Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“I can explain,” I said, although I realized that any explanation for that engraving was going to sound terrible.
“Don’t bother.” Sighing, she stuck the ring back in the slot and pushed the box toward me. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
Humiliated, I snapped the ring box shut. “Wow. I really fucked this up, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. You did. But it’s not the ring that’s the problem.” Reina leaned forward, reaching across the table to touch my forearm. “I’m not in love with you, Enzo. And you’re not in love with me, are you?”
Staring at the tablecloth, I shook my head.
“And actually . . .” She took her hand back and sighed. “I don’t think this is going to work. You’re a little bit . . . old for me.”
My head snapped up. “Huh?”
“Not that you’re old in general,” she said quickly. “You’re just old for me.”
I totally agreed with her, of course, but I didn’t like hearing it. Reaching for my wine glass, I took a couple expensive gulps.
Reina checked her phone. “Listen, thanks for dinner, and—and everything, but I think it’s best if we stop seeing each other.”
“Fine,” I said, guzzling more Barolo.
“My friends are across the street at The Tipsy Canoe,” she said, naming a bar that had recently opened in Bellamy Creek and was popular with the younger crowd. “So I think I’m just going to walk over there.”
“Let me drive you, at least.” Setting my empty wine glass down, I took out my wallet and looked around for Lara so I could get the bill.
“No, really, you stay and finish the wine. I’d rather walk.” She slid out of the booth and tucked her purse under her arm. “No hard feelings, right?”
I tried to smile, but it was a half-assed effort. “No hard feelings.”
“Great,” she said, looking down at her phone again. “See ya.” She was typing something as she walked away.
Scowling, I shoved the ring box back in my jacket pocket and was pouring more wine in my glass when Lara appeared at the table.
“Hey,” she said, looking surprised. “I just saw your date go out the door. She ditch you or what?”
“We mutually decided to go our separate ways,” I lied.
“Tonight? Or in general?”
“In general.”
“Ah.” She paused. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine. My plans for the future had just been eviscerated, and it was my own fucking fault.
“You want the bill so you can get out of here?” Lara asked sympathetically.
I shrugged. “Nah. I don’t have anywhere to go. Unless you need the table, I’ll just sit here like an old man and drink wine by myself. This is probably what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life, anyway. Might as well get used to it.”
“Oh, come on. You know you won’t be alone for long.” Lara nudged my shoulder. “But stay as long as you like. If I need to kick you out, I’ll tell you.”
“Thanks. I’ll leave you a good tip.”
She winked at me. “I know you will.”
Alone again, I drank my wine and stared at the flickering candle, wondering where the hell I’d gone wrong. Was it my fault I hadn’t been in love with Reina? Should I have faked it? Should I have slept with her to “prove” it? This was a perfect example of why I’d steered clear of relationships.
Women were confusing, infuriating, moody, and temperamental. They said one thing and did another. They expected you to know exactly how to act and what to say without actually telling you. They wanted mind readers, not men. And then when you did or said the wrong thing, or failed to do or say the right thing, they flew into a rage and threw plates at your head or else they gave you the silent treatment for days. My parents had just celebrated their thirty-sixth anniversary, so I knew firsthand how marriage worked. My mother’s mood swings and hair-trigger temper drove my father up a wall, and he could be a real stubborn, belligerent asshole sometimes. I’m talking thirty-six years of screaming fights and slamming doors and threats to leave or change the locks.
Not that they’d ever followed through. For fuck’s sake, I had five younger siblings—two brothers and three sisters. And when our folks weren’t fighting, all six of us agreed it was embarrassing how they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. But it was always one extreme or the other—how the hell could anyone live like that? What was the appeal?
“Hey you. This seat taken?”
As if tonight couldn’t have gotten worse, I looked up to see Bianca DeRossi—just about my least favorite person on Earth—standing next to the table, glass of wine in her hand.
“Doesn’t look like it,” I snapped.
She smiled and slid in across from me. “Thanks, I’d love to join you.”
Frowning, I finished what was left in my glass and poured myself the rest. Normally I’d never be so rude to a woman, but Bianca wasn’t a regular woman. I’d known her since we were kids—our families were friends—but she’d always been a snotty little bookworm who thought she was too smart for me. Any time I tried talking to her, she clammed up and walked away. My parents forced me to take her to a dance at her all-girls Catholic high school once—didn’t surprise me she couldn’t get her own date—and she brought a fucking paperback book in her purse and kept her nose in it the entire time. So I amused myself by asking other girls to dance. How the hell was I supposed to know it would make her mad enough to tell her friends I had a small dick? She’d never gotten anywhere near it!