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Could she claim she had to visit the restroom and sneak out?
Fake a heart attack? Would he even notice?
Tonight was only her second date with a man in six months. The last date with … darn, what was his name?
Miles! Miles Cooper.
Miles was handsome and very much into her.
In fact, he couldn’t stop planning future dates, talking nonstop about starting a family, telling her about his mom and how wonderful she was, and on and on. Anne wasn’t ready for a future with a first date or any date right now. Miles called her every night for two weeks, sent flowers and candy. She’d been polite and turned down his invitations, but he hadn’t taken the hint. Finally, she had to block him and refuse other gifts. Last time she heard, he left to find himself or a wife. Anne couldn’t care less.
Dating another teacher at school was out. She never went to clubs to pick up men, and she wasn’t on any dating sites. Anne heard too many horror stories about them. Although how much worse could they be than sitting across from the most boring man in America—no, make that the world?
“Here you go, ma’am.” A server placed another delicious-looking dish in front of Anne. This was the ninth or tenth dish they had been presented with so far.
Why had she ever agreed to go out with Jim to a tasting menu?
Probably because it was at a restaurant she’d been dying to try, and reservations were impossible to get. It was shallow on her part for sure, but she didn’t know Jim then. If she had, she wouldn’t have gone out with him for a meal or a drink or even coffee.
There were fifteen miniature courses tonight, and the cost was astronomical, much more than she ever spent in a restaurant. Jim was paying, and she didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but Jim, for the love of God, please shut the hell up.
They already had a scallop with a dollop of caviar, a fish soup, foie gras, a lobster medallion with homemade pasta, chateaubriand with chanterelle mushrooms, herb-roasted chicken with garlic scapes, pork belly and a summer salad.
Different wines accompanied each dish. It helped they were only given a tiny portion, but still. Anne was full.
“This is delicious,” said Jim, smacking his lips as he finished tasting the tiniest lamb chop Anne had ever seen. “But I’ve had better in France when I was there.” Blah, blah, blah.
Anne picked at her dish. She’d hoped to get to know Jim better.
Carol had described him as having several hobbies: volunteering at a local school to help kids read, feeding the homeless, and rescuing dogs. It all sounded great coming from Carol, but as Anne figured out, Jim only did those things to impress his boss. He confessed he hated kids, dogs and anyone who accepted charity and didn’t work.
Great. Anne sighed—only five or six courses to go. Then she could grab a taxi back to her house, take off her shoes, pour a glass of wine, plop herself down on the couch, and contemplate the meaning of life.
* * *
“Oh, Killy, try this.” The woman across from Killian leaned over the shellacked wooden table and tried to force a chip with salsa into his mouth.
No way in hell.
First off, he didn’t need a woman feeding him like a child.
Second, Killian didn’t need to see all her assets flopping out of her top, and third, what was her name again?
Why had he thought asking her to dinner was a good idea? And the biggie, why did she call him Killy, like he was a child—no one called him Killy. Ever.
It didn’t matter they were still in the Last Call bar where they met, albeit at a table now. The bar was close to his condo but in an area that needed gentrification. The place was a little run-down but in better condition than some buildings surrounding it.
Killian swiped at the remains of something green on the floor. Their table was in front of a paneled wall in a darkened corner. Hell, the whole place was not lit well. Ceiling fans overhead struggled to move the air around.
Small tables were set around the room filled with couples and several with guys. A couple of guys hooted and laughed as they played darts in a corner.
He loved the idea of a neighborhood bar but was thinking more along the lines of the bar on that TV show Cheers. Killian didn’t watch TV much, but one of the group he served with was addicted to the show.
Damn. What was her name?
Killian shook his head. No way was he asking. He had no intention of seeing her again. The woman had played coy with him at the bar, flirting and casually touching her hair, making it seem like he might get lucky tonight.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t had a woman since he arrived in Black Pointe, and his hand wasn’t doing it for him anymore. This was what happened when a man thought with his cock and not his brain.
