Peterson’s amused chuckle rips me out of my fantasy. My cheeks catch fire and sweat rolls down my face. Shit, I can’t believe I’m having erotic fantasies about my sworn enemy in the middle of a date with another man.
“Chocolate fountain it is.” Peterson winks at me and raises his hand to signal a waiter.
As he’s sorting out our dessert, my phone, which is sitting next to my gin and tonic glass, vibrates with a call. I have it with the screen down, so I pick it up to check who’s calling, wondering if it’s mom and she forgot I was seeing someone tonight.
I suck in a sharp breath when I see the caller’s ID—Asshole Alistair Devon.Fuuuuuuuuuuuck! Why? Why is he calling? And right after my stupid brain took me to porn land for no reason. I hate myself as is, so why does he have to make it ten times worse?
“Josh, are you okay?” A hint of worry causes frown lines across Peterson’s forehead. He glances at my phone. “You can take that.”
My heart beats so hard and loud I can hear it in my ears even over the screams coming from the kids’ corner behind me. Each cell in my body is vibrating. Electricity surges through me, scorching and confusing, and within a few blinks, I feel like I’m both high and crashing.
Alistair is calling me. Now, a month after he fucked me over royally. What does he want? I glare at the phoneand want to throw it at the wall, but I don’t, because the device is not at fault here.
Clenching my teeth, I force myself to meet Peterson’s gaze. “No, it’s just spam,” I tell him, hovering my finger over the red icon.
Part of me wants to pick up, so I can yell at Alistair again and tell him to go fuck himself. I’m tempted, really, twice so because I’m angry that I still can’t get him out of my head no matter what mind trick I use to convince myself I’ve moved on. The truth is, I haven’t been able to forget him. His touch is ingrained in my body so much I can’t stop craving it. There are so many lingering emotions and feelings still inside me that I haven’t managed to address. I just can’t, not yet, because even if I’ve avoided acknowledging it, I was already falling for Alistair when he abruptly pulled the rug from under my feet and showed me who he really was.
Even if I hate him, even if he is an enemy I must take down at all costs, part of me is still stuck liking him. I want him, yet I don’t want him. I wish he would explain what happened, yet I don’t want to hear even a word come out of his mouth. This contrast, this paradox, is killing me on the inside.
After probably too long, I close my eyes, take a deep breath and move my finger over to the red icon that’s no longer there. Instead of it, the notification of a missed call pops up on my screen.
“Josh, are you sure you don’t want to return the call? Uh, it seemed important…” An awkward smile lifts Peterson’s lips at the corners, but it’s so fake it’s not even funny.
Yep, I’m a mess. A giant one. And he doesn’t deserve that on his head. What the hell was I thinking going ona date with this nice man when my head is still full of thoughts about another one?
“Yeah,” I confirm and make the only right decision for both of us. “But, I gotta go. I’m… I forgot my brother needed me to help him with a job application. Sorry.”
I try to smile, but I just can’t pull it off. I’m angry and frustrated. I hate myself. Guilt and shame gnaw at my insides, more vicious than before because I’ve tried to keep them at bay. “Thanks for tonight, Peterson, I had fun,” I say and force down a wince because his expression says it all. “Sorry again. I wish you all the best.”
I dump enough money to cover the entire meal and grab my bag, practically running out of the restaurant. It’s raining when I slip outside, but I don’t care, needing the cold and the fresh air to calm myself down. To regain the ability to breathe again, to think, to function. When it starts pouring down three blocks later, I duck under an awning just as my phone rings again.
This time I don’t hesitate. I can’t afford that. I take my phone out and press the red icon straight away, then block Alistair’s number before I do something stupid like calling him back.
22
Alistair
It’smylastphotoshootin Venice. In a couple of days, I fly home.
“Okay. Cut!” the director shrieks and I jerk out of the bathtub, my skin wrinkled from the time I spent submerged in water while they took photos from all possible angles.
Christine’s assistant tosses me a towel and I wrap myself in it as I head over to the makeshift changing room. A notification pings on my phone and a frisson of annoyance washes over me. I don’t bother to acknowledge why that is, and just grab the device from the table to check the message. It’s not Josh.
Brady:Fancy dinner was gucci *thumbs up emoji*. I charmed their asses off, the deal has been signed. Go through when you are free and confirm you are happy. PS: Your dad should officially adopt me because, clearly, I’m the better son. PPS: Lily and I aren’t hanging out tonight. She’s visiting her fam. Wanna watch a movie?
I snort, unable to help it because my best friend is an idiot sometimes. But also, he’s such a bad liar even if he means well by substituting who Lily is hanging out with after my bout of impulsiveness a couple of days ago. Yes, I got annoyed when Lily texted me back with unionupdates, and yes, I did try to call Josh. But he didn’t pick up, and I’m pretty sure he also blocked me. Fucking unbelievable.
I skip lunch so Brady and I can hang out. By the time we’ve finished watching the new space prison movie, it’s well past eleven p.m. here and I am starving. I contemplate ordering something, but I am craving the pasta they serve at the hotel’s restaurant, so I decide to be an entitled CEO and bug the chef or whoever is still in the kitchen to make me a meal.
Fortunately, the assistant head chef is around, so she quickly puts a plate together for me. I take it to the balcony and claim a table by the railing, enjoying the food as I gaze at the canal below. About halfway through my food, a man in a blue apron comes out of the restaurant and lights up a cigarette. He’s bulky like Brady, and that’s somehow in opposition to what my brain imagined a cook would look like. He doesn’t notice me at first, but when he does, he walks over and tips his chin at the chair across from me. Smiling, he asks me something, but I shake my head.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”
“Ah, no worries,” he switches to English, puffing out a cloud of smoke to the side. “Do you mind company or smoke?”
I study his expression as he sizes me up and I’m a little surprised when he doesn’t recognize me. Most people around here do—the staff anyway—but he’s young and I don’t tend to go into the kitchen often. I’m also wearing a pair of old sweatpants, a T-shirt and my leather jacket, so I don’t exactly give off CEO vibes right now. But I guess he doesn’t really need to know that I’m technically his boss. Or the boss of his boss’ boss. Besides, I wouldn’t mindsmall talk with someone who doesn’t have to contemplate his every word just because of who I am.
A pang of disappointment spears through me as Josh’s unapologetic bite and smile flash in my mind. Fuck, I can’t believe he actually blocked me! Maybe I shouldn’t have called—we didn’t part on the best terms—and maybe I wanted to have a go at him, but can you blame me?
