Frankie rolled her eyes at Nikos, then addressed Simon. “My apologies. I’m a little touchy about the subject. I tend to overreact, and please, forgive my insensitivity to you.” She made sure her tone of voice was extra shamefaced.
Simon gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting it go. “Totally understandable, Frankie. So why are you two pretty ladies having dinner alone when there are two perfectly willing men to eat it with you?”
“So I won’t choke on my meatballs?” was Jasmine’s catty response. Her harsh words were doing the same thing she’d accused Frankie of earlier—saying no, but her eyes on Simon, well, that was a different story. They virtually gleamed with the opportunity for a shot at some verbal sparring, and there was no hiding that.
“Well,” Simon purred. “We couldn’t have that, could we? But all’s well. I know the Heimlich. So move over and we’ll join you, just in case there’s a medical incident.” Simon somehow managed to locate the empty chair at the table next to them in the close quarters of the restaurant. He dragged it next to Jasmine’s, sitting in it with the scarred wooden back facing the table.
Frankie began to giggle, but it turned into a muffled snort when Jasmine flicked her forearm hard, and Nikos’s sigh of exasperation filled her ears.
Simon’s hand trailed with deft fingertips over the table until his hand found Jasmine’s. “So how’s Foofy’s?” he cooed.
“It’s Fluffy’s and it’s still running rampant with naked women in thongs you can’t see.” She shot a catty smile at Frankie and Nikos while batting at Simon’s hand.
Hoo boy.
Frankie’s eyes slid back to the table, avoiding Nikos’s altogether while she picked at her now cold noodles. “Your friend?” she muttered under her breath while Simon engaged Jasmine in rapid-fire conversation.
Nikos’s shoulder brushed against hers, making her fight a shiver. “If I said no, he’s just some guy I found outside who looked like he needed a meal, would you believe me?”
She chuckled. “I might, seeing as you feed the homeless guy who sleeps under the bench near the diner’s parking lot almost every day. However, Simon’s dressed too well. He’s also pretty intent on getting Jasmine’s attention, but then, who wouldn’t be?”
He caught her eyes with his, captivating her without even trying. “You have beautiful hair. I like it down.”
Preen, preen, preen. She tugged self-consciously at a strand to avoid a messy coo of pleasure. “It needs a dye job and a trim. My ends are split.” Very flirtatious, Frankie. It’s a good thing you want to shrivel up and turn into a recycled virgin.
When she’d been married to Mitch, she’d hit the salon religiously every six weeks. She was almost ashamed that she hadn’t given her hair more scrutiny tonight before she’d left. Yet, that was all part of living life for herself and no one else. She didn’t have to have her roots done. Such a rebel.
“I didn’t know you and Jasmine were friends,” he said, low and husky.
“We met at Maxine’s support group meeting a couple of weeks ago. This is our first date.”
“Ah, the ex-trophy wife club, right?” Nikos sipped his wine, his luscious lips wrapping around the rim of the glass, making her stomach jolt with a rush of heart-shattering desire.
The feeling was new and something totally foreign to her. So foreign, she had to grip her hands together in a clenched fist to keep her breathing even.
“Yep. It’s where we go to bemoan the loss of our limitless platinum cards and learn how to clip coupons and survive on minimum wage. Fun, fun, fun.” She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her tone, but it wasn’t easy when she looked back on her old lifestyle and how pathetic and shallow it must seem to someone as hardworking as Nikos. Tonight, she’d been busy appreciating a delicious meal she could pay for herself, not crying about the fact that she wasn’t eating the meal in authentic Italy. Which was a really nice place to visit, but somehow, not as nice as it had once seemed.
“Do you miss those luxuries, Frankie?”
Her head instantly moved in the negative, words spilling from her mouth she didn’t realize she meant until the question was posed. “No. Not the way I guess most who’ve lived the lifestyle I have would. To be honest, I spent the better part of six months in bed since my divorce. So I was comatose during the socially acceptable mourning period over the loss of my Ferragamos,” she joked. “Now those, I really do kinda miss, but not much else. I was never much into clothes or any of that until Mitch decided I had to be.” Or demanded she had to be so she’d always be perfect when they made happy-couple public appearances.
