“Huh? Yeah, why?”
“You were frowning.”
“Oh. You know, just…stuff at work.”
He nods. “Jack bothering you?”
I hesitate. The answer is a big fat yes, but how does Arturo know? Although he was in the breakroom while Jack kept trying to have a conversation with my breasts, he couldn’t possibly have seen enough already to get the full picture…
Could he?
Or maybe he’s some kind of secret agent for Jack. That would explain the nice restaurant and rather private lunch. He could be gathering information so my boss can use it against me and my boobs.
“Jack’s…Jack,” I say finally.
Arturo’s brows pinch together. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You will once you get to know him better.”I’m not saying anything that could come back and bite me in the butt.
Arturo mulls that over while I munch on the garlic bread. It’s excellent, with a crispy crust and soft, buttery inside. Fresh herbs add to the taste. And when the pasta comes, it’s just as good, with fresh clams perfectly cooked so that they’re flavorful and tender. The lack of tomato sauce enhances the overall dish, and I dig in, realizing I’m starving.
“I saw you broke up with your boyfriend,” Arturo says.
“Yeah.” It comes out a little stiff.
“I wasn’t stalking you or anything. It was on Instagram.”
“No, of course not.”Thanks, Owen, for wasting no time in sharing our private lives with everyone on the Internet.I shrug. “It’s practically public knowledge at this point.”
Arturo regards me. “You don’t seem too upset about it.”
I blink, realizing that he’s partly right. I’m not upset about losing Owen. I was already beginning to have some misgivings about our compatibility. My anger and dismay came from the fact that what our relationship represented, its potential, never meant enough to him that he wanted to fight for it. Every promise made was an empty platitude that led to nothing, and the loving partnership that could’ve been in our future wasn’t meant to be.
Arturo looks like he’s waiting for an explanation, but I don’t want to bare that much of myself to a guy I barely know. So I just say, “Things were sort of fizzling out anyway. I’m not surprised it ended. The timing could’ve been better, though. There’s something about a birthday breakup that makes the situation appear pathetic.”
As I add the last part, I wonder if that’s why Nicholas went along with my charade at Dolce. It might’ve been a type of birthday present—a way for him to take care of me. Georgia told me he was the one who took me home and made sure I was all right the night I turned twenty-one. Nicholas has done things for me without my recognizing the gesture, and I feel a little guilty. For someone like him, time is extra valuable because it’s the one thing he can’t buy more of. I’m a big believer in not taking more than I can give back, but right now, the balance between us seems heavily skewed.
“Cool that you aren’t all upset about it, but you kinda seem distracted,” Arturo says.
“Do I? Sorry.” Embarrassment heats my face. “I don’t mean to be rude. I was just thinking…” I trail off, since I don’t want to tell him I was thinking about fake-dating my bestie’s older brother. It’s none of his business. Plus, if he saw the breakup post on Instagram, he might’ve seen Nicholas’s comment, too. “Thinking that it’s hard to find an apartment.”
“You looking to move?”
“I was living with Owen, so…” I shrug, hoping that explains my distraction. I’m feeling a little guilty about the fact that I haven’t been a very good lunch companion when he brought me here to wish me belated birthday.
“Totally awkward.”
“Right? But it’s okay—I’m crashing at a friend’s.”
“Couch surfing. Can’t be that great.” He shakes his head. I don’t bother to correct his assumption, since it isn’t important.
“If you want,” he says, “there’s an empty condo. Lemme send you some pics so you can see if you like it.” He hands me his phone. “Gimme your digits.”
If this is a ploy to get my number, it’s an admirably smooth one. But at the same time, heistrying to help. And if he really wanted, he could get it from one of the other trainers at the gym. So I dutifully enter my info with a small smile.
“Cool.” He grins and pokes his phone a few times. Mine pings and photos appear. I expected a modest place, but this one looks huge, with lots of gloss—spotless veined tiles and a vaulted ceiling with gold-edged fans and flower-shaped chandeliers. The kitchen looks modern, with stainless-steel appliances and lots of marble, and a balcony overlooks the city from on high.
This can’t possibly be the right place. “Seriously? This is the empty condo you’re talking about?”
