Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ariana
I don’t like him.
I can’t put my finger on it, but alarm bells are going off in my head.
He doesn’t look at me when he talks. There is a strange inability to maintain eye contact, and that’s a serial killer trait. He also says nothing about himself, but wants to know everything about me. He even asked about my blood type. Tell me I’m not sitting across the table from a psychopath?
I swallow, ignoring my martini and choosing my water instead.
He ordered dessert, even after I refused, so I’m stuck here for a bit longer.
I want to run from this disaster, jump into the tub at my brother’s house, and pretend tonight never happened.
I know that I have a history of dating losers, but they’re not usually creeps. I have standards.
“So, do you have any botox or filler?”
Well, that’s a new one.
My brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
He’s not looking at me when he asks again. “Botox or filler? Do you have any of it?”
I frown, staring at his face while he looks over my shoulder instead of at me. He’s squirrely. I don’t like it. I was planning to walk home since this restaurant is close to Carter’s place, but I’m not sure I’d feel safe doing so anymore. He might follow me and carve my skin from my bones.
“Is that your business?”
His eyes, for the first time all night, snap to mine. I nearly cringe at the look in them. “You think that a man doesn’t need to know if a woman he chooses to procreate with is built up of features that aren’t genetically hers?”
What. The. Fuck?
There are four thousand concerning things about that question.
“What gave you the impression that I was even remotely interested in procreating with you?”
His eyes darken.
I think I might be in trouble.
“Oh, so you think you’re better than me?
” he asks quietly, and now I wish he’d look away.
Please, go back to looking through me rather than at me.
“Didn’t you just sit here and tell me that you’re in between jobs?
You’re unemployed. I’m a successful insurance broker. You think you’re the catch here?”
I swallow, staring at the tightness in his neck, the strain in his smile. He is terrifying. Misogynistic, narcissistic, and absolutely terrifying.
“That’s quite rude, don’t you think?” I ask, and tap my phone at the same time.
I text Arden, because I don’t want my brother to get into trouble, and I know that’s exactly what will happen if he comes down here and has to deal with Paul for longer than two seconds.
Me
Please swing by the restaurant and fake an emergency. This guy is freaking me out.
“If honesty is rude now, this world has gone too soft.” Paul scoffs, shaking his head. He slams back his drink and waves—waves the waiter over for another. That’s what’s rude!
“I am full of botox and I have a bit of lip filler,” I admit bluntly, now fuming. I smile, making sure it looks as phony as it is. “Sorry to disappoint.”
He scoffs again. “Are there any real women left in this world? It’s getting pathetic.”
“What’s pathetic,” I sneer, leaning forward.
“Is judging women for doing what works for them. You judge women who don’t live up to society’s standards of what beauty should look like, which is ever-changing by the way, and then you judge them for doing what they can to meet those standards to feel better about themselves.
What is the answer to this unsolvable riddle, Paul? ”
He stares at me, eyes now full of hatred. Funny, he couldn’t meet my eyes when he thought he might like me. I shouldn't have swiped when he said so little about himself. Insurance brokers are not on my list.
“You should have been born a man,” he answers with a shrug, a smug smile on his face.
“Aria—excuse me, what?”
I glance up, and so does Paul.
Eleanor Lemon stands beside our table in a black, sleek skirt and deep purple, silk blouse. She looks as powerful and witchy as ever. Behind her—get this—is Boston fucking Black.
Great.
Boston’s brow furrows. His eyes search my face and then looks down at my date.
Paul looks back at Boston, too. His shoulders tighten at the sight of him. Oh, he knows exactly who he is.
He probably should have asked for my last name.
“What did you just say to her?” Lemmy asks calmly, turning to face my date. She’s intimidating with her black, curly hair and piercing gray eyes. Tall, thin, with fillerless lips and a sharp, runway-model bone structure. Natural. A successful lawyer. This is who Paul wanted me to be.
“I—”
“He was telling me that he will not have babies with me now that he’s discovered I have botox and lip filler,” I explain on his behalf, because we all know he was about to fabricate the conversation. Not on my watch.
Boston’s brow furrows deeper. He looks absolutely horrified.
Lemmy cocks a perfectly arched brow. She blinks. “Do you…want to have babies with him?”
“I’d rather use my vagina to store pocket change.”
Boston barks out a shocked, strangled sound that turns into a deep, rumbling cough.
“I was only saying that high-quality women are hard to find in this day and age,” Paul offers as an excuse, gesturing to me. “Case and point.”
Lemmy’s brows shoot upward, my glare deepens, and Boston Black completely snaps. He steps in between Lemmy and Paul, reaches down, and buries his fists in the fabric of his shirt. He hauls Paul out of his chair and up to his feet with embarrassing ease.
