Page 101 of The Difference Between

“So if it means wearing a suit and cutting my hair to prove that, I’ll do it. Okay?”

We aren’t going somewhere fancy: He’s wearing a suit at a barbecue restaurant because he knew I’d like it. It is disgustingly thoughtful.

I nod.

“Good.” He drops his hand from my mouth. “All I want is for you to not fight me—just for tonight—and see what happens.”

That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard of, but my vagina, that hussy, responds like it was an invitation with a wax seal delivered straight to her. “Fine.”

“Fine.” He smirks as he opens the door. “Now let’s go meet the ladies.”

Twenty-Eight

The ladies are all older than me and covered in pastel.

“He’s here!” one of them cries.

“And in a suit!”

“And with the date!”

Gavin is bum-rushed like a celebrity and swept into hugs and cheek pinches as soon as we step inside the restaurant.

“We didn’t know if you were still coming,” a lady in a purple sweater says. “We’re just getting settled.”

Plates of pulled pork, coleslaw, and cornbread are shoved at us both as they shout names that barely register. There are at least a dozen of them.

I look at Gavin.

“Ladies,” he says, silencing his fan club. “Reese is my date tonight.” He looks at me like he half expects me to argue. “She doesn’t know what we’re doing.”

My shoulders tense.

“A virgin,” one of them coos with a chuckle.

Gavin gives me a wicked look. “I doubt that.”

I meet his gaze and fight the urge to push the line with a far from.

The ladies cackle.

“This way!” the one with chunky pearls around her neck calls. “Quit dragon your feet and let’s get cracking.”

Everyone laughs because that must be funny if you wear pastel and spend Thursday nights eating barbecue.

Gavin and I follow behind, plates in our hands as we weave through a bustling dining room to an empty back room. There are four square tables covered in colorful tiles, mats, and stands.

Gavin chuckles around a bite of cornbread at my confused face. “We’re getting our mahj on.”

I take my first bite of food, the nostalgic flavors melting on my tongue. “Mahj?”

“Mahjong, sweetie,” one of the ladies explains. “We play once a month. Gavin here comes to give us something to look at.” She looks over the tops of her glasses and gives me a nudge. “Though he’s never given us a view like this.”

Giggles ensue.

“Gretta, behave,” Gavin says as he takes a glass of sweet tea someone offers. “Don’t want Reese here to get jealous.”

Gavin and his harem make small talk as I try to process this date.