Chapter 15
15
DYLAN
Inside the restaurant, candlelight flickers across burgundy tablecloths, casting a warm glow against the exposed brick walls. Muted conversations and the clink of silverware echo around the room as Olivia and I follow the hostess to our table. The vibe could be described as romantic—or suffocating, depending on your mood. Honestly, it’d be perfect for a date if I weren’t this on edge.
Taking space from Olivia hasn’t helped me chill or get more into this new relationship, nor has lying awake in bed every single night of the past week listening in for when Hunter would return from her dates. It was never too late. Does it mean the one-on-ones went poorly? And why does the supposition cheer me up?
Anyway. She’s out with another dude tonight. I only caught a whiff of her perfume as I came back home, but she was already gone.
Olivia grabs my hand as we follow the hostess. “Wines from Bourgogne are supposed to be the best in the world.” She points at the chalkboard behind the bar with the day’s special and suggested wine pairings. “I bet they have a great selection here.”
I’m about to respond we should order a bottle when the back of my scalp prickles. My attention shifts as I glance around, wondering what the heck happened.
Then I see her.
Hunter.
My stomach clenches, hit with the force of a sucker punch. Of course. Of all the restaurants in this city, she’s here. She has her back half turned away from me and hasn’t seen me. Only the curve of her profile is visible from behind, but her date is right in my face. The guy looks like a puffed-up jerk who thrives on pushing people around. I turn my head. One glance is plenty; I’ve no desire to get the full picture.
I’m still half-hoping the hostess will deviate at the last second and steer us in a different direction, but, to my horror, she heads straight for the empty table next to Hunter and the guy who must curl his biceps while staring at his reflection the entire time.
“Here we are,” the hostess chirps, oblivious to the storm brewing in my gut.
“Thank you,” I say because fuck me doesn’t sound like an appropriate response.
Hunter, who was smiling at something Mr. Self-Impressed yapped, glances up at hearing my voice, eyes locking with mine. I freeze. The smile dies on her face as her mouth goes slack—not that the shocked expression does anything to diminish how stunning she is.
She looks different tonight. Her lids are shadowed in smoky-gray and her dark hair, instead of the usual natural waves, is straight, falling in a curtain of black silk over her shoulders. I notice all this in an instant, and it doesn’t help the been-punched-in-the-gut sensation in my stomach.
Does she feel it too? That immediate shift in the air?
Her hair might be sleek, but her obsidian gaze is wild for a hot second. Before her features quickly shift, going blank and polite, as if we’re nothing more than passing acquaintances.
Olivia tenses beside me. She’s half-smiling, the expression uncertain as she tries to figure out why I’ve stiffened.
“Hi,” she says brightly, her tone a little too cheerful as she glances between Hunter, her date, and me.
Hunter straightens in her chair, offering a tight smile. “Dylan. Olivia.”
“Hunter.” I give her a nod, then turn to her date. “Hey, man. We haven’t been introduced. Dylan.” I offer him my hand.
“Lucas.” He grins, flashing straight white teeth worthy of a QVC host ready to convince you to buy a Facial-Flex. “And how do you know Hunter?” He stands and extends a hand, which I take, squeezing a little harder than necessary.
“I’m her roommate.”
Olivia shifts on her feet, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze bouncing between all of us. She forces a polite smile, but her lips are pressed a little too tight, her eyes lingering on me, waiting for an explanation as if this were my fault. “Olivia.” She offers her hand, forcing me to let go of Luc-ASS. “Nice to meet you.” Her voice sounds strained as she glances over at Hunter. “Hunter, nice to see you again.”
Hunter nods, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, so good to see you.”
The awkward silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. Olivia’s not speaking, but I can still hear the question: Why didn’t you mention she’d be here?
I shrug, hoping Olivia will surmise this wasn’t planned. In fact, the impromptu run-in goes against the plan. Tonight was supposed to give me clarity on my feelings for Olivia, keeping my sexy roommate out of the picture. But here we are.
We sit down, Olivia still eyeing me expectantly—presumably waiting for an answer to the silent question she hasn’t asked, but that’s burning behind those slightly pissed amber eyes. Her smile has dimmed a touch, and the shift in energy as the hostess hands us menus is palpable.
