Here we go.
My first date in years, and with an out-of-state Mafia boss to boot.
It’s a short drive to the restaurant Nico picked, but by the time Ken pulls to the curb, I’m a nervous wreck.
I can’t do this.
I don’twantto do this.
But my fear of being alone my whole life is tugging at me, my internal clock constantly reminding me that thirty is around the corner, and then what if I can’t find someone to marry because I’m not in my prime?
It’s a stupid thought, especially seeing as I’m the one who’s usually preaching about age just being a number, but that doesn’t mean the voice in the back of my mind is listening to my pep talks, and honestly, it’s just a part of being a woman in today’s society. There are so many expectations that it’s impossible to go through life unscathed by those ideations.
The world isn’t kind to women, and that’s a fact I’ve spent my life coming to terms with, no matter how unfair it is.
“You going to be okay?” Ken asks, his eyes darting around the empty street, as hyperaware as he normally is.
I give the man a lot of shit, but he’s never failed to keep me alive, so I should probably give him some credit.
I nod, forcing a breath into my lungs. “It’s just dinner, right?”
SIX
LEXI
Famous last words.
Nico Sinclair is handsome. Or maybe that’s not the right word.
His dark hair is somehow both messy and styled, with amber eyes that make him seem like he’s from another world. But it’s his demeanor that would have most women falling to their knees if he did so much as look their way.
I’ve seen the evidence of it with every waitress who has come to the table in the twenty minutes we’ve been seated, and although I would never think of myself as a jealous woman, there’s no way in hell I could live my life with a man like this, especially as he does nothing to discourage their attention.
His powder blue button-down has a button too many undone, showing his defined chest, while his rolled-up sleeves give the entire restaurant a view of some of the most defined, tattooed forearms I’ve ever seen.
He leans back in his chair, watching me over the rim of his red wineglass.
So far we’ve talked about the weather in Seattle, how his flight was, and the menu. Surface-level things that shouldn’t give me any indication of whether we’re a match.
But I can say with one million percent certainty that although an algorithm deemed us partial matches, we are in no way compatible.
And we both know it.
But we have to be seen to make an effort, which is why we’re sitting here in silence as a waitress refills my wineglass.
I’m going to need every drop of alcohol I can get to make it through this dinner.
“Do you like living in Vegas?” I ask, internally cringing at the small talk, but it’s the only thing I could think of.
He chuckles, the sound deep and masculine enough that the waitress almost overfills my glass because she’s so distracted by it. “It’s all I’ve ever known. And it keeps me busy.”
“I’m sure it does,” I say softly, taking a long drink the second the leggy blonde steps away from our table. If this is what dating is like, I’m returning to my life as a lonely spinster because this is my idea of a nightmare.
Crazy cat lady, here I come. All I need now is for the cat distribution system to choose me and give me an angel like Mr. Whiskers.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why have you waited so long to find a wife? I would have thought your father would have wanted you married before he handed you the keys to the kingdom.”
It’s a bold question, but I might as well get some tea while I’m here, seeing as there’s no way a second date is happening, and even less likelihood of us standing at an altar.
