Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 66978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
A little white lie never hurts.
I open my menu, hoping that there is a gluten-free option. If there’s not, I’m going to have to find somewhere else for us to eat, and since I don’t have reservations, that will be an issue.
I scan the menu. Yes! At the bottom is an asterisk with “gluten-free option available” next to it.
Thank God.
“They do have gluten-free crust,” I say to Terry.
“But that does present a problem,” she says, “because you don’t want gluten-free crust and I do.”
“That’s no problem. We’ll get separate pizzas.”
Her eyes widen, showcasing her thick mascaraed lashes. “My goodness, I can’t eat a whole pizza myself.”
“Sure you can. Get a ten-inch. And if you don’t eat it all, you can take it home.”
She smiles at me. “You’re so smart. That’s a great idea.”
Really. I’m smart because I suggested she get her own pizza and take the excess home.
Wait until she finds out what I know about geopolitics. I’ll be a fucking genius. Not that I think that subject will come up.
A busboy comes by with glasses of water and sets them in front of us. “Your waiter will be with you soon,” he says before he leaves.
“So what kind of pizza do you like?” I ask.
“Vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.”
“Are you vegan?”
“No. I eat cheese and eggs. Only cheese really. I don’t like eggs.”
“I see. They have a lot of good toppings here.”
“Yeah…” She glances at her menu. “Since I’m getting my own gluten-free pizza, I think I’ll get artichoke hearts, black olives, and mushrooms.”
Ugh. That sounds awful. “Great. I’m getting pepperoni and sausage.”
“Such a man,” she gushes.
“I happen to know a lot of ladies who like pepperoni and sausage,” I counter.
“Yeah, but it’s kind of a man’s pizza, don’t you think?”
“No, not really.” I look down at my menu to have something to do. “Do you want a salad?”
“Yes, I think I’ll have a vegetable salad with oil and vinegar. Maybe a side of garlic bread.”
“That’s a lot of food.”
“But you said I could take it home.”
“True, I did. And you can.”
I hope she doesn’t think I’m being cheap. Then again, it doesn’t matter, because I really don’t care.
All I want is for this date to be over.
Because I’m a gentleman, I see Terry to the door of her apartment, and I carry her takeout container.
“I had a lovely time,” she says. “Thank you so much.”
“Yeah, it was fun.” I hand her the box holding her leftover pizza. “Good night.”
She smiles coyly. “Don’t you want to come in?”
I feign a yawn. “I can’t. Early day tomorrow.”
“Oh.” She looks down at the ground for moment.
I have no intention of seeing her again, but I don’t like hurting a woman’s feelings. I’m hoping she won’t push it.
“Anyway, good night,” I say again.
“Can we go out again?” she asks.
“I’ll call you,” I say.
“Okay. I look forward to hearing from you.”
But the tone of her voice says it all. She won’t be hearing from me, and she knows that.
I take her key from her, unlock the door, and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Good night.”
She nods simply and closes the door behind her.
I don’t like hurting a woman’s feelings. I shouldn’t have asked Terry out to begin with. Rather, I shouldn’t have accepted when she asked me. I’ve never gotten used to women asking men out. I’m kind of an old school Texan. I knew Terry and I weren’t right for each other, and I had a feeling she was too young for me—which turned out to be very true. She talked a lot about bands I’ve never heard of and how she and four roommates have pajama parties and pillow fights. Not my scene for sure.
I grab a cab back to the Wolfe building and head up to my apartment.
But then I drop my jaw.
“What the hell are you doing out here?”
22
KELLY
“You have me at a disadvantage,” I say. “I don’t have a key to just let myself in to your apartment.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “I apologized for that, Kelly. I told you why I did it. I was concerned.”
“Maybe I’ve been concerned about you. Where have you been tonight?”
He walks to his door, unlocks it, holds it open for me to enter. “It’s not really any of your business where I was tonight.”
“Why not? It seems to be your business where I am every second.”
“Did you come here to argue? Because you know as well as I do that it is my job to know where you are. To see to your safety.”
“Even if it means barging into my bathroom.”
“I can apologize again, but I don’t think it will do any good.” He shakes his head. “To say that I regret it would be an understatement, but I have my reasons for barging in.”
“Yeah. To peek at me. What are you? Some kind of peeping Tom?”