Ruthless (The Calvettis of New York 2)

“Let’s get you out of the way of the glass.” Dale rests a hand on my elbow. “Come join me at my table. It’s over there.”

I turn in the direction he’s pointing. There’s an empty table less than ten feet from where we are. If I had just looked beyond not-Dale, I might have seen real Dale when I arrived.

As embarrassed as I am, I glance at the man I just shared a drink with. I can’t read the expression on his face, but I’m sure he can read what’s written all over mine.

Horror.

I flirted with a stranger, stole his girlfriend’s drink, and told him all about my string of dating flops.

“Can I get a cosmopolitan?” The redhead asks the waitress who is trying to wipe smashed peas from the front of her white button-down shirt. “Mine seems to have disappeared into thin air.”

She snaps her fingers next to my ear.

I should apologize, but where the hell would I start?

This is Manhattan. I can duck out of here, disappear into the crowds of the city, and never see these people again.

I’ll become a funny story to them, and they’ll become a reminder to me why I’ll never go on another blind date again.

I turn to real Dale. “Can I get a rain check on dinner?”

“I’m in New York until the end of the month,” he says softly. “If you’re up to it, we can plan something while I’m here.”

I nod.

“I’ll see you out.” He slides a hand around my waist.

I don’t resist because I could use his kind touch to get me past the people who are still throwing looks at me.

I know I caused an unwanted distraction.

We start across the quiet restaurant toward the exit. I steal a fleeting glance over my shoulder.

Not-Dale is still on his feet. His eyes lock on mine for a split second.

Our short date may have been unintended, but I know I’ll never forget it. I know I’ll never forget him.

***

Tapping my foot on the hardwood floor in his living room, I wait for Max to stop laughing.

This is the very reason why I’ve avoided him for the past two days. I tried to avoid everyone, but I live with my sister. I moved in with her three months ago when my former roommate decided she was moving to Minneapolis.

When I got home after my disastrous blind date on Friday, Gina wasn’t around so I went straight to my bedroom. That solace lasted until yesterday afternoon when she dragged me out of bed and down to our grandmother’s Italian restaurant.

Helping in the kitchen was a good distraction, but my grandma Marti knew something was up with me. She kept shooting me questioning looks as we made ravioli together. I told her I was thinking about a work issue.

It wasn’t a complete lie.

I have to work on my issues; in particular, my issues with dating. A break is in order.

I’ll follow through with my dinner with the real Dale, but that’s it. After that, dating is taking a back seat to everything else in my life.

“I still can’t believe that you sat at the wrong table.” Max shakes his head, sending the front of his blond hair tumbling onto

his forehead. “You didn’t call him Dale even once? Did you do all the talking?”

“No,” I lie. “He said a few things.”