His next question was one asked in solemn tones, and Frankie couldn’t decide why he was asking it, or whether she should even wonder if there was a point to it at all—maybe he was just making conversation to pass the time until Simon ran out of Jasmine fuel. “Do you miss Mitch?”
Her breath hitched at such an intimate inquiry. It made her fight the ridiculous notion that Jasmine was right, and Nikos really was interested in her. “N . . . wait, I want to say this the right way. No. I don’t miss Mitch. I miss the idea he represented. I miss the hours in my day his needs filled to keep me occupied. I miss what’s familiar, and I’m scared witless of the unknown. I miss the feeling that I was part of something important—even if I was just a background player. But by the end of our marriage, anything intimate or warm and fuzzy was long gone. We had more of a working relationship than anything else. Now I know why.” Those words were like shedding a skin, one that had become too tight and so constrictive, she could barely breathe.
Yet, Nikos didn’t appear daunted by her admission. He leaned in, his cologne, tangy and woodsy, filled her nostrils, his stunningly handsome face showed apparent interest. “You mean because of Bamby?”
Her cheeks flushed, but in some bizarre way, saying it out loud, letting her personal introspection become not so private, somehow felt right. “Our marriage was over long before Bamby, I think. I don’t know why I didn’t see it then as clearly as I do now. I guess we got into one of those ruts everyone talks about. Everything became about Mitch and his career, doing whatever it took to keep him on the celebrity chef winning streak he was on. I was just his cheerleaderslash-gofer. Looking back, Bamby shouldn’t have been the sucker punch she was. I should have seen the signs.”
Nikos’s beautifully chiseled face flashed an expression she didn’t understand regarding her words, but would definitely pinpoint as relief. “It was a shitty thing to do. Shittier still that he left you with nothing. It isn’t like he couldn’t spare a dime.”
Frankie heard his scorn, and she wanted to buy into it. So wanted. Instead, she nodded with a vague smile. “Established. But the nothing portion of this mess is entirely my fault. Mitch asked me to sign a prenup in the beginning of our marriage, and I did so willingly to prove my love wasn’t about his wealth. I guess I just never thought our marriage would be reduced to numbers. But who does, right? In fact, I didn’t think about the prenup at all until it was too late, making me not so bright and shiny.”
“No, Frankie. It just makes you trusting. You were young when you married, right?”
“Too young. I was twenty.”
“Jesus,” he commented with a wry grin. “I was still having keg parties and hazing freshman.”
“You went to college?”
He smiled that incredible smile. “I know. A guy who works in a diner with a college degree. Crazy that.”
Frankie’s face flamed again. “I didn’t mean it like that . . .”
He put his hand on hers, warm and so large it completely covered Frankie’s. “Joking. I was joking. Yes. I went to college. I have a degree in accounting, which I put to good use at the diner in ways I never imagined.”
Frankie cupped her chin on her knuckles, refusing to move the hand Nikos covered with his even if her Nissan Versa depended on it. It brought with it more than just a scintillating tingle. It sparked something new, fanning an ember of need in her she couldn’t remember h
aving felt before. “Did you start working at the diner right out of college?”
“Nope. I had a high-powered job and a ridiculously expensive apartment in Manhattan. In fact, my job was how I met Simon—who’d be living in a one-bedroom walk-up in Hoboken if not for me and my genius with numbers. Instead, he has ten thousand square feet in Manalapan with an indoor pool and a bowling alley.”
“You mean he doesn’t just sniff out hot women with his uber-powerful nose. He bowls, too? I’m impressed.”
Nikos laughed. “He does. It’s a little out of control, but if you give him enough direction, he’s a solid sixty-five. Blind hasn’t stopped Simon, as you can see.”
Frankie glanced at Simon and a Jasmine who didn’t appear nearly as uptight as she’d been when Simon first approached her. In fact, Frankie heard a soft, albeit maybe a little reluctant giggle from their corner of the table.
But she forgot about Simon and Jasmine when she considered the reasons a man like Nikos would leave his career to come run the family business. He intrigued her. Okay. He did a lot of things to her, but right now, her hormones were in behavior modification mode, and she wanted to learn more about this man she had a ludicrous crush on. “So tell me more about this job you had in Manhattan. Why’d you leave?”
