by Tara Sivec
“Uh-huh, sounds amazing,” he mumbles distractedly, cutting me off, the clicking sounds his phone makes as he types grating on my nerves.
“So, what was the last book you read?” I ask, hoping to God I can find something to talk about with this man that will hold his interest.
“Books?” he snorts. “I don’t read books. Movies are so much better. I don’t understand people who can just sit there and do nothing but look at words. That’s so boring and such a waste of time.”
The words are like a knife to my heart. What kind of an animal is this man?
“But, your profile on the dating site said you loved to read.”
Gus finally sets his phone down, glancing towards the darkened window next to us to check out his reflection.
“Sure, interesting things like Men’s Health, GQ, the New York Times. Books was the only option in that stupid drop-down menu. It’s the same thing anyway.” He shrugs as the waitress finally comes back and sets the leather check holder down next to his plate.
It takes everything in me not to flip the table and scream at him as he opens the check holder, leaning to the side and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.
“So, it looks like with the tip, your half is $27.32.”
I stare at him blankly when he puts a few bills into the holder and then slides it across the table to me.
Now, I’m all for women’s liberation and all that, but for the love of God, this is a date! Is this really how people do this? Isn’t this something that should be discussed prior to said date? Where’s the chivalry? I’ve read all about this in countless romance novels and never once did the hero make the heroine pay for her own meal. In the books I read, those men would lose their mind if the woman even thought about paying.
Not wanting to make a scene by calling him an inconsiderate pig, I grab my purse from the back of my chair, my face heating in embarrassment as I dig through it, hoping to God that I have enough money. After ten minutes of scrounging around and having to count out five dollars in quarters and dimes that had fallen down to the bottom of the bag amid hundreds of receipts, crumbs and other odds and ends, I shove everything into the holder and smack it closed.
I quickly get up from the table, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible, pulling my cell phone out of my purse to call Ariel for a ride as I move through the restaurant, not even caring that I’m being rude by not saying good-bye to that idiot.
“Izzy, wait up!” Gus shouts just as I make it outside and take a deep breath of fresh air.
Good lord, who does he think he is, using a nickname for me?!
Turning around, I stare at him blankly, wondering what in the hell he could possibly want to say to me at this point. I think we’re both in agreement that this was the worst date in the history of dates, and that’s not saying much, since I don’t have anything to compare it to.
“Did you know the number one conversation killer on a first date is doing nothing but talking about yourself? And, in the Middle Ages, chivalry was a means to salvation for a man. Specifically, any man who took up arms for a just purpose would save his soul,” I inform him, hoping maybe a lightbulb will go off in his pea-sized brain.
“You’re weird.”
I immediately bristle and, if possible, become more offended than I’ve ever been in my entire life, let alone this evening. The way he says those words, with a sneer in his voice and curl of his upper lip, makes me want to punch him right in the mouth. Which is strange, considering Vincent said those exact words to me the other night and it didn’t bother me one bit. He wasn’t saying it to be mean, and it didn’t come out of his mouth like an accusation. He was just stating a fact, not saying it like it’s something I should be ashamed of or apologize for.
Looking down at the phone in my hand, I pull up Ariel from my contacts list.
“So, I’ll call in you in a few days,” Gus tells me.
“What the hell for?” I ask, hitting dial and bringing the phone up to my ear.
“For a second date, obviously. You’re okay looking, I guess. And it wasn’t the most boring evening I’ve ever had,” he shrugs.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter, turning away from him as the phone begins to ring.
As soon as I start to walk away from him, I feel a sharp slap on my ass.
“Don’t call me, I’ll call you, babe.”
Ariel finally answers the phone as I slowly turn back around to shoot Gus a murderous look.
“Pick me up immediately. And bring bail money,” I growl into the phone.
Chapter 12: I’m the Boss of Me
I’m still cursing and muttering under my breath when I walk through Vincent’s front door an hour later. I slam the door closed so hard it rattles the door frame, and for a second, that makes me feel a little bit better.
“Where the hell have you been?”
There goes my one-second good mood.
Vincent pops up from the couch and stalks over to me. Why does he always have to look so good? It makes being angry with him incredibly difficult. In his usual pair of well-worn jeans, stocking feet, and a long-sleeved white Henley, as well as the scruff on his face and his dark brown, choppy hair that falls into his eyes and over his ears, he is the exact opposite of that idiot Gus in every way.
“You know damn well where I’ve been, and it’s only eleven o’clock,” I fire back, leaning against the door to remove the heels from my aching feet. “Why aren’t you at work?”
The only good thing about this evening is that after my initial humiliating fall before I left, I walked like a pro on these damn things all night. Not that Gus even cared or noticed.
“I took the night off. What’s wrong with your hand?”
Of course he notices the way I’m gingerly cradling my right hand to my stomach while I use the left one to remove my shoes. I toss them onto the floor and push away from the door.
“Nothing. It’s fine.”
I move to walk around him, and he blocks my path with his giant body. When he grabs my hand and pulls it away from my body, I let out a yelp.
“Christ, what the hell did you do?”
