What the heck? How did Mike know about my ex? They were both dirtbags, so they had that in common.
“That’s not part of the game. I did my truth.”
“Too scared?” He was taunting me, and my panther was preparing to leap on him.
“Do it, Linc.” Dale was holding his belly and laughing. “That would be the funniest thing ever. Do it. Do it,” he chanted.
People picked up the chant, and everyone was clapping in rhythm. I ground my teeth at the idea of communicating with Lenny. And I could hardly complain about Mike when Lenny was the president for life of the asshat society.
But I had the perfect excuse. “I deleted his number.” Too late, I realized I should have said I didn’t have an ex, but Dale would have told the group I was lying.
“Oh, too bad, so sad.”
What was wrong with Mike? As well as being a skank and a possible cheater, he was egging me on as if he sensed my distaste and wanted to humiliate me. I was regretting the many beers I’d consumed.
The guy pulled out his phone. “Lenny, was it?”
Dale must have told him, and I glared at my baby bro.
“I have it.” Mike was invested in humiliating me, but I could bear it if I got Dale out of his clutches.
I could say no. I could get up and walk away, preferably dragging Dale with me. But my brother was watching me with drunk expectant eyes. And I was tired of the tension.
“Fine.”
Someone whooped, not Dale, but he clapped me on the back. He was at the stage where he could close his eyes and not wake up until lunchtime tomorrow.
I copied the number from Mike’s phone. Lenny and I hadn’t communicated since the breakup, and I was certain he'd blocked me. I asked the universe to make it so.
After starting a new message thread, I blinked because the numbers were blurring. I attached the best pic of my panther, but my finger hovered over the send button. Lenny was garbage, and I’d spent six months getting over him. This might be reopening old wounds.
I hit send, and it went through with a whoosh, but I hoped my ex would never see the message.
2
BRONSON
I should’ve known something was up when my mother, out of the blue, called and said that she wanted to take me to the hottest new restaurant in town. It wasn’t that my mother and I didn’t get along. We did, for the most part. Sharing a meal together wasn't unusual for us, especially lunch at her favorite sandwich shop. But this? This was different.
My mother was a lot of things. Being on the cusp of a trend wasn’t one of them. In a lot of ways, she was very old-fashioned. She and her other retired friends had their routines. It worked for my mother, especially since losing my father. She had her knitting group every other Wednesday, her tea and book club on Thursdays, and every Sunday, she went to brunch with the same group of friends at the same restaurant they’d been going to for twenty years.
Having her ask me to take her to a hot, new East-meets-West fusion restaurant? Yeah, that hadn’t sounded like her. Not at all, and still, I agreed without a second’s thought.
When I called to let her know I was on the way to pick her up, she said, “Oh, I’m already on my way.” That was sign number twothat this wasn’t simply my mom wanting to grab dinner with me. I ignored the flashing neon sign telling me this was a set-up and went to the restaurant.
I didn’t see her car in the lot when I arrived. Strange, but also, I lived closer to this place than she did, so I let it go. I went inside to get us a table, leaving my name with the host and letting them know my mother was on her way.
The place was pretty cool, I’d give it that. It was a fusion of Italian and Japanese, something I’d never tried before. The menu was absolutely magnificent… so magnificent that I got lost in it. I was only half paying attention when the server told me my other guest was here.
“Mom, I could’ve picked you up…” I looked up, and my jaw dropped. Sitting across from me was not my mother. It was a man, probably fifteen years older than I was but wearing clothes I’d expect to see on a college kid trying to get into the club.
“I’m sorry, I think there’s been a mistake,” I said.
“Bronson, right? I’m Kyle.”
Crap, there was no mistake. Arggg, my mother was at it again. She was very old-school and thought that all omegas should be married and start their families by 25. Why 25? I had no idea. She hadn’t had me until she was nearly forty.
The worst part was that I talked to her about trying to “help me” get a husband. I didn't want nor need her help. The first few times, she'd been upfront, asking me if she could set me up with a friend’s son. I missed those days. I could deny her request and then move on with my day.
