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Tight dress = no lunch. The LA way.
“Oh come on,” he teased. “Your other boyfriends must take you to places like this all the time.”
Other boyfriends. That was a laugh. I did a quick, mental run-through of all the bad dates I’d been on in LA, and at that moment, the only boyfriend I wanted was him. I stared into his smitten brown eyes, trying to picture us together. Curled up on the couch in his nice home in Beverly Hills. Watching movies and drinking red wine together. Sharing Italian food. It made me feel happy. Safe.
I ordered another glass of champagne and inched closer to him. The booths were U-shaped, and each drink had us slowly gravitating closer to each other. One more drink and I’d be sitting next to him. Two more drinks and I’d be on his lap.
Damn the sheer curtains.
As I sipped my drink, Vincent slid next to me and casually rested his right arm on the back of the booth. His left hand grazed the top of my thigh. My leg tingled.
“You know,” he said. “I don’t normally do this with coworkers. But there was just something about you…”
Our eyes locked. His hand inched further up my thigh.
“To be honest, I don’t get out all that much,” he continued. “My son is my whole life. As much as I love my job, I hate all the traveling. Being away from him is really hard.”
My heart melted. A good-looking, sweet, devoted dad. He was beyond perfect.
Then why couldn’t I get the image of David out of my head?
Stop it, I scolded myself. David is your best friend’s boyfriend. You are on a date with a good-looking, single man, who is interested in you. A date you’ve been looking forward to for a very long time.
I snapped my attention back to Vincent.
“What do you and your son do together?” I asked.
“He plays baseball, so I go to a lot of his games. He loves the movies, too. There’s a great theater in the Marina with reclining couches and a full dinner menu. It’s his favorite place to go.” He smiled proudly.
“That sounds like fun,” I said.
“Yeah, I know it’s not as exciting as the Hollywood scene, but that’s what happens when you’re a dad.”
I would’ve taken baseball games and Disney movies over bad dates and pretentious clubs any day.
“Trust me,” I assured him. “Hollywood is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Come on. A girl like you?” He looked me up and down. “You must have guys lining up.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, mentally sorting through my dating roster. I had them lining up all right. Let’s see, there was the Brit whose credit card declined and I got stuck with our two-hundred-dollar bill… the jock who was sleeping with my friend and I simultaneously… the actor who spent our entire date reciting his IMDB page…
“Let’s just say the grass is always greener,” I said.
Vincent removed his left hand from my thigh and brushed a loose strand of hair from my face. “Well, do you think any of your boyfriends would mind if I kissed you?” he whispered in my ear.
Before I could answer, his lips were on mine.
It was exactly how I had imagined it. Soft, warm lips, his hand behind my neck. A strong masculine kiss, with a slight sense of aggression. Shivers spreading through my body. The taste of bourbon.
As our lips continued to interlock, I could feel the image of David slipping further and further away.
Vincent pulled back and looked me straight in the eyes. “Well, I hope those boyfriends of yours aren’t too jealous, because I might want to do that again.”
I giggled. “No boyfriends.”
“I find that hard to believe.” He looked over my shoulder for a long moment. “But then again, I wouldn’t know. I’ve been out of the dating scene for so long.”
I shot him a confused look. “Why? Because of your son?”
“No, because…” He cleared his throat, looking down at the table. “You know. Because I’m married.”
If it weren’t for the champagne buzz, I’m almost certain I would have clubbed him over the head with the nearest plate and ran for my life.
“You’re what?” I asked, positive I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Married,” he repeated oh-so-casually. “You knew that.”
“You’re married.” It didn’t even come off as a question. More of a dead, lifeless statement.
He nodded, casually taking a sip of his bourbon. As though this was the most normal conversation in the world.
This is not happening, I thought, shutting my eyes tight. Not again.
“Wait, I’m sorry, and how would I have known that?” My voice was rising now.
He shrugged. Mr. Casual. “I just thought you knew.”
“Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” The vocal decibels went up another octave. A borderline shriek. I stared accusingly at his bare left hand.
He shrugged again. “I stopped wearing it a long time ago.”
Just like that. No other explanation. He just “stopped wearing it.” You know, because everyone just wakes up one day and decides to stop wearing their wedding ring.
I stared at him, incredulous. Finally, realizing I wasn’t going to let it drop, he sighed. “Listen, Justine, people sometimes… grow apart. Relationships change over time. But like I said, I love my son. He’s my whole life. So I have to do what I can… for him.”
This heartrending speech was interrupted by our waitress, a tall, gorgeous blonde who looked identical to every other waitress in Los Angeles. She smiled at Vincent, clearly admiring the handsome, dark-haired gentleman seated next to me. Only I no longer saw him as handsome. I saw him as a number. Another number to add to the long list of Neanderthals on Justine Sterling’s master dating list.
“Are you two ready to order?” she asked.
Vincent looked at me expectantly. This was the moment of truth. He knew that at this moment, one of two things would happen. I would either a) decline dinner and demand to be taken home or b) accept dinner, thus insinuating that I wasn’t opposed to his affair proposal. Vincent was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an amateur at this game.
Fortunately, neither was I.
“You know,” I said, grabbing my menu. “I’m starving. Are you?”
A subtle smile inched across Vincent’s lips. He nodded slightly, taking my free hand in his. This was it. I had agreed to dinner. He had me right where he wanted me.
“You order first,” I urged him.
I didn’t listen to his order. Instead, my eyes browsed the page until I found the most expensive item on the menu.
“And for you, miss?”
