“No numbers or names doesn’t mean no goodbye kiss.”
I want nothing more than to kiss her again, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll only further open this can of worms and I’ll no longer be able to contain them.
“You have my number.”Please, call it.
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to call,” she points out the obvious, mildly crushing me as she does.
“True, but I have this thing with goodbyes. I’ve said too many of them in my life. I’d rather be corny and say, ‘Until next time,’ and you know, leave it up to fate.”
“I see. I’m not sure I believe in that.”
“Fate?” I can’t help but sound surprised.
“Yes.” She swallows; a bitter look crosses her face.
“Well, in the event that you cave and call me, we’re doing this the right way.”
“Which is?”
“Letting me take you out on a datebeforecoming on my tongue, again.”
She blushes, waving the hand that I wrote my number on. “Good night, Mr. Armani.”
That wasn’t the yes that I was hoping for, but it wasn’t a no either.
I’ll take it.
“Good night,Mrs. Armani. I look forward to you changing your mind.”
“I guess that’s up to fate then, huh?”
I hope so.
CHAPTER 8
SARINA
It’s been just over a week since the fiasco at Luxe, and I can’t believe the owner Josh decided it would be best if I take some time to “cool down.” Anunpaidtime away. It’s absolute bullshit. I didn’t do anything that scumbag didn’t have coming to him. I made it known –repeatedly – that I didn’t want him near me, and he ignored me. So, if that’s how he wants to run his business, not standing up for the women who are the reason it stays afloat, then I guess I’m better off not being there.
It’s a shame, because I really enjoyed dancing at Luxe. It was one of the only places that I felt like myself. Dancing there, I felt free. Free from the life I left back home in Colorado. Free from my father’s nagging expectations, and the life he wanted for me. Though now as I stare at the mind numbingly dull stack of legal documents in front of me, I guess I should be thankful or whatever, since as luck would have it, where one door slammed in my face, another opened in the form of a temporary paralegal position at a law firm I forgot I applied to after I was fired from the previous one I worked at.
Guilt tugs at me for a moment, thinking about how difficult it’s been for me to maintain work, no matter what the jobrequires. It’s either my mouth or inability to keep up with timelines that don’t work well with how my brain works, that always seem to be the common denominator. Or, how my dad preferred to put it my entire upbringing,“You’re too much, Sarina. Just snap out of it and get it together.”
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe that’s my problem.
Maybe Iamtoo much.
Before I have time to dwell on my unresolved daddy issues – or the mountain of paperwork I’ve procrastinated due tomorrow – my phone rings with a call from my best friend, Lorena.
I answer the phone. “Well, if it isn’t my nearest and dearest bitch making her presence known once more.”
Lorena laughs. “Ah, I miss you. You’re always the comedic relief I need for the day.”
“What can I say, I aim to please?”
“Speaking ofpleasing, you need to tell me about that guy.”
