“Not that one either,” I murmur, violently sliding plastic hangers across the pole in my closet.
There’s a rap at the door and I gasp, grabbing a shirt and yanking it on. “Don’t get it!” I call out, not even wanting to deal with my mom. “I’m coming!”
I pause at the dresser to check my reflection real quick before darting out of the bedroom. The door closes behind me just in time to see my mother open the door, despite my attempts to stop her.
I sigh to myself, hoisting my purse on my shoulder and heading toward Vince.
“I’m Mia’s mom, Shelly,” she says with an overly enthusiastic smile.
Nodding once, hands shoved into his pockets, he says, “Vince.”
“Vince, that’s a good name. You know each other from school?”
Sliding past her, as if putting myself between them can erase the exchange, I say, “We’re leaving.”
“Well, okay, but I guess I should probably give you a curfew or something, right?”
“No need,” I assure her. “We won’t be out late.”
“This is so weird.” Looking past me at Vince, she says, “Usually I’m the one going on dates.”
It amuses me how she says that like that’s the normal order of things. Without any further damage, I manage to get us out the door, but my face is already warm. I had hoped to at least start our is-this-a-date? without flushed cheeks. High hopes, I guess.
Vince surprises me by opening the door for me when we get to his car. His eyes move over my body, a cute little smirk grazing his lips. “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” I said, my eyes moving quickly over him, too. “So do you.”
Turns out we’re doing dinner. I decide I may have preferred the quiet of a movie theater, but we’ve already pulled into a well-lit parking lot of a steakhouse I’ve never been to. I don’t know why I figured we’d get Italian, but I don’t mention it.
I feel girly and awkward as we sit at the tall table across from each other, my fingers dancing across the white linen tablecloth, looking for something to do. I need something—anything—to distract me from the reality of what I’m doing right now. Having dinner with the guy who, just a few nights ago, pinned me against my kitchen counter and wrapped his hands around my throat, making a threat he may actually be capable of following through with.
Yeah. Good call.
I’m also legitimately terrified this goes well. If it goes well, he may kiss me, and I’m afraid of him kissing me again, maybe more than I’m afraid of anything else he might do.
“So…you have a big family.”
His smile dims and I fight a cringe, wondering what could possibly possess me to lead with that.
“Yeah, pretty big,” he verifies.
“That’s cool. I don’t. There’s my mom and my siblings, but we don’t have a lot of extended family, none in the area. I have an aunt who used to live here, but she moved.”
I hear myself being boring. I want to stop, but words just keep tumbling out of my mouth like gumballs from a broken vending machine.
“Your family—um, are they all, I mean—uh…” How does one ask about the mob?
“Bad?” he guesses, with an almost sympathetic smile.
I look around, at a loss. I sort of just want to get up and leave. I’ll have to change schools, so I never have to look at him again.
Chuckling, Vince says, “You don’t have to be so nervous, Mia. It’s not even a real date, remember?”
I’m not sure why he thinks that makes me feel better, but I’m not comfortable enough to say so.
I must still be looking like I’m seeking an emergency exit, but he goes ahead and answers the question I didn’t completely ask. “Yeah, they’re all pretty much… involved. I really don’t want to talk about them tonight, though.”
“Does anyone know what I saw?” I blurt.
His face clears for a moment, goes completely blank, before a hint of caution breaks through. “No. Nor can they—ever.”
I nod, not exactly comforted, but it makes sense.
Luckily, the waiter comes over and saves us from our own conversation, taking our drink orders and telling us the specials. He tells us he’ll give us a few minutes to look over our menus, then heads off to grab our drinks.
I turn to the safety of my menu, wishing I could shake my nerves. Maybe subconsciously I figure if I bomb this not-date hard enough, he won’t ask again.
Won’t kiss me again.
Won’t turn me into an unthinking lust-monster again.
Won’t draw me any deeper into his crazy life.
We order when the waiter comes back, but his departure then means he won’t be coming back to save me again soon, and I’m on my own here.
Vince moves the rolled-up silverware off to the side, then glances up at me. “So, are you this comfortable on all your dates?”