I finally find my voice as rage bubbles up in my chest. “Excuse me! What do you two think you’re doing?!”
Ben’s face has blanched white, like he’s in shock. He leans back, eyes darting from Duke to Sam. Their mouths are full of breadsticks. Duke points to his mouth, like he can’t answer because he’s chewing. My internal temperature spikes.
“I am on a date, thank you very much. Get out of here.”
Sam’s knee is brushing up against mine, heating me from the inside out, like a furnace. I despise the way my body reacts to him.
Sam’s knuckles whiten as he grips the fork next to my plate. “Yeah? That’s fine. You guys carry on. Pretend we’re not here.”
“Yeah, why don’t you order another round of shots?” Duke stares at Ben, who is now sweating more profusely.
I don’t have an anger problem. With my congenital heart defects, I’ve always had to keep my reactions in check so that I quite literally don’t go into heart failure.
I’m about to push the boundaries of my deformed little chest organ with how pissed off I am at them for crashing my first date with a very nice guy who’s actually interested in me and my passions. I fold my arms over my chest, debating just how much of a scene I’m willing to make to get them to leave.
Duke acting this way isn’t that surprising, but why is Sam here? He shouldn’t give a shit about me being out on a date!
The waiter approaches the table, staring at the intruders as he sets the plate of calamari down that Ben ordered with the drinks.
“Uh, do you guys want a drink?” the waiter asks.
“No,” I say firmly.
Sam speaks at the same time. “Yeah, we’ll take a couple of Millers on draft.”
“Biggest glass you have,” Duke adds.
Ben starts to rise, but Duke reaches out to clasp his shoulder. “Where are you running off to, buddy? We haven’t even eaten yet.”
Ben shakes his head, looking like he has seen a ghost and is ready to bolt. Duke finally drops his hand, allowing him to stand and take a step back from the table.
I stand up with him. “You know what? I don’t really feel like Italian food anyway. Let’s go somewhere else.”
Ben’s eyes widen, the last remaining color in his cheeks somehow fading away until he’s as pale as a sheet.
Oh. So, he wants to leave … without me. I guess I can’t blame him.
My stomach twists.
Duke rises from his chair, towering over Ben’s average height as he pats his arm. “You guys continue. We’ll just chaperone.”
“Chaperone? What is this, the 1800s? You’re fucking insane!” I screech.
The people eating around us are starting to stare, but I don’t give a fuck at this point. Sam is the only one sitting, and he’s chowing down on the calamari like he’s the one who ordered it. I snatch a piece out of his hand and shove it in my mouth.
He smirks, reaching for another one.
Ben glances around, clearly not enjoying the amount of attention that’s on us right now. I remember him saying that he’s naturally shy, and guilt stabs my gut.
Why should I feel guilty? This isn’t my fault!
“Ben, I’m sorry. I’ll deal with this. Can you just … text me?” I sigh, feeling the weight of the embarrassment and defeat.
He’s never going to talk to me again.
He nods, relief glazing over his features, obviously grateful for the out. He turns and nearly runs for the exit. I grit my teeth, sitting back down in my chair and jerking the calamari plate away from Sam.
“I will be enjoying the pasta I ordered, and you two will be paying for it after you explain to me in great fucking detail what the actual hell this is about.”