It was as though she’d asked him how many inches his man bits were. Nikos’s face changed, and he didn’t bother to hide the displeasure inching around the tightening of his lips. “Personal reasons.”
Oh, Frankie. Booyah, for finding the touchiest issue you possibly could and asking about it. Leave it to her to take the one stab in the dark that actually hit the jugular. Silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable.
As dark almost always turns into light, so did Nikos’s face. “Sorry. I guess I have my touchy issues, too. I worked long, crazy hours at the firm. I didn’t have much of a life. I hardly ever got home to see Mama and Papa. If you know just a little about them by now, you know they’re all about family.”
Frankie let out a relieved breath of air followed by a smile. Voula and Barnabas were indeed all about family. It was one of many reasons she was growing so fond of them “I know when your father mutters what a meddling brat you are as he hovers behind me while I wield seven inches of razor-sharp steel, he means it with big love.”
He grinned with fondness. “Yeah. That’s Papa for you.” Then Nikos frowned. “He’s not taking it out on you, is he? I told him he’d better behave when he’s around you, or I’d take away his Judge Judy privileges.”
Frankie shook her head with a chuckle. “Only in the way of long, dramatic sighs and the occasional snort of displeasure when he sees me chopping something in a way he wouldn’t do it. Though last week, he only snorted like twice in a day between commercial breaks for Regis and Kelly. I think I’m growing on him,” she joked, leaning into Nikos before she could catch herself, fighting the utter luxury having such a solid, delicious man in such close proximity brought.
The candle glowed between them, giving Nikos’s eyes a seductive glint that sent a shiver along her spine. “You’ve grown on a lot of people, Frankie.” He tilted his wineglass in her direction.
Swooning wouldn’t be out of the question if it weren’t for Jasmine tugging on her arm, totally harshing her Nikos vibe. “You look like a girl who needs to use the ladies’ room, Frankie,” she said with a suggestive tone, sending another girlfriend signal that screamed she was using the facilities whether she wanted to or not.
Frankie pointed to the left of Nikos with an apologetic smile. “I think I have to go to the bathroom. Excuse me.” Slipping past him, she held her breath when he rose, allowing her room to shimmy out of her chair.
Once free of the confines of the table, Jasmine dragged her in the direction of the bathroom. “That man is infuriating,” Jasmine muttered under her breath.
“Infuriatingly hot for you,” Frankie teased. “I don’t see the problem.”
Jasmine stopped dead in her tracks, pulling Frankie to an alcove by the restaurant’s bar. Her face a mask of hard anger, she hissed her words. “You know what the problem is, Francis? The problem is Simon’s just like Ashton.”
Frankie frowned at her friend, unsure where her sudden anger stemmed from. “Simon does tires, too?”
Jasmine shook her head with a sharp bob, placing the heel of her hand against her forehead. “No. Simon’s an ex-NFL football player.”
“Ohhhh, I don’t know anything about football players. Just food. So Ashton played pro football, too? Before or after tires?”
Jasmine’s beautiful eyes rolled upward. “No, Frankie.”
“Then I’m lost. Take my hand—guide me to wherever this crisis you’re having is. I’ll follow.”
“Simon’s rich.”
Frankie held up her knuckles, facing Jasmine. “Niiiice coup, my friend. You and Gary’ll be moving out of that studio apartment in no time flat.”
“No! Don’t you get it? That’s the problem, Frankie. He’s rich. I don’t want to ever become involved with another man who has boatloads of money to burn. When you can have whatever you want, when nothing’s unobtainable, you lose perspective. The people around you become disposable. Not to mention, Simon’s ten years younger than I am.”
“He is not,” Frankie scoffed. “You two could be the fabulous twins for all the blonde hair and good looks between you. If the two of you had children, no one would be able to bear looking at them for the shiny.”
“He’s thirty-six, for Christ’s sake.” Jasmine’s lush lips thinned in disapproval.
“So?”
“So I’m not!”
Frankie rocked back on her heels. “Still don’t see the problem. He’s rich, attractive, has a great sense of humor, and he very obviously wants to date you. If only we all had those problems. Boo to the hoo for poor, gorgeous Jasmine.”