I flip open the menu, and panic washes over me. It’s all in French. Not a single recognizable word leaps out at me. I only see a tangled mess of words that mock me from the page. English is hard enough most days, but French? Forget it. I try to read the first item, but my brain hits a wall. None of the letters string together into anything familiar. I’ve got no foothold, no starting point. Just a page full of alien characters designed to make me feel like an idiot.
But that’s the least of my problems right now.
As soon as the hostess is gone, Olivia leans in closer, whispering, “I didn’t realize this place was so popular.”
“And I didn’t know she was coming here.” I keep my voice low as I respond to her passive-aggressive insinuation. “It’s a coincidence.”
Olivia’s lips purse. “Right.”
I hold Olivia’s stare for a second before my gaze wanders back to Hunter’s table. She’s laughing at something Lucas said. But it’s not the usual throaty giggling I’ve come to recognize and be drawn to; it sounds more forced. Hunter is sitting with a stiff spine and her fingers toy with the edge of her napkin, twisting it in her lap.
Olivia clears her throat, demanding my attention. “Should we share an appetizer?” she asks, glancing at me over the edge of the menu.
Her tone has brightened as if she’s decided not to let the proximity with my roommate ruin her evening. But something flickers underneath. Doubt? Jealousy? I can’t blame her. If our places were reversed, and my girlfriend was living with some hot dude who I suddenly saw everywhere, I’d react the same way.
I hesitate, the squiggly French words swimming on the page. “Why don’t you choose? French isn’t exactly my forte. I don’t understand half the things on here.”
She raises an eyebrow, as if it’s a joke. “Just read the English translation underneath.”
“Yeah, sure.” I nod too quickly.
I glance down again, pretending to skim the page, but the translation is written so small it might as well not exist. I could tell Olivia the truth: that I have dyslexia, that reading anything this dense is near impossible for me. But I don’t. Protecting this part of myself has become second nature. A reflex I can’t unlearn.
“See anything you like?”
“It all looks great,” I deflect. “I’m okay with whatever you prefer.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Olivia’s nostrils flare, but she lets it drop, flipping through the menu. Meanwhile, my attention drifts inevitably back to our neighbors.
Hunter’s voice cuts through the murmur of the restaurant. “You said you’re in finance, right? How do you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s great. It requires a sharp mind.” I keep my eyes on the leather-bound menu that’s being crushed in my hands. “Not to say what you do isn’t… interesting, of course.”
A flicker of annoyance rises in my chest. What a douche answer.
I dare a sideways peek. Hunter’s smile tightens ever so slightly.
I clench my jaw, staring back hard at the list of main courses. The only word I can make out is filet—sounds good to me.
“How was your week?” Olivia asks, also still looking at her menu.
I blink. “Uh… long. Yours?”
I half-listen to her reply, every word from the conversation next door echoing louder in my brain than anything my girlfriend is saying.
“Engineering consulting is interesting, yeah. It’s all about problem-solving,” Hunter explains, to stay upbeat, but I know that tone. She’s fighting to keep the conversation polite.
“Dylan?” Olivia’s voice pulls me back, and I realize she’s been talking this whole time.
“Sorry, what did you say?” I force myself to meet her eyes.
“I asked if you wanted to start with wine or cocktails.”
“Wine’s good. Did you find a Bourgogne you’d like to try?” I ask as Lucas’s voice floats over again.
“Right, problem-solving.” He chuckles dismissively. “Many people don’t get what engineering consulting is. It’s not real engineering, is it? More like overseeing projects and making sure the actual engineers know what they’re doing, right?”
He talks as if Hunter’s work is a joke when her job is every bit as demanding as his. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to turn and correct him even as an angry retort burns at the back of my throat. But Hunter can handle herself. She doesn’t need me butting in.
“I was thinking the Chablis,” Olivia says. “If it’s not too expensive.”
“No, we’re good, whatever you want.”
“Are you sure you don’t even want to have a look at the list?”
“No.” It’d be probably as useless as the menu. “Surprise me.” I turn slightly to gauge Hunter’s reaction to Lucas’s last comment.
She’s forcing a smile, but her eyes are narrowing. “We do a bit of everything, yes. Design, project management, troubleshooting. It’s all hands-on.”
