33
ICAN’T BELIEVE how nervous I am. It’s just Peter, for crying out loud. We’ve been on about a million dates. I touch up my lipstick; MacIntosh apple red, chosen to match my dress, the one Peter really likes. I’ve spent ages on my hair because I know he likes it styled and smooth. I don’t know why I’m trying so hard. I guess I still want him to think I’m pretty. As strong and independent as I consider myself, I’m just a girl, who wants the boy to like her.
I peruse my closet. Some of Peter’s shirts and pants still hang on the left side. There are quite a few items of clothing missing; his favorite pieces. My shoes are lined on low shelves on my side of the closet. I debate between the Mary Jane black pumps or the tall Louboutins Peter got me. The red soles of the Louboutins would go perfectly with the dress, and they’re much sexier. I want to be sexy tonight.
He looks good.He has his best suit on, and the checkered shirt I love. His hair is perfectly styled, and he has just the perfect amount of five o-clock shadow. His eyes sparkle, as always.
He still makes my heart skip a little.
Just a little.
“So sorry, I’m late,” I apologize as soon as I near closer.
“It’s okay,” he says with a teasing grin. “I’m surprised though. You’re never late.”
I bite my lip. “I got lost,” I admit.
He laughs and touches my forearm lightly. “I’m sorry. I should have given you better directions.”
The hostess welcomes us and leads us to our seats, by the window, in the far back. The restaurant is gorgeous. Huge light fixtures hang from the ceiling; they look like giant bubbles, the kind kids blow on lazy summer afternoons. The chairs are all sleek teak and black leather upholstery, and the tables are covered in dark red linens. The mood is dark and sexy.
Clever boy, my Peter.
I still think of him as mine. I can’t help it. We were together for so long.
It’s a Wednesday night, and the place is quiet, which only adds to the dark, romantic mood. Peter and I have been out like this hundreds of times, but it feels so different tonight. It feels like a first date. I tug at the hem of my dress and I can’t quite look at him, just like ages ago, when we actually were on our first date. That was so long ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“I’ve been good.” I smile at the server who pours us two glasses of water. “Thank you.”
“That’s great. I’m glad to hear that,” he says, “After what I’ve…” His words trail off. He can’t say it out loud.
Say it out loud, I want to scream.
I left you at the altar and broke your heart! Smashed it into a million pieces!
He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “I’ve kind of been stalking you on Facebook,” he says. “You and Blake are friends again, I guess.”
I smile. I’m feeling bold. “You want to know if we fucked, don’t you?” I ask. “You’re dying to know.” I slap a hand to my mouth, shocked by my own words. I think I’ve spent too much time with Corrie lately. Or it could possibly be the lingering anger.
His mouth hangs open and when he finally manages to close it again, he smiles. “Well, yeah, to be honest, I am.”
“Hello again.” Another server appears. “How are you two tonight?” she asks cheerfully, completely oblivious.
Peter is not impressed with her timing, but he shoots her a tight smile. “Good, thank you.”
“I’m Katrina, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight,” she goes on, a hint of a southern accent. “Do you already know what you’re all having?”
We both stare down at our menus, both unopened.
“That’s all right,” she says. “I’ll give you a minute.”
And she’s gone, as quickly as she appeared.
I reach for my menu and flip it open. “We should really pick our entrées.”
“So did you?” he asks in a whisper. “Fuck him?”
