Built for Love

“No, I like windows.” The hostess follows my order, walking toward the tables that line the giant windows. I don’t think she wants me in the corner with Chad either. She has no idea how much she’s actually helping me. If I had money I’d so tip her.

He pulls my chair out for me. I tense when I feel his hand graze my ass. “Sorry about that.” I drop down in the chair.

“Can I get a glass of red wine please?”

“Starting already? I like it. I’ll have my normal.”

“What kind of red?” I’m going to guess they don’t have the fruity kind that comes in the box. I don’t care what anyone says. I think it tastes wonderful and it always does the trick.

“Something sweet please.” She hands me a menu before strolling off. “What did you do to her?”

“Who?” He looks up from the menu.

“The hostess.”

“Oh, Sherly? We had a thing a long time ago.”

“Okay, but I think it might be a little hurtful for her to see you out on a date. Maybe you should consider taking your next one someplace different.” I want so badly to say that this isn’t a date, but I keep my mouth shut and think about all the people I helped by agreeing to this.

“Don’t be silly. We slept together once a few weeks ago.” He goes back to looking at the menu.

“I’m not sure a few weeks ago counts as a long time ago, but okay.”

Thankfully, the drinks come quickly, and I push for us to go ahead and order. Chad plays on his phone for a bit and I sip my wine. I’m glad that he’s preoccupied. The more he looks at that phone, the less we have to talk. That works out great for me.

“Sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. Closing a big deal. There are millions on the table. You know how these things go, right?”

“Yeah, they can be crazy.” I take a bigger drink. I’m pretty sure he’s full of crap.

“There, it’s done.” He slides his phone into the front inside pocket of his coat. “How did everything go last night? Everything get handled?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles.

“I’m welcome?” I hiss. “You were playing games while people could have been hurt.”

“I think you’re being dramatic, and everyone is just fine.” Chad motions to a server walking by and points to my now empty glass. Where the heck did that go? I sigh, leaning back in my chair. I gaze out the window hoping to see Abel spying on us, but there is nothing.

“So you and Abel? You work with him now? Or is there something more there?”

“Work.” Another glass of wine is set in front of me.

“That’s what I figured. You’re not his type.” Ouch. I tuck my hair behind my ear. What the hell does that mean?

“What’s his type?”

“Last woman I saw him with a few weeks ago looked like a supermodel. So many men are into that. I like the wholesome look more.” He winks at me. Was that supposed to be a compliment?

“Wholesome?” I snort. “Yeah, Chad, I’m sure you’re into wholesome.” I burst into laughter as the food is brought out. “Yes! I’m starving.” The food barely hits the table and I’m digging in. At least this will brighten my mood. Even though my thoughts keep wandering to Abel and what the hell he’s doing.

“We’re sharing these sides.” He pushes them across the table toward me, then gets up and sits in the chair right next to mine. “Now I can reach.” I nod and take another bite of my steak.

“I really am into wholesome. At least that’s what I want. I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me forever.” I freeze when he reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. He starts to lean in. Is he going to kiss me? What the hell?

“Oh shit.” I jump up when his mouth almost touches mine. “Bathroom.”

“That way.”

“Thanks.” I take off as fast as I can, wondering if it’s terrible for me to try to sneak out the window. I check my phone and there’s still nothing from Abel. I get even more irritated. I don’t know if it’s the wine or what, but I find myself texting him.

Me: At least someone wants to kiss me.

I hit send and shove the phone back into my purse to go finish my steak.

11

Abel

I’m on my way out of the van before I finish reading the text. Kiss is the only word I registered, and if she’s thinking about that but I’m not the one beside her, it’s an emergency.

“Where’re you going?” Mark yells after me.

“Inside.” Isn’t it obvious?

I throw open the double glass doors to the steakhouse, brush by the hostess, who calls, “Sir, sir, do you have a reservation, sir?” sidestep a waiter who is balancing a tray full of meat on his arm, and skid to a stop in front of Chad’s table. Only Pepper isn’t here. Instead, some redhead is in the chair opposite of him.