Before Lucas can respond, a server appears at their table with a practiced smile. “Are we ready to order?”
Hunter’s shoulders relax a little as if she was relieved by the interruption. I tear my eyes away, forcing myself to focus back on Olivia, who’s been perusing the menu in silence, presumably waiting for me to engage. I realize I haven’t started a single conversation.
“What looks good to you?” A weak opener, but it’s all I’ve got right now.
Olivia glances up from the menu, her eyes flicking between me and the table beside us. I can’t tell if she’s suspicious. “I was thinking about the duck confit.”
“Yeah, that sounds… yummy.” I’m not sure what a confit is; my culinary expertise stops at baked goods.
In my peripheral, I trace the server leaving Hunter’s table. Don’t look, Dylan . I sustain Olivia’s gaze, willing myself to stay present.
“I’m going for the filet.” If they were handing out Oscars for the most painful small talk, I’d be the winner.
Mercifully, that’s when the same server who interrupted Hunter and Lucas appears at our table.
She rattles off the specials in a rehearsed cadence, but I don’t pay attention—half the words are obscure French culinary terms, anyway. Why did I ever pick this stupid restaurant? It seemed the kind of place Olivia would approve of. Hunter, too, apparently. Unless her date suggested it.
I order the filet, and Olivia takes the duck whatever.
“Anything to drink?” the server asks.
“We’ll take the Chablis.” Olivia folds the menu, handing it over. “And we’d like to start with the escargot , please.”
See? Another word I ignore the meaning of.
The server nods, scribbling down the order before disappearing again. The beat of silence that follows is filled by Lucas’s dick talking.
“Hmm. Anyway, what you do is cute. I always pictured engineering as more… I don’t know… men’s work. Lots of tools and blueprints. But I’m sure what you do is important too, in its own way. You must be good with people.”
I glance toward their table, catching Hunter’s posture stiffening as she takes a sip of water. She’s not smiling anymore.
“You’d be surprised how much technical work goes into it.” Her voice is taut, but controlled. “But yeah, we deal with people, too. And deadlines. And budgets.”
Lucas smirks as if he’s in on some joke no one else finds funny. “Ah, numbers can be tricky. Good thing they’ve invented spreadsheets, huh?”
Did he seriously say that? Pity they still haven’t invented brain-to-mouth filters to cure his verbal diarrhea. This guy’s a complete jerk. But Hunter, always composed, doesn’t flinch. “I have a minor in mathematics. But sure, spreadsheets help.”
Olivia taps her fingernails against the side of her empty wine glass, the sharp clicks drawing my attention back to her. “Did you want to do something together tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure.”
“We could check out the new Harlem Renaissance and Transatlantic Modernism exhibit tomorrow night at The Met. It’s supposed to be incredible—showcasing artists who redefined modern art.”
I tune out Lucas’s laugh and another one of his obnoxious answers. “A math minor. Wow, color me impressed.”
Stay focused, Dylan. “Uh, actually, I can’t tomorrow night,” I say, scratching my jaw. “I’ve got dinner with my friends.”
Olivia gapes at me. “ Girl friends aren’t invited?”
I sigh, knowing my next few sentences are a potential minefield. “It’s not like that… but it’s complicated. We’re meeting the fiancé of my sister’s pregnant best friend, Rowena. I barely got asked along myself. Winnie wouldn’t be comfortable if I brought along someone she doesn’t know.”
Olivia’s smile tightens. She glares at Hunter, probably doing the math that my roommate is invited and part of the inner circle, and she gives a short, clipped nod. “Sure. Of course. If I knew you already had plans for Saturday, I could’ve made my own with my friends.”
I’m sweating cold. “S-sorry, work’s been a shit-show this week. I—it was inconsiderate of me.”
“It’s okay. I forget stuff all the time, too.” Her tone is light, but there’s no mistaking the offended edge in her words.
The server arriving with the wine saves me again. She sets the bottle down on the table, uncorking it with a flourish. Unfortunately, this leaves me free to hear another one of Lucas’s pearls.
“I’m glad women can contribute to fields that used to be over their heads.”
“Over our heads?”
I pretend to follow the server’s maneuvers to study how Hunter is taking this last gem. Her expression is tight, her hands now folded in her lap, and Lucas, oblivious, shrugs with a smug grin. “Oh, come on. It’s great to see women getting involved in more technical stuff. Even if it’s more in a supporting role.”
