Enemies With Benefits (Loveless Brothers 1)

“I’d prefer to go home alone, thanks,” I say. “I need to get up early in the morning.”

It’s still too polite, too nice, because it’s been bred into me since I was old enough to say goodness gracious.

“It doesn’t have to take a long time,” he says, like this somehow makes his offer better.

I wonder how I ever felt optimistic about him. I wonder if my optimism meter is broken, or at least seriously damaged.

Todd’s face changes in a way that reminds me of a five-year-old about to have a tantrum in the toy aisle at Walmart. He snaps his fingers in the air again, and this time, I swear I flinch.

“Check,” he says as the waitress comes over, and she nods, then leaves.

He looks at me. It’s calculating look, like he’s tallying up how much money he just spent not to get laid.

The almost-tantrum look on his face intensifies.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and heads toward the men’s room.

The moment he’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I should have ended the date the first time he snapped at the waitress. I should have told him I wasn’t interested instead of that I have to get up early tomorrow. I should have been polite but firm and just walked out of there, figure out my own way home.

I shouldn’t have let him pick me up for this date in the first place.

Todd takes his sweet time in the bathroom. I pull out my phone and text Adeline.Me: Don’t trust your cousin’s cousin again, for the good of womankind.She doesn’t text back, so she must be at work already. I flip through Pinterest on my phone. There are some cute pictures of hay bales decorated for a wedding. I pin one to my work account.

I wait for Todd to come back. I wait for the check. I wait and I wish that Todd had taken me for meatloaf at Louisa’s instead. I also wish that Todd was someone else entirely, someone I’d actually want a second date with.

Maybe I should stop dating for a while, I think. I keep getting disappointed. Maybe I need a hiatus.

The waitress flits over, dropping a smile and placing the check on the table, enclosed in a leather-bound folder that matches the menus. My heart ties itself into knot but I look up at her, smiled, and say thanks. She smiles back.

Thank God.

I mentally brace myself before I open it.

$254.09.

I close it again, like there’s a poisonous snake inside it, my heart beating way too fast. I thought it’d be expensive but not that expensive. Good God, was his steak plated with gold? Was my chicken encrusted with pearls and I didn’t notice? What exactly about that wine was worth $125 anyway, and can I re-cork it and take the rest home with me for that price?

I drink the rest of my glass of wine, pour myself a few more ounces, and drink that too.

Just let him pay, I tell myself. This was all his idea.

I wish I could. I wish to high heaven I could be one of those girls who just hands over the check and acts like it’s the natural order of things, but I can’t. I hate feeling like I haven’t paved my own way, like I don’t deserve whatever I get.

I grab my purse and start fishing through it for my wallet. My palms are getting sweaty, and I feel like I just had four espressos instead of wine.

Two hundred fifty dollars. Two. Fifty.

Still no Todd. There’s a second panic, low and steady, eating at the bottom of my stomach but I ignore it because I really need to take one disaster at a time.

The waitress walks by. I’m now elbow-deep in my purse because my wallet has apparently migrated to the very bottom. I pull the thing onto my lap.

I shove some stuff around in there. Still no wallet, but I tell myself that of course I can’t see it — it’s dark in here, and besides, the interior of my purse may as well be an abandoned coal mine.

I still don’t find it.

I start pulling stuff out.

An eyeshadow palette I’ve used exactly twice. A tube of mascara. A tube of mascara that has old - do not use! written on the side. Three tubes of chapstick, a tube of tinted chapstick that’s supposed to give you a healthy, vibrant glow but in fact does absolutely nothing, a bottle of Advil, and a water bottle cap.

No wallet.

One earring. Foundation. A plastic bangle bracelet. Eyeliner. A pack of unopened index cards, two dry-erase markers, and a tiny notebook that’s rubber-banded shut. A used paperback copy of East of Eden and also a used paperback copy of Shopaholic Takes Manhattan, because I’m a woman of complicated tastes.

Still no wallet. Still no Todd.