“That’s none of your business, thank you very much.” The thank you came out as a clear fuck you, just as I intended, but the barb fell short, like an arrow fired at summer camp. All intent, no outcome. Between one breath and the next, he was in my face. His breath a sweet mint as it wafted across my cheek. “Actually, I think you’ll find it is, girlfriend. Can’t have you dating in the public eye if we’re an item now, can we?”
I shoved him away from me, as much to regain personal space as to be able to focus on what was turning into a battle of wills.
“You are in the public eye, not me. I’m no one. We only came up with this arrangement this morning and no one knows about it yet. So, forgive me if I’m not putting a hold on my life for your sake when we haven’t even started the lies yet.”
He straightened and took a step back, which should have been a good thing, except it felt more like a tactical retreat. “I just don’t want you to get a reputation, is all.”
“What? Worried people will find out that your fake girlfriend isn’t a virgin? That she fucked someone last night and is going out with someone else tonight? Gasp. Come on, Kane. Do you want to add a little more misogyny to your worldview? It’s the twenty-first century here.”
Kane’s eyes flicked to my bedroom door and back so fast I almost missed it. I snorted.
“Besides. I’m not the one with the bed-hopping reputation. So take your bullshit and shove it. I’ll see you tomorrow. You know where the door is.”
I moved toward my bedroom to escape the conversation, but redirected after a couple of steps. I didn’t want him to follow me into my room if he continued to fight. It felt too intimate, and with Kane Bryson, distance was mission-critical. With only the smallest of hiccups, I pointed my stockinged feet in the direction of my kitchen and hopped easily onto the counter to reach my wine glasses on the top shelf. Ignoring his smirk, I slid back to the floor and pulled a new bottle of red wine from my pantry.
“I am very well aware of the fact you’re not a virgin. I was there, remember?”
A shudder crawled up my spine and I watched the deep, purple-red of the Merlot slosh into my glass with an intensity so fierce I almost felt I could levitate the bottle with my mind.Don’t react. He doesn’t deserve it.
A soft click caught me unawares and, as I looked across my empty apartment, I ignored the small sting in my chest at the sight of the closed front door. This was good. This was what I wanted. Nothing good came from that memory lane he was trying to lure me down. Nothing.
Taking a deep draw on my glass, I checked the time and went in search of my heels.
A gentle tap on my door a few minutes later announced the arrival of my date, and I resolutely ignored any thoughts that may have popped up regarding the difference between my two visitors. Randy was nice. We would have a pleasant night. I opened the door to his happy smile and watched the color rise in his face as he noticed my outfit.
“You look lovely. Sorry, I’m a bit late, I was talking to one of your neighbors. Seems nice and knew a bit about football. Anyway, are you ready to go? Did I mention you look lovely?”
I smiled, charmed by his awkwardly polite manner.
“I’m ready if you are. Are we going far?” Grabbing my purse from the table by the door, I locked up and took his arm as we moved down the hall.
“Not far at all, just down the street,” he said.
I nodded and let him lead the way downstairs and out into the early evening.
Three blocks down, we stopped outside Belmontes, a small Italian restaurant and pizzeria whose number was on my speed dial for the nights Allie came over with wine.
“I hope this is all right,” Randy said, holding the door open for me.
“Yeah, I love this place.” I raised a hand in greeting to Tia, the head waitress, who was scowling at the cash register. Glancing up, she grinned and waved to the empty restaurant, inviting us to choose a seat.
In the courtyard behind the restaurant, fairy lights crisscrossed through the trees and bushes, and smooth jazz played loud enough to be heard, but not intrusive. The table out back was bigger than we needed, but it was quiet, and my favorite part of dining here.
“This is nice,” Randy said, taking the seat to my right and glancing around.
I hummed as Tia bustled up with water and an order pad. “Can I get you any drinks to start?” she asked, throwing me a subtle wink.
I chuckled, thinking of all the nights I had spent chatting her ear off while waiting for my takeout order. She was good people.
In no time at all, I was sipping a glass of wine and Randy a beer while we soaked up the atmosphere. The easy conversation of a few hours ago seemed a little harder to come by.
“So… football? Are you looking to go professional?” I asked, trying to fill the silence.
“Yeah. I’d sure like to. I’m hoping I can get the attention of some scouts this year. Otherwise, I’ll have to follow through with my promise to my dad. Four years to prove myself on the field, or when I finish college, I go straight into medical school with no complaints.”
The conversation drifted off again. Randy started drumming a beat on the checkered tablecloth, and I looked around, hoping Tia would come back to take our order already. As subtly as I could manage, I slipped my cell out of my purse and noted the total elapsed time of the date had been fifteen minutes. Including the walk to the restaurant. Definitely too early to call it a night.
Randy slapped the table, the crack of flesh on plastic so loud I flinched. “You’re a journalist, right? What are you working on at the moment?”