“I said it’s fine! My date got a little handsy, and I may or may not have broken his nose.”
As soon as I hung up on Ariel, I pulled my arm back and slammed it into Gus’s face. Even though I might have broken my own hand in the process, there was nothing more satisfying that listen to him scream like a girl and collapse into a ball on the sidewalk, crying and carrying on so much we attracted a large crowd of people. I slowly backed away from the gathering and waited by the curb until Ariel showed up a few minutes later. I made her pull away before I told her what happened, afraid she’d fly out of the car and break every other bone in his body.
“That son of a bitch,” Vincent growls. “Give me his name and address right now.”
“Are you insane?! Besides, I don’t know where he lives, and as I just told you, I took care of it. I’m pretty sure he’s still curled up in the fetal position in front of Bella Rosa, crying like a baby.”
I don’t tell Vincent that Cindy and Ariel have a copy of his driver’s license and know exactly where he lives. He looks so angry I’m afraid he might go over there and kill the guy.
Here lies Tone. Gus Tone. A teeth sucker, ass smacker, and all around douchebag.
A hysterical giggle flies out of my mouth, and Vincent shakes his head at me, a little of the fury that was all over his face a few seconds ago disappearing. He gently wraps his hand around my upper arm and tugs me into the kitchen. I’m so tired and mentally exhausted that I don’t even put up a fight. He silently opens the freezer door and presses a bag of frozen peas to my red, swollen knuckles. I wince when it first makes contact with my skin, then let out a sigh of relief when the pain starts to lessen.
“No more blind dates. Ever.”
My relief is short-lived, and I square my shoulders and stare him down. Well, technically up, since I’m not wearing heels and now he’s towering over
me.
“Listen, buddy. I’ve had to spend my entire life dealing with one overbearing, overprotective, demanding man. I’m not about to let another guy tell me what I can and can’t do, so you can just take your orders and shove them up your ass!” I shout, taking a step closer to him and poking him in his solid chest with my pointer finger. “You’re not the boss of me! No one is the boss of me! I AM THE BOSS OF ME!”
When I’m done shouting, my heart is racing and I’m panting from my outburst while still glaring at the frustrating man standing in front of me.
“Are you finished?” he asks in a bored voice.
“Oh, I’m not even CLOSE to being finished! Studies show an average woman will kiss fifteen men and be heartbroken twice before finding the one. I’ve had exactly one kiss in my life, and I’ve never had my heart broken. I’ve got a lot more dating to do to get some experience. I need to make out with fourteen men and let two of them break my heart. And yeah, it kind of sucks that I have to go out with douchebags the likes of Gus Tone to do this, but I don’t care! I want the fairy tale. I DESERVE THE FAIRY TALE!”
Something that almost resembles pain flashes across Vincent’s face, but it’s gone so fast, I wonder if I imagined it.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted. I spent the entire night before physically assaulting my date, listening to him talk about how much money he has and watching him suck on his teeth. I’m going to curl up on the couch, pass out, and hope I don’t have nightmares about that disgusting sound.”
As I move away from Vincent and start heading into the living room, he comes up behind me and wraps his hands around my shoulders, steering me in the direction of the hallway.
“What are you doing?” I complain, as he gives me a gentle push when I try to stop moving. “I already broke one man’s nose tonight. Let’s not make it two. Because I will—”
“Stop talking for two minutes,” he says a low voice, cutting me off as we get to the end of the hallway.
Moving around me, he turns the handle on the closed door and pushes it open, gesturing for me to go in. I roll my eyes and walk past him, coming to an abrupt halt when I get inside.
“I cleaned it up while you were on your date,” he says. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I just grabbed random shit at the store. If you don’t like any of it, I can take it back and get something else.”
I snuck a peek inside this room earlier today when he was showering, along with every other room in the house. And yes, I even tried the door across from his bedroom, and sure enough, it was locked. When I looked in here earlier, this room was a disaster. It was a hoarder’s dream, with every square inch covered in random pieces of furniture that were stacked up to the ceiling in a few places, suitcases, clothing, piles of magazines and other random odds and ends that made it impossible for me to even step inside. And now . . . oh, my God. He must have started working on this the moment I yelled at him and walked out the door for my date.
Everything has been removed except for a walnut dresser, two matching side tables on either side of the king-sized walnut sleigh bed, and a chaise lounge right in front of the far window. Now that I can see the floor, I see it’s covered in thick, plush cream carpet with fresh vacuum lines in it. When I looked in here earlier, the cream-colored walls were bare. Now, a few beautiful framed paintings of flowers in a vase and the Eiffel Tower at night are hanging up. The bed is covered in a teal bedspread with pink and yellow flowers all over it, and a huge pile of matching pillows are scattered against the headboard.
“Vincent . . . ,” I whisper, blinking back tears and sniffling at all the trouble he’s gone to just for me.
“New rule,” he mumbles. “No crying. I don’t do crying.”
I look back over my shoulder at him. He shoves his hands in the front pocket of his jeans and backs away from me, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
“This is beautiful. I don’t even know what to say. No one’s ever done something like this for me before.”
