Chapter 34 Rosie
ROSIE
While my job that paid the bills had slowed down significantly at that time of the year, I still had more than enough to keep me busy from Monday through until Friday, and the next week passed in a blur—a blur of streaming binges, work, and Lionel.
And much to my disappointment, the text messages and calls from Wesley stopped.
I was irritated with myself that it bothered me that he was doing exactly what I had asked him to do. It was weird that he wasn’t bothering me, and I…I wanted him to bother me. And that was just fucking aggravating.
I couldn’t wrap my brain around it, around him, around it all. There was a moment in my bathroom with the glue when I swore I saw desire there. I could have sworn he was about to kiss me. I think. But we had been in significantly more vulnerable positions than that, and nada, zilch.
Wesley took up way too much of my time, and he wasn’t even around. Has that been his plan this whole time?
“I feel you staring at me from over here, and the answer is no. I can’t back out of this date. Yes, I have to go. And mind your own business about who’s on my mind.”
Lionel looked up at me from the floor while chewing his lettuce, as if to say, I wasn’t thinking anything like that.
I threw my hands up, looking at my dress. It was form-fitting—white this time instead of black. I had to shave my legs. I thought about wearing my contacts, but after nearly gouging my eye out with my own finger, I gave that up. It was a pipe dream anyway. Contacts had never been for me.
The one time I successfully got them in had been about a year earlier, before a movie that I had dragged Wesley to see.
“Chop-Chop, or we might miss the romcom montage!” Wesley hollered from my entryway as I finished throwing my jean jacket on. When I emerged, he gave me an assessing once-over.
“Something's different here.” It only took him a few extra seconds to understand what it was. “You aren’t wearing your glasses.” He scrunched his nose up at me like I was something that smelled bad, and I playfully smacked him. “Let’s go.”
Not fifteen minutes into the movie, and my contact did me dirty by completely abandoning its mission and vacating my right eye.
Wesley left to run back to my place, get my glasses, and bring them back to me.
He didn’t care about seeing the movie anyway, even if he tried to hide the tears in his eyes at the end, claiming spring allergies.
It was things like that that made me fall in love with him. At first, it was lust. Then, it was a school girl crush that spiraled into a full-blown love affair for me, myself, and I. That was apparently obvious to everyone but Wesley.
And now that it was obvious that he thought he felt the same way, I was pretty sure he just didn’t want to hurt my feelings. That he didn’t want to lose our friendship. Bile built in my throat at the idea. I just needed to stop thinking about it and enjoy the date I was now late for.
Vincent.
I couldn’t help the way my mind said Vincent, all posh-like, really emphasizing the cent.
I had told him I would meet him at the restaurant.
I had a firm, no you can’t know where I live policy for the first two dates, at least. He had picked the nicest place in town, and while I appreciated the thought, I also would have been significantly more comfortable eating food that wasn’t the price of a utility bill.
I gave myself a final once-over. This is as good as it’s gonna get.
I had my hair clipped up in a twist, I felt a little bit like a sexy librarian, and snorted at the idea.
I slipped into black flats and made my way to my car to head to the restaurant.
The Dock. It didn’t necessarily scream expensive from the name alone, but Wesley had convinced me to join him once after he started his job, saying he wanted to celebrate properly.
The wine prices for a bottle had me choking on my tongue and considering selling a kidney, and the menu was daunting, so we were our server’s worst table when we ordered grilled cheese because fancy restaurants always had the best cheese.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts of Wesley. Isn’t he supposed to take up less of my time now that I am actively avoiding him?
The drive was quick, easy, and still. I found myself giving myself a mental pep talk before heading in. You got this. After five minutes of repeating that, I sucked in a breath and got out of my car.
I briefly considered turning around and shooting him a sorry, stomach issues, but I talked myself out of it because I could suffer through a date. What I could not suffer through would be Jeanie’s reaction to my bailing last minute.
How very American of you.
Mi Cherie, you will end up alone.
A little botox never hurt anyone. I book for you?
