Chapter 4 #2
“It’s just a date. You aren’t marrying the guy,” I mumble to myself, low enough so no one will hear me. “You’re just getting out there. Testing the waters. Nothing else. No pressure.”
Fuck. I’m ridiculous.
“Toughen up.” I take the first step forward and swing the door open, the rush of warmth hitting my face to ease the stinging in my cheeks from the chill in the night air.
The hostess is a beautiful woman with gorgeous dark hair and a bright smile standing behind a polished wooden desk.
“Hi! Welcome to Angelica’s. Do you have a reservation?” she asks.
I slip off my coat and hang it over my arm. “Actually, I’m meeting someone named Brian here? He said he was already here.”
Somehow, her smile becomes brighter. “I know exactly who you’re talking about. Follow me.”
I trail closely behind her, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor that gleams under the romantic lighting. Three bartenders are working behind the bar, the sound of shaking drinks loud even over the conversations everyone seems to be having all at once.
Brian is easily noticeable. He stands from the booth, giving me an awkward wave. He has pitch-black hair and deep brown eyes. He’s around my age, and I try not to let that bum me out. All I can think about is Mr. Wrong Number.
How laughable.
I don’t even know his name, and I’m obsessed with him.
Brian is wearing a leather jacket, and when I take a step closer, I’m hit with the smell of cigarette smoke wafting from him.
I hate that smell.
“Your waiter will be over soon to take your orders,” the hostess says, flashing another million-dollar smile.
No, don’t leave me alone.
“Thank you so much,” I reply.
Brian and I stand in front of each other for a few awkward seconds before we both laugh.
“Hi, I’m Olivia.”
“Hi, Olivia. I’m Brian.” He swoops in, leaning down for a hug, and I have to hold my breath.
He reeks of smoke.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” I slip into the booth and my grin falters when I see four empty glasses.
My gin and tonic is gone.
“Sorry about that. I needed to curb the nerves, you know?”
The waiter chooses that time to come back with more drinks, sitting a fresh drink down in front of me, then Brian.
Brian reaches over to snag my glass, sliding it across the table to his side, leaving me with no drink. “Sorry, I ordered two for me. Can you bring the lady another?”
My brows rise and I turn to stare at the waiter who gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Make it a double, please,” I say as nicely as I can.
He nods, a small tilt of a smile threatening to curve his lips. “Of course. It will only be a few moments. Can I get your orders in?”
“I already ordered for us,” Brian interjects. “I’m really good at ordering for people.” He takes a swig of one of the drinks, the ice clinking against the sides of the glass.
“What if I had allergies?” I ask, annoyed by how this is going already.
“I’ll be right back with your order.” The waiter leaves, rushing away as if his ass is on fire.
“More for me, I guess.” Brian finds himself hilarious, his loud boisterous laugh hanging over the murmur of everyone else, causing a few heads to turn our way.
I could always leave. Is that rude to do? I’ve never been in this position before, and I don’t know when enough is enough. Clearly, Brian isn’t what I’m looking for in a partner.
“So, Olivia. Your profile says you’re an assistant to the chief of surgery at Warrick General? What’s that like? What do you expect to do after that?” He drains the first glass and heads to the second.
I narrow my eyes, dropping my hands to my lap. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m assuming being an assistant isn’t what you want to do for the rest of your life.”
“I love my job and where I work. My boss is fantastic and I probably get paid more than you, with amazing benefits. I can live a comfortable life doing what I do. So…no. I don’t have plans for anything else.”
“Oh.” He clicks his tongue. “That’s disappointing. You have no dreams?”
“And what are your dreams, Brian?”
He smirks, stretching his arm across the back of the booth. “Well, right now, I’m working at a dead-end job, like you, but I’m going to be a music producer. I’m going to move to Los Angeles in a few months.”
The waiter comes just in time to deliver my drink.
“Thank you.” I gesture for him to bend down.
I’m able to see a small bead of sweat gathering on his temple from running all over the restaurant.
I’m sure it doesn’t help when he has to be inserted into drama.
Cupping my hand over my mouth so my date can’t see me, I whisper, “Keep them coming please. This will be the longest date of my life.”
The waiter straightens, rolling his lips together to hide a smile before giving me a half nod. “Of course. And your food will be here soon.”
“Thank you so much.” My eyes drop to his name tag. “Tyler.”
With a small grin teasing his mouth, he hurries away, hands laced behind his back.