Even though I try really hard, it’s impossible for me to stop a tear from escaping and falling down my cheek.
“It’s just a fucking room,” he mutters, turning and stalking down the hall into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
That man is such an enigma. He annoys the hell out of me by telling me I’m not allowed to go on any more blind dates, turns around and does something so incredibly sweet it moved me to tears, and then gets ticked off when I try and thank him. He says he’s no one’s hero, but his actions prove otherwise.
I’m going to figure that man out if it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter 13: Luminous the Liar
Getting a full night’s sleep in such a comfortable bed went a long way towards helping me erase the memory of my first blind date the night before. Being able to wake up and immediately take a shower in Vincent’s luxurious bathroom also helped.
I can’t keep the smile off of my face as I make my way down the hall, pausing in the doorway when I hear Vincent’s low voice. I peek around the corner and find him pacing back and forth in the kitchen with his back to me, sounding more than a little agitated as he speaks to someone on his cell phone.
“I told you this was a stupid idea,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair as he continues walking a hole in the floor.
He doesn’t talk for a few minutes while he listens to the person on the other end of the line. I should probably move into the room and clear my throat or say his name so he knows I’m here, but something keeps my feet firmly rooted in place. And it’s not just how nice his rear end looks in those jeans he’s wearing.
“It’s not going to work . . . because! It’s just not. I’m going to explain everything and then—”
He pauses, still with his back to me, and I watch his head drop forward and his shoulders droop. I have the urge to walk up behind him, slide my arms around his waist and hug him, telling him that whatever is bothering him, it will be okay.
“Christ, why did I ever let you talk me into this?” he says with a deep sigh. “No, you aren’t a genius, you’re a fucking idiot, and I should have known better than to jump into this shit without thinking it through. Someone’s going to end up getting hurt and—”
Vincent turns around and spots me hovering in the doorway like some sort of creeper, and immediately stops talking. I give him a big smile and a dorky wave, walking into the room like nothing is amiss and I didn’t just stand there for five minutes eavesdropping on his private conversation.
“I gotta go. I’ll see you at work.”
He ends the call and tosses his phone onto the counter.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup, figuring there’s no point in pretending I didn’t hear him talking.
“It’s fine. That was Eric. Just talking about work stuff,” he mumbles as I turn around to face him, bringing the coffee cup up to my lips and taking a sip.
Eric Sailor is part owner of Charming’s along with Cindy’s boyfriend, PJ. He’s handsome and funny and I think he might have a thing for Ariel, but she can’t stand him for some reason. It’s a shame, really. They seem like they’d be a perfect couple.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
He quickly changes the subject as he looks me up and down with one of his eyebrows raised questioningly.
“I have to meet with the board today at the library and present them with some new ideas for . . . you know, just some new ideas,” I tell him, figuring if he’s not going to talk to me about his problem, neither am I.
He doesn’t need to know that I am literally running out of ideas to present them, and my meeting with them today could be my last chance to convince them to keep the library open. I just need them to give me a few more months. By that point, I’m hoping I’ll be able to save up enough money from stripping to make a generous donation that will appease them and show them how serious I am about keeping the place open.
“Anyway,” I cont
inue, “I thought having Dress Like an Idiom day once a month would be so much fun!”
I’m suddenly regretting this idea that woke me up in the middle of the night. I got so excited about it, I jotted it down in my notebook on my bedside table, and it took me an hour to fall back asleep. The longer Vincent stares at my outfit with a confused expression on his face, the more I’m starting to realize this is never going to work.
Wearing a long, see-through plastic raincoat with pictures of cats and dogs taped on it that I cut out of magazines, as well as an elastic band around my head with a small, multicolored umbrella attached to it, I feel ridiculous.
“An idiom is a commonly used expression whose meaning does not relate to the literal meaning of its words,” I explain to him with an exasperated eye roll.
“I know what an idiom is.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment when his eyes narrow and his words come out clipped and ticked off, and I realize I just insulted him.
“Oh, yeah, of course you do! I mean, why wouldn’t you?” I laugh uncomfortably. “Well, then you obviously know I’m representing it’s raining cats and dogs.”
I hold my arms out to the side and spin around for him.
When I turn back to face him, I see his lip twitch and hope that means all is forgiven. The honk of a car horn out in the driveway has me finishing off the last of my coffee and then quickly shoving the mug into the dishwasher.
“That must be Ariel. She’s taking me to work today,” I tell him as I hurry into the living room and grab my duffle bag, which I had packed and left on the arm of the couch before taking my shower earlier.
“What’s with the bag?” he asks, nodding at it as I pull the strap up onto my shoulder.
“Oh, you know, just a change of clothes. I, um . . . I have another date tonight.”
The almost-smile on his face from moments ago disappears in an instant, and he growls under his breath, glaring at me as I quickly start walking backwards towards the door.
“Well, have a good night at work! I’ll see you later. Well, not later, since you’ll be at work. So, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I ramble, turning around and practically racing through the front door, not giving him a chance to lecture me about my date.