“Mother, may we have dessert?” I asked, thinking it was a special occasion. Did she even remember?
She tsked and tapped her manicured nails on the table. “Absolutely not. That is a very bad idea. I hope you’re following your diet at Portia’s.” She shook her head. “That’s another reason you need to stay at the house. Portia is all about the sweets. She’ll have you as big as a house before long.”
“She runs a pastry shop. It’s her job,” I said curtly, not able to stop the words. There it was. My cracks rising to the surface.
“And she’s obese,” Mother added smugly. “Terrible really . . . probably why she never got married.”
I prayed for the check to arrive soon.
She cleared her throat. “At least Finn will be moving back soon. He’ll help keep you in line.”
I flinched and looked down at my barely eaten salad, counting the specs of pepper and bits of parmesan cheese, refusing to look at her.
Instead, I thought about how Mother still hadn’t said one word about my birthday. I felt a sharp ache, right in the center of my head, almost like a migraine. I pressed my fingers to my head, hoping to ease the throbbing, but it didn’t. Anger, that’s what it was, building and bubbling like a volcano and ready to spew out profanity and commit reckless acts. A small whimper escaped me, and I winced in dread, hoping she hadn’t heard. She hadn’t. She was occupied with her phone.
I heard familiar laughter and looked up, my eyes focusing on the outdoor eating area across the restaurant where two floor-to-ceiling French doors were pushed open, letting me see the lush greenery and pretty flowers that decorated the perimeter.
I could also see Leo.
He was sitting with three other guys having lunch and maybe a business meeting, judging by the notebooks on the table. He didn’t see me, so my eyes ate him up. He wore dark jeans, a blue button-up shirt and a navy sport coat that fit tight across his broad shoulders. Relaxed suited him, I thought, as my eyes ran over his tousled blond hair and scruffy jaw. He tossed his head back and laughed again, making my breath hitch. When would I stop wanting him?
He didn’t want me; he felt sorry for me. He’d made it clear at the park. Leo was a guy with other fish to fry. I mean, why would he want a tiny, little popcorn shrimp like me when he could have a Texas-sized catfish like Tiffany? I rolled my eyes at myself. Why did I always think about food?
He picked up his glass and took a drink, freezing when his eyes collided with mine.
Mother was texting, so I arched my eyes at him and nodded surreptitiously towards the bar that was located conveniently inside a dark alcove. He followed my eyes and shook his head at me. Refusing to take no for an answer, I smiled, nibbling on my lips as I gazed at him beseechingly, but he looked away when one of his companions made a comment. Frustrated, I picked up my purse, not thinking about the dangerous game I was playing, not considering how shitty I’d feel when he didn’t meet me at the bar.
It had been days since I’d seen him. I didn’t understand where my need was coming from, but I couldn’t go another minute without talking to him.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mother, I have to go to the restroom.”
She waved her hands at me, still looking at her phone.
First, I purposely walked outside to the patio and strolled by his table, letting him know where I was going. Then I went to the bar and ordered a glass of water. And waited.
It took fifty-three seconds for him to appear beside me.
“Not drinking today?” he said in a low voice, sending delicious tingles all over my body. He settled himself beside me on a stool.
“No fake ID,” I said, putting my hand on his inner thigh and caressing the taut muscles there. “You seem tense. Is there anything I can do to help you relax?” I asked, my lips curving up.
He stared at my stroking hand and swallowed, but didn’t move away. “I just came over to see how you’re doing,” he said with a stone-like face, not giving anything away.
I scowled and pulled my hand back. “Why? Because you feel bad for the poor little rich girl with all the problems?”
He looked away from me.
I said, “Let’s go in the bathroom and fuck.”
He exhaled heavily and stood up from the stool.
“No?” I said, feeling all at once ashamed for the words coming out of my mouth, yet completely powerless to stop them. “You know, one of my favorite books has this sizzling, hot chapter where the main characters go to lunch together. And even though it’s a first date, they end up in a bathroom stall, because they can’t wait to get at each other. He just bends her over and gives it to her, hard and fast. I’d like to reenact that scene.” I took a hasty sip of water and got my nerve up. “All we’d have to do is pick the biggest stall, and then you flip my dress up and take me from behind. Or I could get on my knees for you? I’d suck you, if you like.”