“I’ll pass on that,” I say after clearing my throat. “You know I don’t date.”
Chloe rolls her eyes at me.
We talk about this almost as often as we talk about the Nosey Pecker. She doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t date casually, even if I’m not looking to get married and start pushing out kids like my family wants. I don’t understand why I should waste my time dating random guys when I know nothing will ever come of it. I refuse to give up my career, or my sense of self, just to have a man in my life.
“Plenty of women have successful careers and fulfilling relationships simultaneously, you know. You wouldn’t have to give up Wings and Pizza in order to have a man. Times have changed.”
“They have, but try telling that to my mother. She still thinks the only way I’ll be fulfilled as a woman is if I have a bunch ofkids to fuss over and a husband to look after. I can’t imagine anything worse.” A shiver of disgust runs through me at the thought of having to take care of a grown ass man. “No, thank you. I’m happy alone. This restaurant is all I ever wanted. Now that I have it, I won’t risk it by chasing after something I can get from my vibrator. And get it better at that.”
A cough from the other side of the counter breaks me out of my rant before I can extol the benefits of battery operated boyfriends.
“Excuse me, ladies. I’m, uh, I’m here to pick up my date, Tina Falcone.” The man looks at me expectantly. Wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt tucked into pressed, pleated khaki pants, he reminds me of a kid whose mom dressed him up for picture day at school. The hair he’s combed neatly to the side would give the same impression if it weren’t blatantly obvious that he’s attempting to hide a completely baldpate under those few strands.
Chloe bursts into laughter at what I can only assume is the stunned look on my face. Did this guy say he’s here to pick me up on a date? That can’t be right. I was literallyjusttelling Chloe five seconds ago that I don’t date.
“I’m sorry,” I say, finally gathering my wits and putting on what I hope is a polite smile. “I think you’re mistaken. I’m Tina, but I don’t have a date tonight.”Or any night. “Did you maybe get the name wrong?”
He shakes his head before I’ve finished asking the question. “No, look.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, pulling up a message on a popular dating app. “We made a date to go out for dinner today.”
I take his phone to get a closer look and sure enough, there, plain as day, is a message from Tina Falcone confirming a date for this evening, and giving instructions for the man to pick her up at Wings and Pizza in Tuft Swallow. The only problem is,I don’t have a profile on any dating site, never mind one where I’ve communicated and made a date with this guy standing in front of me.
This is frigging weird. Who catfishes someone, then sends them to the actual person for a date?
“I’m sorry, Mr.?” I pause for him to say his name, but he doesn’t catch on. Instead, he stares at me blankly, forcing me to forge on in ignorance. “Uh, yeah. Moving on. I don’t know who you are, but I know I didn’t make a date with you.”
“Yes, you did,” he says, stomping his foot and snatching his phone from my fingers. “I drove all the way from Spitz Hollow for this. You told me we would go for dinner. And I was hoping fordessert,too.”He waggles his eyebrows and drags his eyes down my body, smiling.
Ew. Hell no.This man-child is a prime example of why I don’t date. He walked in here feeling entitled to my time and even after I politely explained he’d made a mistake, he’s not taking no for an answer. But that shit won’t fly here.
“Listen here, buddy—”
“No, you listen here. You can’t make me drive all the way here, then take one look at me, and decide you don’t want to date me after all. That’s not fair. My mom says I’m a catch.”
“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Chloe says with a chuckle. “I would turn around and leave if I were you. This won’t be pretty.”
The man has the audacity to scoff. “What can she do?” He gestures to me. “I’ll walk fast and be out of here before she gets out from behind the counter.” He cackles cruelly, and there’s no mistaking what he’s saying. He’s saying I’m too fat to chase him.
What he doesn’t know is I don’t need to chase anyone.
I grab the spoon I’ve been stirring with and whip it at his head, his laughter stopping when the spoon nails him rightbetween the eyes. The small amount of sauce dripping down his nose makes me grin. “I don’t have to chase you down, you little bitch. You’re in my kitchen. I’ll call the police chief and he’ll be here before you can say boo.” I’m bluffing, of course. Chief Woodcock is likely out patrolling at this time of the day. Despite the police station being two doors down, there’s no way he’ll be close enough to be of any help to me right now. “Why don’t you head back to your car, drive home, then unmatch that fake-me on your dating app, and we can pretend none of this ever happened? Because if you continue to insult me, I can guarantee you won’t like anything I have to say back to you. Let me give you a hint. I’ll start with that oh-so-obvious comb over you’re sporting and work my way down until I reach your dainty little feet.”
“Hey, that’s not very nice.” The guy’s pout rivals that of the child whose clothes he appears to be wearing. I’m sure I’ve seen the same quivering bottom lip when my nieces and nephews don’t get their way, and the oldest one is only seven.
“No, it’s not very nice. I tried being nice and you wouldn’t listen. Remember when I politely explained that you were mistaken? That was your chance for a pleasant interaction with me. You blew it. Now, if you don’t want a detailed description of exactly how much you’re lacking in the appearance and, no doubt, personality departments, I suggest you turn around and march your sorry behind out that door right now.”
Much to my surprise, the threat works. The man turns to leave, ducking out the door without another word.
“He must really love that comb-over if he doesn’t want to hear you tell him about it,” Chloe says with a laugh. “That’s too bad. I kind of wanted to know what you would’ve said.”
I tuck a sauce-sticky strand of hair back into my bun and huff a laugh. “I was lying. I didn’t have much to say. Besides his scalp shining through the comb-over, and my observation about thesize of his feet, I only had his clothes to comment on. If he didn’t care about those things like I thought he did, we might never have gotten rid of him.”
But now that he’s gone, it’s time to find out why a strange man thought he had a date with me at all. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t have accounts on any dating apps, and I haven’t set up dates with anyone. Because I don’t date.
Just then, the chimes above the doorbell tinkle. “Welcome to Wings and Pizza,” I say to the customer who walks in. When I look up, I see a familiar face attached to the man striding into the restaurant, and, for some reason, I can’t stop the smile that crosses my face.
The giant from earlier today, Nick D’Onofrio, saunters in, a wide grin on his face when he sees me. Rather than shirtless and wearing tiny shorts, he sports jeans that stretch deliciously over his enormous thighs, and a t-shirt that hints at the muscle and slight belly I know is hiding underneath. His tattooed biceps test the seams on the sleeves of his shirt, and I find myself staring as I wonder whether he’s ever worked in a restaurant kitchen.How many pots can he carry with those pythons?A flush of heat races through me.
“Like what you see?” he asks, grinning as he flexes his biceps, stretching the t-shirt sleeves even more. “I can take it off if you like. I’m not a big fan of shirts, but I figured I’d need to wear one to come in here. You know, the whole ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ thing? You know what I always wondered? Why are pants never mentioned? I’d be a lot more concerned about someone strolling into a restaurant sans pants than someone coming in shirtless, wouldn’t you? Finding a strand of hair in my food doesn’t bother me much unless it’s short and curly.” He turns his brilliant smile on Chloe, and my stomach drops uncomfortably. “Hey, Chloe. How are you?”
