anything.
“What can I get you?” the waitress asked as she refilled my water. Fortunately for my sanity and Shawn’s, we’d already eaten our dinner, which meant we wouldn’t have to hang around all night trying to make small talk. Or more accurately, I wouldn’t have to wait all night, because I was going to go home and sleep, without Shawn. The least we could do is be polite for a few minutes, though, since I’d been the inconsiderate idiot who’d invited them over.
“Are you ready to go?” Shawn asked me fifteen seconds later before Jaxon and Amelia could even order. His tone was blunt and snotty, and it made me want to throttle him right in the middle of the restaurant. Before I could reprimand him for being a jerk, Jaxon cut in.
“Why not stay and have a drink with us?” he asked, and both Amelia and Shawn grimaced. I looked at the clock. It was still early, and I was too sober for this.
“Are you paying?” I asked, and this time it was Amelia who looked like she was going to lose it. I made a mental note to stay on guard in case she tried to throw a fork at my eye during dinner.
“I think I can manage that,” Jaxon said. He turned to the waitress to put in the order. As we waited for our drinks, I wracked my brain to come up with a topic that the four of us might enjoy. As badly as I wanted to dig at Jaxon for more information on his world history knowledge (I was still trying to absorb the fact that he knew anything outside of football and women), I knew Shawn and Amelia wouldn’t appreciate such a deep topic of conversation. This was not starting out well at all. So, noticing a slight accent on Jaxon’s date, I used it to break the ice.
“Where are you from, Amelia?” I asked politely.
“Texas,” she said.
“Far from home,” I said smartly. Any form of actual intelligent conversation was refusing to Grayce me with its presence.
“Yes, it is.” She finally allowed herself to meet my gaze, but it was clear that I was beneath her as a person. Not that it was such a surprise, I suppose. I wasn’t and never would be a perky, long-legged blonde from the South.
“Warm in Texas,” Shawn mumbled. All three of us looked at him, wondering if he had, indeed, just offered to speak.
“Warmer than here,” Amelia agreed. “I hate Denver.”
“Then why are you here?” Jaxon asked. I don’t believe he intended to be rude, but Amelia glowered at him as if he’d just insulted her ridiculously massive head of hair.
“For the school, dumbass.”
“Do they not have schools in Texas?” I didn’t know what compelled me to defend Jaxon’s honor; maybe it was the mere fact that I disliked Amelia even more than I disliked Jaxon, but now Amelia’s scowl was aimed at me, so it must have worked. Before anyone could respond, the waitress brought our drinks.
“Thank God,” I mumbled. I reached for the margarita quickly, grateful we all had a bit of liquid courage to start. Without it, I could see this getting intensely uncomfortable and even a little bit bizarre, not that it wasn’t already.
“What about you?” Amelia asked me. Next to her, Jaxon took a sip of the beer he’d ordered and leaned back in the booth, as if he was getting ready to watch two girls wrestle in Jell-O. “Where are you from?” It was clear to the whole table that she didn’t give a crap where I was from, but at least we had something to talk about that didn’t involve the intense discomfort slowly making its way around the table. Before I could answer her, Jaxon spoke up.
“She’s a Denver native,” he said. “Born and raised. Right, Grayce?”
“I’m surprised you remembered,” I said, and took a large drink of my margarita, slurping it loudly, just to annoy Amelia.
“Yeah, well, it took me a few days to match you to the third-grade girl who stole my candy cane during class,” Jaxon said.
“I didn’t steal your candy cane,” I said, flushing. “Dylan O’Connor hid it in my cubby after he took it from you. I was set up.”
“Yeah,” Jaxon said. “That’s what you said then, too.”
At this point, Shawn was looking from Jaxon to me like he was trying to figure out what in the hell had just happened, and Amelia was practically chugging her fishbowl drink. Not that I could blame her. I cleared my throat and looked away from Jaxon, who was smirking that annoyingly endearing smirk as he swished his beer around in the mug.
“Well, this has been sufficiently awkward,” Amelia said. “I’m so glad we could all do this.” She turned to Jaxon. “I’d like to go now.”
“Me, too,” Shawn said. He was sliding out of the booth quicker than I’d ever seen him move in all the time I’d known him.
“Okay then,” I said, and followed suit. “Jaxon, thanks for the drink. Amelia, it was utterly atrocious to meet you.”
“Ditto,” she said. Jaxon grinned like he thought this whole thing was absolutely hysterical, and waved as Shawn and I walked out the door.
“Thank God that’s over,” Shawn said, once we were safely out the door.
“Yeah,” I said, wondering if I should tell him that there was nothing in the world as crappy as that “date” had been . . . not even dinner with Jaxon Tate and his latest fling. “Thank God.”