“Were you flirting with him?”
My brows rise as I stare at my date, shocked at the amount of audacity he seems to hold at all times. “Excuse me?”
Brian raises his voice, pointing in the direction Tyler scurried off to. “You were flirting with the waiter right in front of me.”
My cheeks heat when I notice a few people staring at me, murmuring to their friends.
“I wasn’t. I asked him to keep bringing me drinks.
That’s all.” My phone takes the perfect moment to vibrate in my purse and that gives me the reason I need to stand.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a few minutes. ”
Brain’s eyes narrow, a dangerous expression pinching his eyes to narrow slits. “You better come back. Don’t leave me here with the bill. I expect to split it.”
Oh my god. He’s a nightmare. How can I escape his clutches safely?
My heart begins to race as I zigzag my way through the tables, hurrying to the restroom to get a break from this guy.
As I make my way through the restaurant, I become overstimulated and slightly panicked.
My heels kiss the hardwood floors, the light click-clack vanishing under the murmurs of conversation.
My skin crawls at how Brian spoke to me. The tone he used. There was an edge to it that told me to get up and run out of the restaurant. He makes my stomach turn and my instincts claw at my chest.
I’m never the type to just leave in the middle of a date, that’s rude. But I can make an exception, right? I should get out now while I can.
When I push the bathroom door open, the lights are even dimmer. A polished black slab forms the countertop, with three sinks and gold-framed mirrors hanging over each. There are four stalls with doors that nearly touch the black-and-white tiled floor.
Slipping into a stall, I snag the silver lock to slide it shut, leaning against the wall to take a deep breath.
“You’re fine,” I whisper to myself. “He’s just another asshole. Just eat the food, go home, and never think about him again.” I try to hype myself up, but knowing I have to go back to the booth where he’s waiting to say some snide remark makes me want to sprint out the front doors.
Remembering that my phone vibrated, I dig into my purse and grab it, a welcome distraction from this disastrous date.
I’ve only been here for ten minutes. How can someone be so rude so fast to someone they don’t know?
I gasp when I see who the text is from.
Mr. Wrong Number: Hey, how are you?
Needing an escape, I don’t hesitate to text him back.
Me: My savior! I’m only on the worst date ever and currently hiding in the bathroom. I regret online dating.
Him: Who are you on a date with? Why is it bad?
I can’t help but grin. I scroll through our messages again, holding in a groan when I see his broad chest, his hand slipping down his abdomen.
“Focus, Olivia. You are here on a date with another man. A horrible man, but someone who you agreed to share dinner with.”
My fingers fly over the screen as I reply.
Me: He’s someone I swiped on a dating app, and he’s very rude in person. He’s made a few remarks that have made me uncomfortable. I left to go to the restroom and I’m hiding out.
Mr. Wrong Number: What do you mean? What the fuck has he said? Do you need me to come down there? I’ll make him uncomfortable. He’s an idiot. He’s lucky to have a date with a woman like you.
Me: I can take care of him. His personality surprised me is all. He’s talking down to me. He thinks my job means I have no dreams. He likes to talk about himself a lot. He ordered for me before I got here and stole my drink. Twice!
Mr. Wrong Number: Where are you? I’ll come get you right now and I’ll take care of him.
Another rush of warmth hits my cheeks at the thought of him coming to my rescue.
He can’t. If he were to swoop in and save the day, I’d end up liking him way more than I should.
Right now, he’s a sweet fantasy. Someone I enjoy talking to, someone I know I don’t have a chance with, but if he comes and saves the day?
I’m a goner.
It’s best if he doesn’t come here. It’s best if he remains the unnamed guy I sometimes talk to and flirt with.
Me: No. No. I’m fine. I promise. I have to get back out there soon. I’ll deal with him. I’m wearing heels that could puncture his chest.
Him: Prove it.
Grinning, I lift the phone just enough to make sure the only part of me he can see is from the neck down. I curl my leg until my heel is almost touching my butt and take the picture.
I send the image and he doesn’t say anything back. I only have a few more minutes before Brian will probably storm the bathroom.
My phone vibrates.
Mr. Wrong Number: You look fucking beautiful. If I was there, there would be no way I could keep my hands off you.
Another second later, an image appears, and it’s of him gripping himself through his pants. Scrubs? I can’t tell at this angle.
He’s so thick.
Yep. I’m a goner.