looks up toward the ceiling, seeming to debate something internally.
“I’m gonna take you out tomorrow night,” Phoenix says matter-of-factly.
“Oh, you are?” I challenge.
“Yes. Just dinner.”
“Just dinner.” I do my best to mask my disappointment. What would be so wrong with more than dinner?
“Well, we could do drinks, but I would guess you’re swearing off alcohol until you’re forty-two.”
“Forty-three actually,” I reply with a light laugh. The movement rattles my skull.
I look at Phoenix intently for a moment. He has hints of laugh lines tracing his eyes which I find endearing. It is such an attractive, subtle feature, making him seem wise beyond his years as if he’s endured far more than any twenty-something should have.
I certainly wouldn’t mind spending more time with him, although what’s the point for anything other than a fling if we’re both leaving town? The smile playing at my lips suddenly turns down at the corners when I remember that Rachel and I made plans to leave tomorrow after graduation.
“When you’re done thinking, say yes,” he tells me.
“I wish I could, but my best friend and I are leaving to go home to Chicago tomorrow.”
“So? Push your departure back. I’m not leaving until Sunday night.” The hopefulness in his stare is irresistibly endearing.
He makes it seem so easy. And maybe it is? Seeing as how we’re both only in town through the weekend, making myself available is the least I could do. Still, it feels a bit silly to rearrange schedules and commit myself to a date when we’re never going to see each other again.
“Don’t you have bachelor party things to be doing?”
“Meh.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ll catch up with the guys after we eat.”
I catch my bottom lip in my teeth, thinking of what Rachel’s reaction will be if I ask her to stick around longer just so I can meet up with this guy. Surely she won’t mind. I’ve moved mountains for her over far more petty things.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
I nod my head, fighting a cheesy grin.
“It’s a date!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together once. Phoenix seems like the traditional type, so I don’t have the heart to tell him I don’t date. At least not anymore.
“No, it’s not a date. It’s just dinner.” I give him my best teasing smile. I’m certain Rachel won’t care if we extend our stay. She technically can’t even get into her new apartment in Chicago until the middle of the week.
He pulls a bulky black chunk of metal from his back pocket and flips it open. “What’s your number?”
“What is that thing?” I ask, stifling a laugh.
“Uh, it’s a cell phone?” His response comes out as more of a question and less of a statement.
“Um, no. That’s an artifact. That relic belongs in a museum,” I proclaim in disbelief. I haven’t seen a phone like this in well over a decade. It’s a miracle he doesn’t have it firmly attached to his hip on a belt clip. “What is this? 2001? You don’t have a smartphone?”
“Nope, I don’t need one of those fancy things,” he says, looking at me with a ferocious intensity. “I think people spend too much time staring at meaningless screens, updating statuses, and fooling themselves into thinking they’re being social when in reality they need to spend more time actually talking to the person directly in front of them. How can you really connect if you’re too focused on one-way communication?”
Seriously, who is this guy? Is he for real? Everything about him surprises me. Simply being in his presence improves my whole mood, in spite of this wicked hangover from hell.
I take the fossil of a phone from his hands and dial my number, feeling it vibrate from my back pocket. I allow it to ring twice before ending the call.
“There. Now I have your number too.” As I pass his phone back to him, our hands touch, and in that sober brush, electricity passes between us. His eyes widen in surprise and I