I have to look up and away from him to stop myself from crying. I wonder when the tears will stop whenever I think about my dad.
“Were your parents divorced?” Patrick asks.
“No.” I simply shake my head.
“Did she really…” Caine trails off.
“Yep,” I say, nodding my head. “Happy birthday to me!” I announce, placing my hands on my chest and then opening my arms outward. Can you tell I’m being sarcastic?
Pamela comes back to the table with our salads, and I can’t help but goad Caine after she walks away.
“Psst, Patrick, do you think she did something to his salad?” I whisper, leaning over the table toward him.
Caine slams his utensils down and huffs. “For fuck’s sake!”
I giggle. It’s so easy to set him off!
“I don’t know,” Patrick says. His brow furrows, and he leans over the plates to inspect the salad. “Are those bubbles from the dressing, Caine?”
“Why did I invite you to sit with us?” Caine asks, side-eyeing me between clenched teeth.
“Because she’s hot,” Patrick says. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes as though his brother has lost his mind.
“I think that was a rhetorical question,” I say to Patrick softly. I pat his hand that rests on the table to cushion the blow.
Patrick looks over at Caine, who nods his head before shutting his eyes. Caine then drops his head and rests it on his hands. The poor man looks like he’s in pain.
“I’m sure the salad is fine.” I reassure him,lifting my fork and reaching for his salad.
“I think we forgot to put the Parmesan cheese on this! Be right back!” Pamela says as she scoops up the salad before I can spear a lettuce leaf with my fork.
I look up at Caine, wide-eyed. “Did that really just happen?” I ask, my mouth agape.
Caine looks at me and just blinks.
My eyes dart to Patrick when he takes a bite out of his own salad.
“How do you know she didn’t spit in your salad?” Caine asks Patrick as he places another bite in his mouth.
“Tastes good,” he answers with a shrug.
I can’t help it—I sit back, and I frown, my nostrils flaring in disgust. I’m floored. Gross!
“You’re disgusting,” Caine says.
“I am who I am.” Patrick shrugs his shoulders. The man even smiles and then winks at me.
Pamela returns with a new salad and places it in front of Caine. We both look at the salad and then back at Pamela. I don’t know about him, but I’m skeptical.
“Pamela, did you spit in my salad?” Caine asks.
I blink at the question. Direct and to the point.
“Of course not,” she replies, her face turning red. She toys with her fingers in agitation.
“Pamela, it’s Micky’s birthday, and she’s alone. We invited her to join us. And no, I don’t want a relationship with you, and I don’t want to date you.”
I can’t believe this is happening in front of me. Pamela opens her mouth to speak, but Caine raises his hand to stop her from interrupting.