I smiled confidently and pointed to the astronomically high-priced beef rib. “I’ll have the 32-ounce rib, please. Medium well.” I paused, looking over the wine menu. “And actually, I’d like to order a bottle of your finest champagne, too.” I turned to Vincent. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” he insisted, waving his hand at the menu. “Whatever you’d like.”
I knew he wouldn’t object. Even through my alcohol-fogged glasses, I saw him as he really was now. Vincent, with his expensive car, expensive clothes, and expensive home, was a façade. He was an image. On the outside, he had the perfect life. A perfect marriage, a perfect son, and a perfect job that allowed him to travel all over the world. But in reality, he had an unhappy wife, a lonely son, and a job that did nothing but contribute to both of those factors.
And a man like Vincent certainly wouldn’t taint his ego and decline a beautiful woman an expensive meal. Especially in front of their beautiful waitress.
I waited for our waitress to bring the champagne bottle, then downed one last glass before excusing myself to the restroom.
“Hurry back,” Vincent called after me.
I shot him an award-winning smile before walking away. Luckily, the bar area of the Penthouse was so crowded that it was easy to lose sight of someone.
I snuck around the corner, down the elevator, and hailed a cab home, leaving Vincent all alone with a 32-ounce steak and lots and lots of wasted champagne.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_a3be9629-288c-5e73-9b4c-191427aa127e)
Renee’s house was covered in boxes. She and Dylan had moved into a condo prior to the unexpected pregnancy, so they were now transferring some of their items into storage to make room for the baby. She said they were going to start looking at houses soon.
Renee was sitting upright on the sofa when I walked in, a silver laptop propped on her lap. She was the only person I knew who could wear an oversized t-shirt and a messy ponytail and still look gorgeous.
“I know it’s a mess,” Renee said, without looking up from her laptop. She looked deeply focused. I felt like I was interrupting something.
“It’s fine.” I stepped over a box to get to the loveseat. “Do you, um, want me to help you pack?”
“No, it’s okay. Dylan will finish at some point.” Her eyes were still trained on the computer. Fixated on her latest project, no doubt. Renee was always embarking on some sort of new venture.
I sat quietly on the loveseat and scanned the room while Renee finished typing. The only decorative items that remained were two aromatherapy candles and a black and white photo of Renee and Dylan that hung on the wall.
“Sorry. I’m done.” Renee slammed her laptop shut like it had offended her with its distraction.
“What are you working on?”
“Oh, it’s… nothing.” The smile she was hiding indicated otherwise.
“Renee.” I looked at her accusingly. “Spill.”
Her eyes lit up. “Okay, but you can’t say anything because Dylan doesn’t know yet. Promise?”
I placed my hand over my heart. “Grove’s honor.”
As we both laughed simultaneously, the mention of our previous joke immediately invoked a flashback in my mind.
It was the fall of 1998, the beginning of our sophomore year. Renee and I were smoking a joint in the Groves, the woods behind our high-school football stadium. We were supposed to be at the football game, according to our parents, but the only reason we’d gone to the game was to stalk our current love interests. After realizing they weren’t there, we immediately headed to the Groves.
“Tell me the truth,” Renee said, taking a swig from the Budweiser can she’d hidden in her coat pocket. “You did, didn’t you?”
“Did what?” I knew exactly what she was referring to.
“You know.” She rolled her eyes. “Derek. You had sex with him, didn’t you?”
I hesitated. Derek Spaulding was the sole reason I’d come to the football game, and the second person I’d ever slept with. But because I was 15 and insecure, I’d hidden this from my friends so they didn’t judge me and think I was slutty.
“You can’t tell anyone,” I insisted. “Especially Beth.” Renee’s friend, Beth Broadley, was still a virgin and I didn’t want to make her feel bad. I also suspected she judged us and thought we were slutty.
Renee placed her hand over her heart. “I swear…” She looked around like she was seeking something sacred to swear on. Coming up empty, she looked back up at me and slurred, “Grove’s honor.”
We laughed like this was the funniest saying ever created.
Much like we’re doing now.
“Okay.” Renee inched closer to me, something she always did when she was about to dish a secret. Like the close proximity somehow trapped the secret from getting out. “Have you ever heard of Faded? The denim company?”
I nodded.
“Well, they held an online indie artist contest and Electric Wreck was selected as one of their finalists.”
“That’s great.”
Renee shooed me with her hand. “No, what’s great is that I just convinced their marketing team to sponsor Electric Wreck’s next tour.”
I could tell she was waiting for my enthusiastic reaction, but in truth I had no idea what that meant. “So… what happens now?”
“They’ve agreed to give the band 25 grand to cover their touring expenses. And in exchange, the Faded logo will be on the band’s touring vehicle and all their touring flyers and promotional materials.”
I had to hand it to her, for someone who had no marketing background whatsoever, the girl certainly had a knack for it. “Renee, that’s incredible. Dylan is going to be so excited.”
“I know. My little rock star.” She smiled nostalgically at the black and white photo of them on the wall, then turned to me with a serious expression. “Now, let’s talk about the real reason you’re here.”
The reason? There was a reason I was here? Renee never needed a reason to invite me over.
She inched forward, even closer this time. This was serious. “I’m worried about you,” she said in a low voice.
I shot her a confused look. “Worried? Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “Justine. We’ve known each other since we were kids. You think I don’t know when something’s bothering you?”
Okay, so maybe I hadn’t been overly forthcoming about my lingering feelings for David, but come on. He was her ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t a favorable subject.
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “I’m just having a little trouble adjusting, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t seem like you’re making much of an effort.”
I flinched like I’d been slapped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