“I’m forty-six years old, Frankie. That’s too old to date some kid I could have almost given birth to.”
Frankie’s mouth fell open in surprise, but she managed to snap it shut. “You are not forty-six,” she said with a shake of her head. “Jesus, I can’t believe how unfair this is. You didn’t just hit the gene pool lottery for the dazzling; the guy upstairs decided you should bathe in the Fountain of Youth, too? Do I need to remind you just how lucky you are? And another thing—if you could’ve given birth to Simon, I call we hunt your mother down and have her locked up for neglect. You’re ten years older than he is, Jasmine. Not a hundred.”
“It doesn’t matter. Obscenely rich men are all the same. They just want eye candy—trinkets to wear on their arms. Ashton told everyone I was his most prized possession. Well, until I wasn’t.”
“So now wouldn’t be the time to remind you Simon’s eyes can’t see your candy? That might sound incredibly insensitive, but that’s Simon’s reality. I’d say it’s obvious he thinks there’s more to you than big hooters and an ass you could crack a walnut on,” Frankie joked.
But Jasmine wasn’t laughing. “I’m never going to be someone’s toy again.”
Frankie cocked her head, her smile sympathetic. “Wow, and people have the nerve to call me sensitive. I get it, Jasmine. I do. I was someone’s toy, too. Okay, granted, I wasn’t as shiny a toy as you are. I’m still not, and I’m almost ten years younger than you, too, okay, eight, whatever, but you just met Simon. How do you know he’s just like Ashton? Even I, pathetic, jacked-up, beaten-down divorcee, know you shouldn’t judge the poor guy before he’s given you a reason to.” Oh, dear God. Maxine’s crazy-assed philosophies and cutesy euphemisms were in her head now, claws deep.
Jasmine’s finger waved under her nose. “I know rich men, Frankie. They all just want young playthings, and when the young plaything gets old, they don’t want her anymore.”
“Yeah. I think you’ve said that four times now. Your argument’s less effective when you use the same one repeatedly. Lest ye forget, I know rich men, too, and I don’t want to be the one to smack you with the actuality of the situation h
ere, Jasmine, but you’re not a young plaything anymore.”
“Score.”
Frankie curtsied. “Okay then. Not that you aren’t fabulous, and a whole helluva lot more so since I found out you’re freakin’ forty-six, but if we’re playing by the numbers, only eighty-year-old men would consider you a plaything.”
Jasmine threw up her hands with a wry smile. “Okay. Touché. I get it. The horse is beaten.”
Frankie gave her a thoughtful glance. “So I guess we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t like him and might be considering dating him, right?”
Jasmine slumped against the textured wall, tucking her purse under her arms in front of her like a petulant child. “I don’t want to like him.”
“I don’t want to have a zero balance in my bank account either while I sponge off my Aunt Gail. There are a buttload of things I don’t want. Sometimes life hands you what you don’t want. I can think of far worse things than liking Simon to not want. So knock it off and be grateful for the endless gifts the Big Kahuna seems to keep sending you while he neglects the rest of us to stew in our mediocrity.”
Jasmine giggled, nudging Frankie with her shoulder. “You just told me to suck it up.”
Frankie grinned, rather proud her mentality was slowly changing. “Yeah, I guess I did. So, ahem—in the esteemed words of our fearless, ex-trophy wife leader, Maxine Barker—suck it up, princess.”
Jasmine laughed once more, squaring her shoulders with a groan. “I can’t believe I’m being so whiny. Let’s go to the bathroom so I can stare my lily-livered reflection down.”
Frankie followed beside her with a snicker. “And do me a favor. Don’t do that again, okay? I was the one in control of your freak. That should never, ever happen for as long as we’re friends. Got that? I don’t like you insecure. If you’re insecure, then I’m surely suicidal. So while we’re in there, make sure you hike up your spine. I might need to borrow it.”
Jasmine’s cackle rang through the restaurant, making Frankie laugh, too, distracting her for a moment from the hand that snaked out of another small alcove, grabbing her with an iron grip. “Are you Frankie Bennett?” a male voice slurred.
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