Nope. Not at all worth it. I was going through with the date. I opened the door, only to be met with the dim lights hanging from the ceiling, and candles floating in water on the tables.
“Hi, miss. How can I help you this evening?” a young girl who was standing behind the host’s stand asked.
“Hi, there. I’m meeting someone. His name is Vincent.”
At that exact moment, a taller gentleman with a very severe look on his face and jawline came in, talking on his cell phone, stopping directly behind me. And I could smell his cologne—spicy. It was pleasant, but it also burned my nostrils just a little bit, and I sneezed.
The man behind me didn’t miss a beat in his conversation and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket, and I was stuck admiring his almost regal quality.
A little too pretty for my liking, but he was very pretty.
Deep blue eyes and blonde hair that I would have preferred without the obnoxious amount of gel, but I supposed it worked for him.
“Miss. Table for Vincent, right this way.” My attention fluttered back to the hostess at her words, and she gestured with her hand, letting me know I should follow her.
I went to thank the stranger for the handkerchief when I turned back toward him, and he snapped his phone shut, not bothering to say goodbye to whoever he was talking to.
“Rosie?” the stranger asked. I was momentarily stunned that it was my date. He was so vastly different from the first that I didn’t know what to say. But I guessed I shouldn’t have been at all shocked by Jeanie’s pick. It was Jeanie, after all. I should have expected nothing less.
“Vincent, I presume.” I pursed my lips as he leaned down to kiss my cheek.
“Nice to meet you. Looks like this lovely lady was about to show us to our table.” He smiled at her, a full row of ridiculously white teeth.
I had to stop myself from wiping my teeth with the sleeve of my jacket, which I had thrown on in case I had any coffee stains from earlier.
I was so caught up in my internal panic over how put-together the guy was that I almost walked right past where we were being seated.
He pulled my seat out in perfect precision while I all but fumbled into the seat.
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Rosie,” Vincent said as he sat across from me. “Jeanie didn’t give you nearly enough credit.” His smile almost blinds me, and I know he’s a charmer, because there is no way she was less than aggressive.
“Jeanie is something. That’s for sure.” There was a bite to my tone I didn’t mean, but he caught on to it. Pretty and smart. He really would be devastating under the right circumstances. But aside from the initial attraction, I could already feel my interest being completely platonic.
“Did she give you the Birkin?” he asked while reaching out to grab my hand. I had to school my features because I was pretty sure I gave him a what the hell grimace when I felt his touch. Icky.
“Oh, you mean the purse? I’m not really a purse girl.
I tend to lose things in there, and it becomes something like a weapon, so I stick to a wallet.
” Jeanie had tried to give me the purse, claiming it was art in handbag form, but it just looked like a regular old bag to me.
She stormed off in a fit of French words that I was glad I didn’t understand.
“It’s a Birkin,” he admonishes.
“Isn’t that a brand of a purse?”
“It’s more than a small car.” He glares at me.
“For a bag?” My eyes bugged out of my head as I looked over him and his obvious annoyance. It was comical. Does he just have a wall of Birkins for dates? Oh my god. I bet he does. I couldn’t help but laugh in his face at that thought, only causing his features to dissolve into downright irritation.
“Many women would say thank you.” He looked at his phone, as if he were bored with me and had started to write me off.
“So the women you go out with date you for your money? Or a purse. What a life you must lead Vincent. Tell me, how many of these bags do you have just waiting to go?” I was shocked at the words that came tumbling out of my mouth, but seriously.
I was waiting for him to get up and walk out, but instead, he put his phone back down and gave me another once-over before extending his hand for a handshake.
“I’m Vincent, I’m an ass, and you’re the first woman to ever call me on my shit.” His eyes gleamed with something like interest, and while he was firmly in the not even if hell freezes over category, I felt like we could still salvage dinner.
“Rosie. And I think you’re dating the wrong women.”
“I think you might be onto something, Rosie.”
While I might not be for him, he might be for someone I know.