ahead of me, pulling a chair for me to climb into. “Fifi,” he said. I grimaced at the nickname, but hopped up into the chair regardless.
“What? You don’t like the nickname?” he asked, sliding into the chair opposite mine.
I shook my head. “No, not really. My brothers used to call me that when they were teasing me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll stop,” he said. “It’s just cute, like you. But I suppose Phoebe is more beautiful, also like you.”
The bartender lady, whose name I couldn’t remember, came up to us setting a pair of beverage napkins and menus on the table. “Phoebe, so good to see you! Your mother told me to keep an eye out for you. I’m glad you stopped by. She’s not here right now, though.” She quickly looked guilty like she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to say.”
“Oh, I know. She’s back in California. I talked to her yesterday,” I smiled. The look that flashed on her face was an uncomfortable one, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.
“Hi, kinda short on time,” Chase spoke up, stepping into our little reunion, pulling the menus up from the table and handing them back to the waitress. “We’ll both take a Goose Island, in the bottle—cap on, filet mignon, medium, those amazing onion rings, and a side of veg.” Then without any further ado, he started tapping something into his cellphone.
“Um,” I was stunned. He was ordering for me? And I knew that the waitress knew I wasn’t old enough for beer. “I’d prefer Diet Coke, and I’ll take my steak medium-rare, please. I’ll pass on the rings. Can I have a baked potato instead? The vegetables are fine.”
“Great,” the bartender said. “I’ll get that going right away.” She turned to Chase, but without fan recognition, she just thought he was a regular guy. “My name is Shelby if you need anything,” and she was off. Ah! Shelby. That was her name!
“Medium-rare, huh,” Chase asked.
“I like my steaks juicy,” I said.
“Juicy. Good to know,” he said, smirking. Suddenly I blushed realizing that he interpreted that as sounding dirty. “So, how does Shelby know your mom?” he asked, saving me from my embarrassing slip of the tongue.
“Oh. Well, my mom was in New York for a while last month, taking a break from life, I guess, and she worked here. I’m living in the apartment she was living in. It’s just a few blocks up.”
“Small world.”
“Very,” I agreed.
I couldn’t believe I was sitting at a table and chatting with Chase Smythe. Chatting like we were old friends. Unreal. When our drinks were delivered a moment later, Chase pulled out a keyring and pulled the cap off of his bottle.
Chase noticed my questioning expression with his using his own bottle opener on the beer. “There’s just somethin’ about poppin’ the top off your own beer,” he shrugged, and took a long drink. Again, watching his lips on the bottle, and his jaw and throat work was a thing of beauty.
As we waited for our meals, Chase practically grilled me about my upbringing, my family and my brothers, my school… my boyfriends . I admitted that I was currently single, and staying single for this summer, which seemed to interest him greatly. I didn’t go into details about Dickwad.
Once our delicious steaks arrived I was grateful that my appetite was back. I tried asking Chase similar questions about his family, school, and girlfriends, but he gave his canned, sometimes humorous TV interview answers. About his family: “For all the time that has mattered, it’s been just me and the best mom in the world.” About school: “Still deciding on what to study, looking for a school that I’d like to go to, and one that would accept my application.” But when he got to the girlfriend answer, his interview reply has always been: “Ah, the girls. I love ’em all.” His reply to me was: “I don’t know right now.”
Just then, the table was rushed by four girls about my age who