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CHAPTER ONE
BRITTANY
“This just isn’t working,” Peter says, his blue eyes hooded and somber. Despite the words, a slight smirk edges up the corners of his ridiculously plump and shiny lips.
I’ve always hated his lips and the wet, bordering on drooly, kisses he doled out. My dogs give out drier kisses.
Despite his lack of kissing skills, he isn’t a bad guy or boyfriend. We have fun together.
Or so I thought.
“We’re not working out?” My head angles, my gaze sweeping over his pale blond hair, reasonably handsome features aside from the fish lips, and the eager way he leans forward over the table with his silly red and pink polka dotted tie dragging through the muddy brown gravy his mashed potatoes are swimming in. “How so?” I ask, because I’m genuinely curious.
What exactly am I doing wrong?
Again.
In the past six months, Peter is the second boyfriend that has broken up with me.
Well, I guess finding Steve with his dick in another woman’s mouth was a silent but effective manner of breaking up with me, despite him never uttering the official words. He didn’t chase after me, nor did he call coming up with a dozen lame excuses. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in trying to make our relationship work.
Not that I would have after that.
I don’t put up with cheating. That doesn’t accidentally happen. That’s a clear and conscious choice to screw over your current partner and show you don’t give a rat’s behind about them.
Peter hasn’t cheated. My eyes narrow. That I’m aware of.
Nor have I, despite some tempting offers.
I reach for my iced tea, wishing now I would have gone with something stronger, and take a long, less-than-satisfying gulp.
It’s funny. I’m not upset. Maybe a tad disappointed. About the wrong things. I gave up the chance at a date with a nice veterinarian two weeks ago. That I wanted to accept should have told me I wasn’t into Peter.
But what if the vet was giving me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech five dates later? It’s a depressing thought.
What exactly am I doing so wrong? Or is my luck with men just that bad?
I prop my chin on my hand, my elbow firmly planted on the table, uncaring about good manners and dinner etiquette, and listen while Peter drones on about why he doesn’t see a future between us.
I’ll admit I tune him out after the first part of his obviously well-rehearsed speech is about my job. That’s not something I can change. Okay, something I’m not willing to change. I won’t give up a career I love for a guy that kisses like a cow chewing cud.
And would he really want me to quit if he had any idea the money I make? Doubtful.
“You’re not even listening to me!” Peter snaps. “You don’t take our relationship seriously.”
My chin slips off my hand, my head jerking as I struggle to straighten up. “That’s not fair. I took our relationship very seriously,” I weakly argue. At this point, I just want this meal to end so I can go home to my dogs Barnabas and Quentin. Thank goodness I drove here and won’t need to rely on him for a ride.
Fast on the heels of that thought, the fact that I drove not him clicks into place and a wide grin splits my face. Karma, fish-lips!
Peter scowls, swipes the napkin off his lap, and dramatically throws it down on his plate. His mostly still full plate.
Guiltily, I look down at my empty one. I had zero problems finishing my meal. Good thing too, since I’m probably going to end up paying for it as Peter stands up and plants his fists on the table, glowering down at me.
“Honestly, Brit, you’re doing me a favor.” His thick lips curl up in a wobbly sneer. “You’re showing me yet again why I shouldn’t waste any more of my time with you.” With that, he stomps off.
I have half a mind to call after him and remind him I drove us here. Nah, I’ll keep that smug enjoyment to myself for now.
With a wide grin still on my face, I sip at my boring tea and stare out the large window, picturing Peter stomping around the parking lot, his gravy splattered tie plastered to his shirt and furiously putting in for an Uber or begging a friend to pick him up.
