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“I’m good.”
Would it be too much if I reached across the table and wrapped my hands around his throat, choking him out? Because that’s all I want to do right now. And if I can’t do that, I just want to catch him in a lie and call him out on it.
“You must have kids of your own to be so passionate about all this.”
His eyes narrow slightly and he flinches. “My sister has a kid. She, uh …” he pauses, nudges his steak around the plate, then pushes the sharp edge of his knife through the gristle and muscle. The expression on his face grows wanton. “She had two, but the oldest … he was kidnapped several years ago.”
“Oh, shit. That sucks. Is he okay?”
Giving a quick shake of the head, Ben is either too upset for words or he’s really good at faking emotions. I’ll assume it’s the latter so I don’t respond. How do you respond to something like that anyway?
Throughout the rest of our breakfast, we make small talk about his renovation biz. He tells me he travels here from Phoenix about once a month, and I tell him that I go there on occasion to visit friends and family. I only say that in case I have a need to continue this relationship beyond the weekend and hook up with him back home. I hope to at least have King’s real name soon so that won’t happen.
He asks what I do for work, and I tell him I’m a supplier for a luxury clothing department store. This is a good line of work to tell men you’re in if you don’t want to give out many details about your career because most men aren’t interested in discussing women’s fashion.
When the waitress brings our check, Ben almost grabs it but I snatch it away in time. No way will I let him leave here thinking I owe him shit.
“I invited, I pay.”
“Let me pay for mine at least.”
“No. I got this.” I pass the waitress my credit card and she walks off. Ben follows her for only a second.
“I’ll get the next one then.”
Our gazes lock. He sips the last bit of his coffee, peering at me over the lip.
“We’ll see.”
He laughs softly, like he knows I’m joking. What if I were being serious, though? It’s a little conceited on his part. Or is he trying to show that he’s confident when really, deep down inside, he’s insecure?
The waitress brings me back my card, smiling. “Tove.Lovethat name. Did I say it right?”
My cheeks grow hot. I avoid looking at Ben. “Um, it’s actually To-vay.”
“So pretty,” she coos. “You two enjoy the rest of your day. Thanks for stopping in.”
I really hope he doesn’t put two and two together and figure out who I am. I can’t even lie and say it’s a nickname because it’s on my fucking bank card. I drop it inside my purse, hoping that one gets glossed over.
“Tove?”
“Hmm?” I look at Ben and he’s lifting a brow.
“Thought your name was Nancy.” There’s a smirk there.
“I rarely give guys my real name. I’m cautious like that.”
He rubs his chin, studies me for a moment. “Better than Karen, I guess.”
“What? You’ve never lied about your name?”
“No. Never needed to.”
“That’s because you’re a guy.” I push my chair back and stand up, frustration gripping me. Frustrated that he’s found out my real name and frustrated that he seems amused by it. This would be another one of those times I’d like to choke him.
He follows me to the parking lot. I keep my face buried in my phone.
“Where you parked?”
