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Scratching the dark stubble along his jaw, he mulls it over. “I think I met him once or twice. If he’s a friend of Coach, I’m sure he’s okay. And if he’s not, I know where to find Coach.” He says the last part with an evil grin.
“I have to get going if I want to make it to the restaurant on time, which means you need to leave.”
“So bossy. I see you don’t need me anymore now that you’re all grown up.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m twenty-five years old. I think it’s safe to say that I am grown. You just don’t like the idea of me dating anyone. At any age.”
He shakes his head. “Nope, I will never get used to it.”
My dad escorts me out of the office, waiting next to me as I lock the door. He plants a kiss on my cheek and wishes me luck before he disappears down the long hallway and out of sight. Now that I’m alone, the nerves make a reappearance. The halls are quiet with the Flyers and Sixers out of the playoffs. And we don’t have another concert for a few more days.
Tonight is our first real date. I still can’t believe it. How can I be in love with a man who has never taken me on a proper date? Not that it matters. Jamie could take me to Dunkin’ Donuts for coffee, and I would be happy with that.
Love. I’m in love with Jameson O’Connor. I smile at the thought as I exit the building, excited to tell him how I feel after dinner. I hope he feels the same about me.
Lit with bright lights and a red sign placed over the entrance, I can’t miss Luciano’s. I pull up out front of the Italian restaurant, allegedly owned by the Philly Mafia, with a few minutes to spare. A short man wearing a red-and-black valet jacket opens my door and helps me out of my car. We exchange my key for a ticket, just managing to hand him a tip, before another man, middle-aged with short dark hair, holds open a massive oak door, greeting me.
I step inside, and the scents of garlic and herbs assault my senses. It smells so amazing my mouth waters. I can practically taste the food on my tongue.
From the outside, I hadn’t thought the restaurant was this big. But it’s deceptively large with a second floor that overlooks an open kitchen you can see into from every angle. The walls are made of brick, the floors a dark shade of bamboo that shines in the dim light. In the far corner, I notice a wine bar made of casks, set up for tastings. The place is simple yet elegant, providing the feel of Italy.
Behind the host desk, a young woman with long dark hair waves at me. “Welcome to Luciano’s. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes, it should be under Jameson O’Connor. Is he here yet?” Scanning the room, I don’t see Jamie anywhere in sight. Not that I had expected him to show up on time. But a girl can hope.
“No, he hasn’t arrived, but I can take you to your table, so you can order a drink and make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay,” I say, wondering if I should wait until Jamie shows. He should be here any minute.
Lifting two menus, she steps out from the desk and escorts me through the dining area and up the stairs to a private booth. It’s tucked so far back in the corner that I doubt anyone could see up here. Perfect. After days apart, we can use all the privacy we can get. I doubt I will be able to keep my hands off Jamie, and in this dress, I assume it will be the same for him.
I slide into an oversize semicircular booth lit by candlelight. The hostess unfolds a cloth napkin on my lap and pours me a glass of wine with a smile, promising to send Jamie up when he arrives, before exiting.
Taking a sip of red wine, I glance at the menu. Served family style, except for a few healthier items that offer smaller portions, the meals require Jamie and me to share. He eats pretty much anything, so this should be easy.
The waitress returns as I finish my glass. Jamie is not with her, which causes my heart to sink into my stomach.
“Are you eating alone tonight?” She gives me a forced smile, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she feels sorry for me.
I hadn’t realized how much time had passed since the hostess seated me until I check my cell phone. No missed calls from Jamie. No text messages. What the fuck?
Peeking up at the waitress, I hold up my index finger. “Can you give me a minute? He should be on his way if he’s not here already.”
“Sure thing. I’ll come back to check on you.”
Once she walks away, I send Jamie a text, assuming I will get a quicker response. No answer. Another five minutes pass and still nothing. I punch the keys to dial Jamie, only to get his voicemail on the first ring. I leave him a message to ask if he’s on his way and to let him know that I am waiting for him. Like an asshole.
Jamie has been late before, a no-show even, but he always calls to let me know. He wouldn’t stand me up for our first dinner date. I want to believe that Jamie is not like the others and that he didn’t put something else before me or get cold feet. He had asked me to move in with him for Christ’s sake.
At least thirty minutes pass before the waitress comes back with a pen and pad in hand. “I’m sorry, but you have to order something, or we can’t hold the table much longer.”
“Um…okay.” Eyeing up the first thing I see on the menu, I order the lasagna, which I assume will be the size of a dinner plate. Jamie had better show up in time to eat it with me.
She scribbles down my order, before setting a basket of bread in the center of the table along with a plate of olive oil and Italian spices. Then, she disappears into the back of the restaurant, leaving me alone once again with my thoughts.
Tearing off a piece of Italian bread, I dip it into the oil and stuff the doughy goodness in my mouth. My mood turns to shit the longer I wait, making me want to eat until I puke. If Jamie doesn’t get his ass here, this will officially be the worst date of my life. I have never been stood up before—not even by some of the meathead jerks I’d dated in the past.
