I try to brace myself for whatever he might say next, but I’m really just hoping he doesn’t saypooagain. The people around us are starting to whisper. I assume, anyway. My brain is pro-actively erasing this traumatic event from my memory as it unfolds.
“Oh really, what’s that?” I pray he’s talking about recycling.
“Why don’t we just push all the garbage off the side of the Earth?” He raises his hands in awhy didn’t anyone think of thisgesture.
And I’m out.
“You know Clay, I don’t think these anchovies are sitting very well with me, I think I need to go home. Thank you for the date.” I slip my feet back into my heels and wince at the small act of torture.
Heels high and standards high? Dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.
“Oh no. I hope the omega three’s didn’t go down instead of up.” He sighs and flags down our server.
“Down?” I ask reluctantly, tucking my chair in and grabbing my purse.
“Poo, Celeste. Instead of the anchovies going to your brain they make you poo.”
“I have to leave. Right now.” I can’t contain the urgency from my voice but at least it’s convincing him, if not for an entirely different reason. I scramble for cash in my purse because it doesn’t look like Clay believes in human currency. I throw down a fifty and run to the door.
“Cynar?” I hear a deep voice mutters to me as I pass the entrance.
“No! No Cynar, Andre. But I do think I need a stiff drink.” I sigh and give the confused giant a grateful smile, keeping my mouth closed so anyone within a ten foot radius of me doesn’t have to smell my anchovy breath.
I’m coming for you, Dominic, and there will be hell to pay.
EIGHT
Cappuccino
Celeste
It’sa little after nine in the evening by the time I make it to Biblio & Brew. I drove here, half with rage, half in delirium from the date that I just went on with Clay. I’m ready to give Dominic a piece of my mind.
I stomp my way from the small parking lot where my bright yellow beetle sits next to the large wooden doors of the bookstore. I yank on the heavy handle and almost rip my arm off as the door doesn’t move an inch. It’s locked. I jiggle it a little to make sure. Then with the rage of a thousand suns I growl at the locked door, throw my purse on the ground, and wrap my fists tightly around the handle, yanking on the damn thing.
“What could that door possibly have done to deserve this treatment?” I hear a snarky voice ask to my right. I jump a little at the invasion of my frustration, until I realize who spoke.
“You!” I point a finger at Dominic and begin to march to where he stands, arms crossed as he leans against the side of the building smirking at me.
Unfortunately my warpath for the justice of my dating experiment is shortened as my heel gets stuck in a crack in the sidewalk. Just as I wobble and feel my centre of gravity shift, strong arms reach out to save me from the pavement. I whip my head around, and there’s Dominic’s face inches from mine, concern written all over it. My rapid breathing from my anger and exertion turns into soft pants, my lungs desperate for cool air. My chest rises and falls quickly between us. Dominic’s eyes quickly trail from my exposed collar bones, up the shaft of my neck, to my face. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry and my skin feels flushed.
“Careful, Hoot. You know, you don’t actually have wings,” he says softly, his lips tugging up in one corner. I’m momentarily frozen, from what I don’t know. I can’t move.
Don’t want to move.
What? No! Celeste get the hell up! Remember you’re mad?! Poo date!
“Okay, one, thank you for catching me, and two, how dare you!” I say, pushing up from his arms and out of his stupidly strong embrace, my skin pebbled from the sudden lack of warmth. I try to create distance and move to grab my purse, huffing in irritation.
“How dare I catch you? Should I let you fall next time?” he mocks sarcastically, leaning against the building again. So casual. As if my dating trauma is a funny little anecdote to his day.
Does nothing ruffle this guy’s feathers?
I scoff and try to smooth out the wrinkles of my satin dress, pulling up a fallen spaghetti strap. Dominic’s eyes trackthe movement, lingering on my shoulder for a moment before meeting my gaze.
“No! I mean, yes, please catch me if I fall again. But no, I mean the date! With Clay! The hippie who doesn’t wash his hair, says my aura needs anchovies, and thinks the Earth is flat!” I yell, arms thrown wide begging him to see the ridiculousness of it all.
“I’m sorry, what now?” he asks, his brows pulled together, hands tucked in his pockets, head cocked to the side in confused amusement.
