It was the first time he’d said more than a few words to me in days.
“I’ve got a date, in the city.”
For some reason I felt guilty telling him about it, but he was the one who’d been adamant that our affair was only a one night stand and nothing more.
“Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Some doctor. I got matched with him on the Internet.”
“I see,” Grant said.
I leaned past him and took my purse from the counter. My arm brushed his and made my breath catch in my throat. Why did he have such an effect on me? Why did my heart have to go nuts for the one guy who wasn’t interested?
“Well,” he said awkwardly, “I hope you have a nice night.”
My eyes locked on his. I wanted him to be jealous. I knew I looked my best.
“Don’t wait up,” I said.
In all the years that had passed since high school, not one thing had changed. Grant was still watching me go out on dates with guys that would never match up to him, and I was still hoping against the odds that somehow, one of them would make him jealous and force him to make a move.
I got in my car and turned the ignition. For a moment I sat still, the engine running, and waited. What was I waiting for? For Grant to run out and stop me? I was being ridiculous. He was never going to do that.
*
THANK GOD FOR GPS. Otherwise, I’d never have found the secluded little restaurant Rob had chosen for our date. It was a beautiful old turn of the century villa that had been converted into a restaurant. It was hard to find, located in an expensive, quiet neighborhood in the hills overlooking the city.
It was my idea to meet him there. He’d wanted to pick me up but I didn’t let him. I didn’t want to be stranded in the city without my car. It would mean I couldn’t drink more than one glass of wine, but I wasn’t in the mood for drinking anyway. At least not with someone I didn’t know.
Inside, the house was decorated extravagantly, as if it was still the home of some rich nobleman from the colonial era. An ornate chandelier hung over the entrance and a valet took my keys. Inside, I asked the concierge for Crawford and he brought me to a candlelit table by a window. We were on a hill overlooking the entire city and the view was stunning.
A handsome man in a tailored suit, white shirt, and black tie, stood to greet me.
“You must be Lacey,” he said.
His voice was delicate, a hint of British in his accent. His hair was short and neatly combed. A gold watch sparkled from his wrist. He was handsome, certainly presentable, and there was no doubt he was wealthy and well travelled.
The only problem was that he wasn’t Grant. There I was, doing it again. I had started immediately, instinctively. I was comparing him to Grant, and I was allowing myself to feel the disappointment I always felt. No one would ever measure up. Grant could have lifted this guy over his shoulder with one arm. Rob didn’t stand a chance of measuring up physically. Not to sound shallow, but this guy’s cock was probably half the size of Grant’s.
I shook my head. I forced myself to stop the comparison. I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t keep sabotaging my happiness by allowing myself to believe that every man I was with wasn’t as good as Grant.
Who was I to make that judgement? This man was clean, polite, educated, successful.
Who the hell was I to decide that Rob Crawford wasn’t every bit as intense and passionate and fulfilling a lover as Grant Lucas?
“You must be Rob,” I said, plastering a wide smile across my face.
The concierge took my coat and I took my seat.
I stifled a sigh and tried to look excited to be there. There I was. On a date. I’d put my makeup on and gotten dressed up. The least I could do was make the most of it.
*
DINNER PASSED PLEASANTLY ENOUGH. Rob made very good company. He asked me about my life in the Valley, the vineyard, the wine store I had with Faith. Of course I couldn’t tell him about the Brotherhood and all that entailed. He didn’t need to know about that. I told him I lived with my three adopted brothers. He thought that was a little strange, but it was too early for him to have much of an opinion on how I chose to live my life.
In turn, he told me about the plastic surgery business. It was actually quite interesting. Super-rich wives from the city came to him and had their beauty enhanced while paying him inordinate sums of money. They actually paid him to cut them open with a scalpel and break their bones.
“Aren’t they afraid of the pain?” I said, taking my last sip from the one glass of wine I was allowed for the night.
“You’d be surprised what women are willing to go through in the name of beauty,” he said.