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Older guys might be fun for a fling, and maybe they’d be fun to hear stories from about the olden days. But I’m skeptical about the long term, despite the evidence to the contrary within my own family.
But none of that matters. I have a story to write. Letting the chef join me would be wildly unethical.
After Milo’s quick retreat, I’m still not left alone. Halfway through my chicken entree, someone plops into the chair across from me.
“Uh, what are you doing here, Cherise?”
“Hello
to you, too!” chirps my sister, sipping my drink.
“Hey! You just swallowed about a dollar’s worth of gin there. Pay up; I’m a poor college student.”
As my best friend, she levels me with a look. “And I am equally poor. Cut me some slack.”
I gape at her. “So why are you here and not at your job?”
She eyes me mischievously and says, “Networking.”
Well, that’s obvious, by the way she’s trying to be nonchalant about spying Milo.
“You have to order something if you’re going to sit here. I’m working.”
“Sure! You can squeeze me into your expense account,” she replies with a shrug.
I snort, “Expense account? Meadows Community College does not pay for pens, let alone these three courses.”
She doesn’t hear me. I’ll say this for my sister, she can’t be stopped when she sees an opportunity to get her foot in the door in her field. She’s been a one-track mind ever since her toddler days of standing on a kitchen chair to help Mom measure out flour and sugar for birthday cakes.
“Oh my god, there he is,” she says.
“Are you fangirling right now?”
“What? No! This is professional. I’ll be right back; I’m going to go introduce myself.”
I watch as my sister bounds over to where Milo leans against the bar, chatting with the bartender during a lull. She introduces herself, and then I see Milo beaming at her, offering his hand, and she takes it. He covers her hand with both of his, the way that especially warm people tend to do. Okay, fine, it’s cute.
And then, he looks over at me with a curious expression, then turns his attention back to Cherise. Then back to me, then back to Cherise. What is he doing? Trying to make me jealous?
For the first time since Cherise’s lipstick permanently stained my homemade Chris Evans pillowcase, I want to scratch her eyes out. Listen, if our oldest sister Chloe can hold on to her virginity for a foreign celebrity, then I’m no crazier for saving myself for Captain America.
But wait a minute. I’m not jealous. What do I even have to be jealous about? Maybe because saving myself for an A-list movie star seems more and more bonkers the longer I’m in the presence of Milo St. Germaine?
No, that’s not it. I’m sure what’s happening here is that Cherise is networking, and Milo thinks she’s flirting. And his body language tells me he knows I’m watching him lap up the attention from someone else just minutes after I’ve turned him away.
Well, then. You just earned yourself a one-star, buddy.
Chapter Four
Milo
“What in the ever-living fuck?”
“Milo. We don’t read the reviews. Especially not college newspaper reviews.” My local business partner, Carl, is enjoying his cigar while sitting out on the hotel veranda, cackling over my one-star review in the—what is this again? I loudly flip backward to page one. Meadows Monitor.
“Did you read this, though?” I don’t care about the rating as much as the words.
“College kids can’t afford our restaurant; why do you care what they think?”
