Opening the restaurant's door, I glance at the screen on my phone and see my mother sent me a message with a picture. It causes my lips to tug, but my mouth doesn’t commit to a full smile as the message is a reminder of another life that I keep under wraps.
Arriving at the hostess station, a brunette smiles at me and flicks her hair behind her shoulder. Her eyes fill with recognition. “Hi. Welcome, can I get you a seat?” I can tell she is a supporter of my career—or wallet—by the eagerness of her voice and overdone smile.
I swipe my sunglasses off my face and tuck them into the pocket of my black button-down. “No, thanks. I’m here to meet someone.”
“Oh. Nobody mentioned you would be joining us tonight, but we are happy to have you here.” Her smile doesn’t falter. She seems keen.
I scan the busy room. It’s 7pm which means those who worked all day are now carrying on their evening with business dinners. That was never my scene. I’m more of a "throw back beer with the guys" type of man.
“It’s kind of a surprise,” I mention, as I now search the room, determined.
Ah, bingo. I spot her.
Wearing a black dress and hoop earrings, it kind of suits her, but I don’t think about it for long. She is next to the window and sitting across from a guy, wasn’t planning on that, but this day is already hell enough, so what’s one more obstacle?
“Found her. If you don’t mind, could you send over a scotch on the rocks and make it a double? Thanks, you’re a doll.” Before the hostess can answer, I’m walking at a fast pace to the table by the window.
I’m not in baseball season which means I don’t need to think twice about drinking alcohol. In season, I stay off the hard stuff and only have a beer if it’s a few days before a game. I haven’t committed years to the sport to throw it away to a bad practice or game because I’m hungover.
Assessing the scene, I sense that I’m witnessing a date, clearly.
Grabbing a chair from a nearby table before I reach my destination, I pull it up just in time to hear the mystery guy talking about anesthesia, and April is politely listening until she does a double take when I appear in her vision.
“Spencer!” April shrieks when her eyes land on me, obviously surprised by my presence. Her brown eyes grow big, almost in wonder that I’m in front of her. And hell, I could think of many other people who I would rather be sitting in front of right now. This woman detests me.
And in a moment where logic left me, I found her bratty ways attractive enough.
“Oh, hey there! Am I interrupting? Surely, I’m not interrupting.” My cocky smirk is out in full force.
The man who could use a steak or two looks at me peculiarly. “Aren’t you Spencer Crews?”
“I am. And you must be…?”
He answers me in awe, “Ted.”
“Ted’s a doctor, a cardiologist actually,” April pipes in, and I’m instantly amused that she feels the need to try and level the guy up.
Now I have to grin. “You know, I think I read once that cardiologists have like, I don’t know, the highest rate of heart attacks or burnout due to stress, plus long work weeks. Must be grueling for your future wife.” No clue why I decided to highlight this stranger’s faults to April.
April’s face is fuming, and I can tell that I’ve hit a nerve. “As opposed to baseball players who retire by thirty?”
“Are you retiring? Shit, now the Bluelights are going to suck,” Ted adds his commentary.
“Spencer lives next door to my uncle,” she explains.
I turn my attention back to the guy. “So, you are April’s new boyfriend?” I internally question why I'm curious.
He grabs a piece of bread from the basket. “It’s actually our first date.”
“Oh, wonderful. And here I am interrupting.” I lean back just as the hostess hands me my drink. Perfect timing, as I could use the liquid encouragement right now for what’s about to go down. But my confident look doesn’t fade.
“How the hell did you know I was here?” April asks, clearly agitated.
I tilt my head gently to the side. “Your love of cameras.”
Her eyes fill with recognition as they don’t blink, and since her dress is hanging low at her tits, then I notice her breath pick up.
I’m quick to clarify. “You posted on your social media story a photo of your cocktail, and the logo of the place was on the napkin. You really should work on safety first.”
