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People looked over, but I didn’t give a fuck.

“You asked me on a date.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been flirting with me for months.”

“I know.”

“You sat here talking to me about having fucking kids.”

“I know.”

“And you’re married?”

“It’s complicated.”

I grabbed my purse when he said that bullshit. It was the sentence women had been warned about since the beginning of fucking time… It’s complicated.

“No,” I said.

His brow pulled together. “No what?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Blair—”

“You’re married. That’s actually one of the least complicated relationship statuses available.”

He stood. “Can you sit down?”

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

“I’m not trying to disrespect you.”

I stared at him then looked around the restaurant. I looked at the wine, my untouched entrée, and the dress I’d changed four fucking times.

I thought about six months of conversations I’d apparently been having with someone’s husband.

Humiliation hit first, then anger mixed with rage.

“You let me come here thinking this was a date.”

“It is a date.”

My head jerked back. “Are you fucking serious?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what the fuck did you mean?”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I should’ve told you before tonight.”

“You think?”

“I wanted to.”

“Oh, well, thank God. That changes everything.”