His knee jumps, colliding with the underside of the table, causing the wax in the candle centerpiece to slosh and drip over the sides. “What the fuck? How do I know you’re not following me?”
“You tookmytaxi and I was here first. Did you put a tracking tag in my bag?”
“Yes. I followed you to a restaurant where you have to get reservations months in advance, waltzed right in, and got a seat,” he deadpans, cocking his head.
True. I booked all the spots I’ve gone to tonight over the summer, knowing I’d have the perfect client for each when the time came.
“Okay, then why are you here?”
“Probably the same reason you are. I mean, I haven’t gone on dates with four men tonight, but IamfollowingSpitfire’s‘Feast in The City’ list because I’m doing this year’s write-up.”
The majority of the restaurants on the list are the same each year, and someone would have to go and eat at each of them to give consistent reviews.
Still, for some reason, I’m hesitant to believe him. “Aren’t you supposed to have a notebook or something?” The only thing on the table are the candles and the menu.
“In my bag? It’s best to not broadcast to a restaurant you’re reviewing them. Special treatment can lead to a biased review.”
Okay, yeah, that checks out, and maybe I deserve the perplexed look he’s giving me.
I fold my arms over my chest and lean back into the firm upholstery. “I’m impressed that you can form coherent sentences, since you were practically monosyllabic a few hours ago.”
“Believe it or not, I’m fairly composed when someone doesn’t suddenly rip their clothes off next to me.” Still, the barest hint of pink blooms on his cheeks.
“Great.” I slap the table. “If that’s everything, I have someone I need to get back to.”
Before I can go, Cab Guy leans forward placing an elbow on the table and rests his head on one hand as he looks at me through long lashes. “Just curious, is this your last date of the night, or should I expect to run into you again?”
“Well, I’m not a cheater, just so you know.” I’d have to actually be in a relationship to be one, and I’ve had approximately zero since my junior year of college.
“Just dating four men?” Something about him shifts as he asks the questions—his gaze sharpens, eyes roving over me, inspecting, searching for a scrap of information. Yup, totally see him as a journalist now, picking people apart for the sake of an article.
“I liked you more when you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
“I was trying to be respectful, but now that you have all your clothes on.” He shrugs, gaze lazily trailing from my face to the dip of my dress that reveals the smallest bit of cleavage. “It’s hard to turn away.”
Annoyance zips up my spine. Is he flirting with me? Where do men find the audacity? “Five, and it’s just for the night. It’s not a sex thing, and wouldn’t be wrong if it was. I’m just a holiday date and I’m great at it, by the way,” I snap. “So don’t think I’m going to add you as number six.”
“Sounds fake,” he challenges.
I don’t have time for this. My bathroom excuse will only go so far. “Here. If you’re a writer, you have a pen, right?”
He blinks once and then pulls out a pen and paper from a worn black leather messenger bag, sliding them across the table to me.
I scribble my website on the crumbled page. “If you don’t believe me, check this out.”
Without waiting for his response, I head back to Andrew.
If I’m going to talk to a man, he better be paying me for my time.
2
Henri
Iknow I’m late, but I have a caramel mousse with your name on it!” I call out to Jimmy, Fender’s owner, who’s working behind the bar that’s dimly illuminated with tangled multi-colored Christmas lights as I rush to the break room that’s at the back of the long room.
Fender caters to the nine-to-five happy hour crowd in FiDi and isn’t packed today, but has a generous amount of people around tables sipping on drinks. It has a manufactured divey feel, with pool tables, wood paneling, and a collection of old neon signs, but our clientele would probably walk out of an actual dive bar with a broken nose they absolutely deserved for saying something stupid.
In the break room, I quickly change out of my dress and into the dark-wash jeans and black shirt I keep stashed in my locker for my shifts. I’ve been working all day, but the exhaustion has yet to catch up with me. Sure, I’ve spent that time sitting on my ass eating fancy food, but there’s an emotional toll. It’s like the moment I stop moving my bones start creaking, warping backinto the shape that is uniquelyHenri,the way werewolves do in movies, contorting and twisting until they’re panting and tired.
