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“But ... why would he want to open a restaurant?” I asked.
“Listen, Duffy, something’s dodgy about all this ...” Kieran trailed off. “Makes me wonder if he’s telling us the entire story about his getaway.”
BJ never showed any interest in opening a restaurant. He was also a horrible cook. If this was him looking for a new career direction, he clearly needed a better map.
“Thanks for telling me.” I sniffled.
“Course. It just seemed odd, innit?”
“Odd. Awful. Your pick.”
“What else is new?” Kieran’s voice brightened, signaling he was uncomfortable with my brazen display of emotions. “How’s that fake fiancé of yours?”
“Riggs?” I asked, distracted. “Good, last I checked.”
Which was a considerable time ago. I had been avoiding him all week, but I was positive he was alive. His mess was all over my flat, serving as vital signs of life.
“He’s been giving me advice about my fit neighbor, Shelby. I think she’s thawing.”
“Oh, goodie,” I mumbled distractedly. “Very nice.”
“I googled his name, you know. Found loads of photos he’s taken. He’s not a professional loser like BJ.”
“Hmm. Quite.” I was still contemplating the BJ thing. “Sorry, Kieran, I gotta go.”
After I hung up with my brother, I paced the living room. It was Saturday morning, and the job sites wouldn’t resume posting until Monday, so there was no point in checking.
Thankfully, Riggs didn’t sleep the night here. I knew he was hooking up with other women, because how else would you explain his night away?Notthat I cared. He could shove his behemoth willy inside whoever he liked, as long as it wasn’t me. I tried lifting my spirits up by reminding myself that our City Hall appointment was in three bloody days, and with it, our meeting with Felicity Zimmerman, the big-shot lawyer Riggs’s friend had hooked us up with.
“Honey, I’m hoooome.” The door opened and Riggs swaggered in, looking deliciously rumpled and thoroughly fucked.
Bugger.Normally, I could hear him coming up the stairs and disappear into my room before he was able to chat with me. Today, it was almost like he’d tiptoed his way up here.
Right. Because he’s just been dying to talk to you.
“Hello,” I greeted coolly. “How was your night?”
“Nine out of ten.” He sauntered over to me while I opened the fridge, about to make breakfast. He slammed it closed before I could retrieve the egg white carton.
“I got a better idea.” He grinned down at me.
“Better than eating the most important meal of the day?” I raised a skeptical eyebrow. He stank of another woman’s perfume, and suddenly, this lie I’d been feeding myself, that I didn’t care about his manwhoring ways, wasn’t working quite so well.
“Oh, we’re having breakfast.” He flung his heavy arm across my shoulder, headlocking me and kissing the crown of my head. “And just like me, it’s going to be the best you’ve ever had.”
“Oh myGod, Riggs.” I dropped my head back, moaning, à la Meg Ryan inWhen Harry Met Sally. “I think my mouth just orgasmed.”
I dropped the fork I’d just sucked clean on my empty plate. This was hands down the best waffle I’d had since I moved to the States.
We were at a small, unassuming diner in Park Slope. It had checked black-and-white floors, bright-red booths, and pink-and-blue neon lights. All the staples of an underwhelming culinary joint.
“You know,” he said, elevating a thick eyebrow, “I could give the rest of you an orgasm if you—”
I raised my hand. “Absolutely not.”
“Not even as my wedding present?” He wiggled his brows rather adorably.
“How’d you find out about this place, anyway?” I circled the air with my fork.