All the colour drains from Paul’s face.
“Get your wallet out of your fucking pocket and pay for dinner,” Boston demands in a quiet, lethal tone. Little, pussy Paul doesn’t have to be asked twice. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out some cash. Boston snatches it from him, but doesn’t let him go. “Now, apologize to the lady.”
I smirk, leaning back a bit arrogantly in my seat. I’m trying not to think about the fact that Boston showed up here with Lemmy when he’s making my body react in a way that typically only happens once a man is actually touching me.
Paul swallows, slowly turning his head to look at me.
I arch a brow, waiting patiently, but he never gets the chance to say it.
He is ripped from Boston’s hands so fast that it takes a second for me to realize what’s happening. He’s thrown over his own chair and is slammed against the wall hard enough to bring the building to the ground.
By my brother.
Always so dramatic.
A collective gasp echoes through the restaurant. I glance around at the other patrons with an apologetic smile. Just another day at the office, folks. Nothing to see here.
Arden walks up behind my brother, eyes wide and face flushed. She looks at me, scanning me from head to toe, offering me an ‘I’m sorry, I had to tell him,’ type of look when I meet her eyes with a pointed glare. She was supposed to come here as my sister, not bring The Beast with her.
“What the fuck is going on?” Carter snaps, his face as feral with rage as ever. “Who is this? Who are you?”
Boston sighs, running a hand over his face. “Start asking questions first, Fork.”
“Carter,” Arden pleads, but he’s too busy glaring at my date.
“Put him down,” Lemmy orders, her tone every bit the lawyer she is.
Carter pauses, as if he hadn’t even noticed she was here when he came in, guns blazing.
She’s his lawyer, and she’s preemptively defending him.
He’d be stupid to ignore her. “He was just about to apologize to your sister and go on his merry way to build himself a girlfriend in a lab.”
I burst out laughing. Beautiful, filler-less, and funny.
The sound seems to ease Carter’s rage.
He frowns, gently lowering my date to the ground. He is just about to let him go, but then Paul whirls toward me, and Carter slams his hand back onto his chest to prevent him from returning to the table.
“His sister?” Paul balks. “You didn’t tell me you were his sister!”
Am I worthy now, insurance boy? Can we forgive the botox if I have a famous brother?
I shrug. “It didn’t come up.”
“What the fuck?” he breathes, running a hand over his thin hair.
He’s having a bit of a mental breakdown and I don’t blame him.
I do blame him for getting himself into this situation, though.
I don’t know what he sees when he looks in the mirror or at his bank account, but nothing warrants treating people like this.
“Time’s ticking, asshole. Get on with it,” Boston grumbles.
Paul’s eyes snap to him, and then back to my brother. He gauges his options before he realizes that there is truly only one way out of this, and it’s through the apology that Boston ordered.
He glances at me, face full of one hundred different regrets, none of them related to offending me. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving him off. “Have a good night.”
Boston tosses his two hundred dollars onto the table and Carter, miraculously, lets my date go. Paul is out of here before I can blink.
Two big hockey players, one lawyer, and my future sister-in-law slowly turn their attention to me. I smile like a guilty toddler.
“That man was a certified nightmare,” Lemmy tells me. She isn’t wrong. “What were you doing with him?”
“First date.”
Carter sighs, running his hand over his face. Sick of me, as usual.
Boston is glowering down at me. He reaches up to smack my brother on the shoulder instead of saying anything, shaking him a bit. It makes him come back into his body, the rage slowly dissipating from his eyes.
Boston scans the lot of us. “Lemmy and I were going to have a bite and a couple of drinks. Would you guys like to join us?”
My eyes skirt to Lemmy. Beautiful. Smart. Badass. Jealousy rushes through me. I love her, and I’ll feel awful for always finding reasons to flirt with Boston if they have something going on, but…I will also be crushed if that’s the case.
Why? I don’t know. We barely know each other, but I feel like he’s mine to rile up.
“I’d like another drink,” I announce.
Carter drops his hand and glares at me. “Were the last five minutes not enough for you?”
“I just had to sit through a dinner with a man who put me down every chance he got,” I explain, and his face falls, eyes darkening. “I’d like to have a drink with people who actually like me, if that’s okay with you.”
Arden slides her hand into his and squeezes. “We like you. We’ll stay for a drink.”
“Of course, I like you. You’re my favourite Forkerro,” Lemmy says, winking at me. Carter gasps in surprise, throwing up a hand, but Lemmy’s already reaching over to grab my martini. “Let’s have a drink.”