Hunter crosses her arms, her lips thinning into a tight line. “I’m a lead consultant on most of my projects.”
“Right, right. You must be great at organizing everyone else. Guys need that sometimes. We can be all over the place. Good thing someone’s around keeping things tidy.”
I stare at the pale-gold liquid the server just poured and take a long sip.
“This is great.” I drop the glass, struggling to smile. “Thanks for picking it.”
“Glad you like it.” Olivia clinks her glass with mine. “Hey, do you want to hang out during the day tomorrow since you’re busy at night?”
“Tidy?” Hunter asks in a bitter tone.
“Yeah, I’m free all day.” Paying attention to two conversations at once is maddening.
Lucas laughs, missing the rising frustration in Hunter’s voice. “Yeah. You know, women are naturally better at organizing things. Like keeping the house in order. Or a project.”
“Dylan?” Olivia’s inflection sharpens. “Are you okay?”
I didn’t even realize I was crushing the stem of my wine glass. “Yeah, yeah. We can go to the Transit Renaissance thing at MoMA.”
“You mean the Transatlantic Modernism exhibit at The Met?”
“Yeah, the one.”
“Platter of escargot for two.” The server comes back with our appetizers.
I gape at the plate she’s set between us, my stomach doing an uneasy flip because, there, sitting in little pools of creamed herbs, are… snails. I glance up at Olivia, who’s already reaching for one, unfazed.
Did she order a snail appetizer? Guess that’s my punishment for thinking I could bluff my way past a learning disability. I watch Olivia in a sort of fascinated revulsion as she easily extracts the slimy creature from its shell with a small fork. She doesn’t eat it, though, and looks at me instead. Does she expect me to partake?
With a sigh, I grab the tiny fork and stab at a shell, the slick mollusk sliding free with a sickening squelch. My stomach turns.
The rubbery thing wobbles as I raise it to my mouth, steeling myself. Just swallow. Get it over with. Don’t think about it.
I pop it in my mouth, the chewy texture hitting me like a punch. Garlic butter coats my tongue, but it’s not enough to mask the gummy horror I’m trying hard not to gag on. I bite down, each gnaw worse than the last. This is a nightmare.
At least having my mouth full saves me from having to talk. I chew slowly, pretending to enjoy the “delicacy,” but my ears are tuned in to Lucas’s voice. He’s talking again, still missing the quiet, simmering anger from Hunter.
His tone has taken on a slimy, suggestive edge—slimier than what’s currently in my mouth. “Oh, I’m sure you’re great at a lot of things. You’ve got that whole ‘boss lady’ vibe going on. You’re used to telling guys what to do, huh? That’s hot.”
“Excuse me?” Hunter hisses.
“Did you like the escargot ?” Olivia asks.
I grimace as I will myself to swallow the thing. “They’re something. Maybe not for me.” I gulp down wine to wash the awful taste away.
Olivia chuckles. “Well, I can’t finish them on my own.”
There are like a dozen of the suckers on the plate. I hope she doesn’t expect me to eat half of them. Still, dutifully, I grab another one.
I’m fumbling with the snail, trying not to think about what I’m eating, when Hunter scoffs next to me. Instinctively, I glance over as Lucas leans in closer, his voice dropping. “It’s not often you meet a woman who can be both smart and still… take care of a man’s needs. You’re the full package. Brains, looks… bet you’re even a little feisty between the sheets.”
Hunter’s face hardens, and her voice cuts like a blade. “You’re the full package, too. Arrogant, condescending, and now, gross.”
“Hey, I’m paying you a compliment. You can be tough at work and still know how to relax after hours, right? I bet you’re a lot more fun when you’re not calling the shots.”
Hunter drops her napkin on the table. “Well, I’m calling the shots now and I’m leaving.”
I want to whoop in relief that this ordeal will be over for both of us.
Hunter stands, her chair scraping against the floor as she moves to leave. But Lucas grabs her wrist to drag her back down.
Seeing his filthy hand on her perfect skin is the breaking point—I snap. My lips pull tight, baring my teeth as my legs push my chair away from the table. I’m already halfway standing before I even realize what I’m doing.