He seems oblivious to the admiring looks he gets from other customers. One woman fans herself with the menu, whispering with her friend.
I glare at them, then immediately question my sanity.
When I bring him the check, he barely looks at it.
Instead, he asks for my name.
Heat crawls up my neck. The idea of him knowing my name is dangerously intimate.
He looks at me almost pleadingly. The gold flecks in his eyes are unfair. My heart drums against my chest as I force myself to reply as rudely as possible.
“You need my name to pay? It’s Antonio.”
He exhales and nods like we sealed a deal.
A part of me wants to apologize for being so rude to him, but I can’t.
Not when the memory of Ryan’s hand lingers like a stain on my shoulder.
Caspian looks at me.
“Thank you—Antonio,” he says quietly.
I take a step back. He shouldn’t say my name. He shouldn’t hold my name in his mouth. All those letters on his tongue—it’s too much.
People need to stop saying my name.
He pays and gets up to leave.
I glance at the tip. It’s even more outrageous than the first time.
“Stop tipping me like this!” I hiss .
He looks at the cash, seemingly lost. His hand finds his neck again.
What if he doesn’t understand tipping percentages?
I relent the tiniest bit.
Caspian Stone might think he can function in society, but clearly he can’t.
The man is a clueless menace in expensive cotton.
“Just don’t do it again.”
Then, before he has a chance to speak, I turn and make my escape.
Not long after that the bell jingles, and he’s gone.
The same applies to my peace of mind.
Screw you, Caspian.
Why do you have to be friends with Ryan?
CHAPTER 22 – CASPIAN
I stroll down Main, feeling like a doomed, tormented romance hero. Or maybe I’m just painfully aware of my libido. Still, I have no intention of driving to Gaywood or checking my apps for hook-ups. Not when Antonio is all I can think about. I’m replaying our encounter from yesterday. I turn every glare and rude reply over like a Rubik’s cube, searching for an angle where it makes sense.
