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I was in the military. I signed up to protect people like her.
I looked guiltily at Swayze, hoping that I didn’t make her feel bad, but one look at her closed off face and I knew that my words had struck home.
“Sorry,” I grumbled.
She sighed. “I sent you to prison for twelve years, Patrick. I realize that I did that. Nobody but me. So yes, you’re allowed to be upset that you went from a flourishing military career to felon.”
“Technically,” Bruno pointed out, “he was getting out of the military. He wasn’t exactly ‘decorated’ after four years in.”
“He has a point,” I agreed.
Swayze glanced at Bruno, then back down at her menu that the waitress didn’t take.
“Do you think that it’d take them forever and ever to get dessert cooked? Should I order it now or…” Ignacia’s voice was grating on my nerves.
I tuned her out again because Swayze bent over and removed her shoe.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom.” Ignacia stood up. “If the waitress comes back, tell her I’d like vinaigrette dressing. I forgot to add that.”
I ignored her.
Even if the waitress did come by, the only thing I’d remember to tell her was that I would need extra marinara for my garlic knots.
The moment Ignacia was out of sight, I was once again staring fully at Swayze.
I couldn’t stop the concern that was filtering through me at the sight of her pulling her shoe off with a grimace.
With Ignacia out of the picture for a few minutes, I got up and walked around the table where Swayze sat, looking down at her foot. I hunkered down only a few inches away from her and stared at her foot.
“That looks bad,” I admitted. “You should probably be taking a few days off of that.”
Bruno stood from his chair and leaned over the table to get a better look. “Agreed. That looks like you broke it.”
“Not broken,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t be able to walk on it if it were broken.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I had a broken femur when I was twelve and played the rest of my soccer game on it. I’m pretty sure that you can endure pain and ignore broken bones if you want to. But yeah, I would go get that checked out for sure.”
She sighed. “I’ll get it checked out in a few days if it’s still bothering me.”
She started to slip her sock back on, but when she went for her shoe, I stopped her. “Leave it off.”
When she would’ve still put it on, I pulled it from her hand and went back to my seat just as Ignacia was rounding the bend and making her way toward us.
“Did you know that you both have a fork tattoo?” Bruno asked, eyeing Swayze’s bare leg.
I grimaced.
Yeah, I’d noticed that, too.
“Really?” Swayze asked curiously.
“Really what?” Ignacia grumbled as she retook her seat.
“Swayze and Trick both have a fork tattoo.” Bruno paused. “On their legs. Thighs to be specific.”
Ignacia turned to look at me, her eyes soft for a moment.
“I know what Swayze’s is for. It’s obvious she likes her food. But why do you have a fork tattoo?” my date asked sweetly.
I wanted to knock that glass of wine into her so she’d go to the bathroom again to clean up.
“Mine isn’t because I like to eat.” Swayze paused. “Not exactly, anyway. It’s because…”
“Something better is always coming,” I finished, my eyes turning to Swayze. “It means save your fork, because dessert is on the way.”
“Exactly.” She nodded firmly once. “That’s exactly right. My mom used to say that all the time. Save your fork, Swayze. You start with a salad and move on to the main course. Then, from the main course, you move on to dessert. If you save your fork, there are better things to come.”
“Or,” Ignacia supplied, “you could just use the extra fork that restaurants give you.”
“Your stepfather told me that,” I ignored her. “That’s why I got the fork in the first place. Though mine was done a lot more… crudely. I got mine done in prison.”
“Oh,” Ignacia said. “That sounds like fun!”
I turned to look at my date. “It was not fun.”
Ignacia pouted, as if I’d just taken her kitten away. “Really?”
That’s when I realized something. Ignacia had a thing for a bad boy. She liked the whole ‘felon’ thing. Well, that made one of us.
Dinner continued in that same vein.
Swayze would say something, Ignacia would contradict her or say something degrading in some way, and we would all ignore it.
Eventually, though, not even the good food could make me enjoy it.
I ate so fast that by the time Bruno was ready to leave twenty minutes later like he said he was, so the hell was I.
Ignacia, however, was still eating and drinking.
My manners that my grandmother had ingrained upon me, however, forced me to stay even though I’d rather do anything but.
