Chapter 1
THE brEADSTICK OF SHAME
DAVINA
One Year Later…
I had been staring at the same breadstick for twenty-three minutes.
I knew exactly how many minutes it had been because I checked my phone approximately seven hundred times, and each glance confirmed two equally soul-crushing facts: Landon from Lovable was not coming, and this breadstick was silently judging me.
“More water, miss?” Antonio appeared beside my table, water pitcher in hand.
“I'm fine, thanks.” I flashed him my boardroom smile. “He's stuck in traffic.”
Antonio nodded. “Ah, yes, Saturday evening traffic is very... unpredictable.”
He wasn't even pretending to believe me, and I respected that.
I took a vindictive bite of the breadstick. If I was going down, I was taking it with me.
Twenty-seven minutes.
I refreshed my messages for the eight hundredth time. Nothing. Landon's last text, sent at 6:47 PM: Almost there! Can't wait to meet you!
That emoji was mocking me.
Here was the thing: I was good at literally everything else in my life. I was a retired plus-size model who now ran a successful company. I was the co-host of a very successful and popular podcast. I've traveled the world.
But dating? Dating was where Davina Lawson went to die.
Thirty minutes.
The couple at the table next to me were feeding each other pasta and giggling. She was petite and blonde and wearing a dress that required double-sided tape to stay on.
I looked down at my red body con dress with slit sleeves and rhinestones around the cuffs, that hugged all my curves. The one I was apparently wearing for an intimate evening with breadsticks and my own crushing inadequacy.
And then…because the universe had clearly decided I hadn't suffered enough… I spotted him.
Dallas Dodger.
Sitting at a corner booth across the restaurant like some kind of Greek god.
His hair was down tonight, falling past his shoulders in waves.
He was wearing a black Henley that clung to muscles I refused to acknowledge, and he was leaning across the table toward a brunette who looked like she'd recently graduated from. .. high school.
She laughed at something he said, flipping her long straight hair in a way that made me want to throw my breadstick at both of them.
Of course, he was here on the night I got stood up. I’d seen him a few times since Brooke and Matt's engagement party a year ago, and every encounter went the same.
The man was insufferable and annoyingly, impossibly good-looking, which only made him more insufferable.
His date excused herself to the bathroom, probably, and I watched Dallas check his phone.
“Miss?” Antonio was back, and this time his pity had evolved into genuine concern. “Perhaps I could bring you some wine? On the house?”
And there it was. Free wine. The international symbol for 'we feel bad for you.'
“You know what, Antonio?” I stood, gathering my dignity along with my purse. “I'm good. But thank you for being objectively kinder than my date.”
“Ah.” He gave me a small, understanding smile. “He is missing out, I think.”
It was probably what he said to every woman who got stood up in his section, but I'd take it.
I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and strolled toward the exit. I'd calculated a route that would take me as far from Dallas's table as geometrically possible while still reaching the door.
The universe, however, had other plans.
A busboy carrying a tray of dishes swung around the corner, and I dodged left to avoid collision, directly into the path of a 6’4” wall of muscle emerging from the hallway that led to the restrooms.
“Whoa there, sweetheart.”
Two large hands gripped my shoulders to steady me, and I looked up into the annoyingly handsome face of Dallas Dodger.
Kill me now.
“Davidson?” His eyes widened with recognition as he crossed his arms over his chest, and that infuriating smirk spread across his face. “What are the odds?”
“It's Davina,” I said through gritted teeth. “And based on my luck tonight, apparently one hundred percent.” I was desperate for an escape. To go home and pretend this night never happened. “Well, I was just leaving.” I moved to step around him.
He shifted, blocking my path. Not aggressively, but enough to be annoying. “Hot date?”
Curiosity or maybe amusement flickered in his expression.
“Very hot,” I lied smoothly. “Practically on fire.”
“Interesting.” He glanced toward the restaurant behind me. “Because it looked like you were sitting alone at that table for...” he made a show of checking his watch, “quite a while.”
My cheeks heated. “He had to take an important call,” I said. “Some of us date men with actual careers. You know, jobs that don't involve wearing spandex and pretending to body slam people?”
“First of all, it's performance athletic wear. Second of all, I'll have you know those slams are very real. Want me to demonstrate?”
“I'll pass.” I craned my neck to look past him toward his table, where his date's seat was empty. “Shouldn't you be getting back? I noticed your companion tonight. Tell me, is she old enough to order wine, or did she have to ask for a kids' menu?”
Dallas's expression shifted, a crack in that cocky armor, but it disappeared so fast I almost thought I imagined it.
“She's twenty-five,” he sneered, his voice tighter than before. “Plenty old enough.”
“Twenty-five?” I placed a hand over my heart. “Dallas, she's practically geriatric by your standards. What happened? Couldn't find anyone still in college?”
“Hilarious.” He stepped closer, and suddenly the space between us felt smaller, warmer. “You know, Davidson, you seem awfully interested in my dating life for someone who claims to find me so repulsive.”
“I find you annoying.”
That half-smile was back, the one that made my stomach flutter in a way it should not have been. “It seems like you can't stop thinking about me.”
“The only thing I think about when it comes to you,” I said, poking his chest with one finger and immediately regretting it because dear God, his chest was solid, “is how quickly I can leave any room you enter.”
He caught my hand before I could withdraw it, his fingers warm around mine. “And yet here you are. Still talking to me.”
“Because you're blocking my exit!”
“Am I?” He hadn't moved, but he seemed closer. “Or are you looking for an excuse to stay?”
I snatched my hand back. “In your dreams, Dodger.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned down, his voice dropping to a murmur that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “You have no idea what happens in my dreams.”
For one horrifying second, I forgot how to breathe, and then I remembered who I was talking to.
“I'm sure they're very impressive,” I said sweetly. “Full of championship belts and mirrors and your own reflection telling you how pretty you are.”
He laughed, that same genuine, surprised laugh from the engagement party that transformed his face from annoying to almost… likable.
“God, I've missed this,” he said, shaking his head.
“Missed what? Having someone call you on your garbage?”
“Having someone who doesn't treat me like a God.” His eyes met mine, and for a split second, he looked almost human. “It's refreshing.”
I blinked, momentarily thrown. “Well. Good thing I'm here to keep your ego in check.”
“My hero.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Truly.”
I rolled my eyes and finally managed to step around him. “Enjoy the rest of your date. Try not to bore her with too many stories about yourself.”
“Enjoy your...” he paused, that smirk returning, “important phone call guy.”
I didn't dignify that with a response. I simply held my head high and walked toward the exit with as much grace as a woman who just verbally sparred with her nemesis could muster.
But just before I pushed through the door, Dallas called out: “See you at the wedding, Davidson.”
I made the mistake of glancing back.
He was still standing there, watching me leave. His date's seat was still empty.
I pushed through the door and out into the Tampa evening air, determined to forget the whole encounter.