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He nodded, looking way too calm for someone who might be swallowing his teeth in the next few minutes.
“Then why are we here?” I hissed. “Why did you drive to my house and pick me up and take me to one of the nicest restaurants in the state?”
He shrank back. “I planned to do it when I arrived, but you looked pretty, you know, like you made an effort. I felt bad, so I figured we could have a nice meal.”
My eye twitched and bile rose in my throat. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I don’t want to make this messy, Adele. It’s one of the things I really liked about you. How no nonsense you are. Not like other women. I assumed you’d understand.”
And now I was ready to explode. It was just how I operated. Once wronged, I’d hate you forever. So despite how excited I’d been to spend the weekend with him, the switch had flipped. I now despised him and wanted to throw him into the ocean. “Understand what? That you think I’m not good enough for you?” I snarled.
He paled, leaning forward. “Keep your voice down.”
I smiled, enjoying how nervous he looked. “Get. The. Fuck. Out,” I said slowly, swirling my wine in my glass.
“Don’t be hostile.”
“This is me playing nice. Leave. Now.”
I looked at him coolly, determined to retain my composure. Castrating him with a butter knife was oh so tempting, but I wouldn’t make a scene. He wasn’t worth it. There was no salvaging this. He didn’t see me as worthy, and I had learned a long time ago not to beg people to accept me or love me.
Sipping my wine and staring out the window, I ignored him as he walked out. I refused to give him any indication that I cared about his flat, pompous ass.
The waitress appeared, looking nervous. “You can take his beer,” I said, picking up my menu and giving her a quick smile. “I’ll be ready to order in a minute.”
She nodded and scampered off.
Another day, another insecure, unworthy man. Story of my goddam life.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t put myself out there. I joined the apps, and I went out of my way to leave my small town and head to where there were more options. I wore makeup and made small talk and attempted to be less scary.
But at five-eleven and with a traditionally masculine job, as well as a complete inability to suffer fools, most of the male population was scared off on sight.
I was beginning to lose faith. My mom and dad adored each other, and loved each other fiercely for almost forty years. I grew up witnessing the love they had for one and every day of my life.
So I knew it was possible. Companionship, love. Granted, my two older brothers were also chronically single and my youngest brother Remy had an awful fiancé that we barely tolerated. So maybe the soulmate kind of love was skipping this generation.
I wanted to hold on to my hope that Someone who would see the real me. But so far, every guy I met or dated took one look at me and decided I wasn’t worth it.
As soon as I was certain he had left the parking lot, I took a look around. I’d order dinner, and then cross my fingers I could get a ride share to take me all the way back to Lovewell. If not, I’d call one of my brothers to.
The bar area was bustling with people chatting and drinking as the sun began to set outside. It was one of those industrial style places, with exposed duct work and water served in mason jars. Not really my style, but I was hungry, and I’d be damned if I let shithead Blake ruin my evening.
And then I looked up and met a familiar set of dark brown eyes.
Fuck me sideways.
Finn Hebert. At the bar, staring at me. I reflexively reached for the butter knife on the table. Of all the cocky asshole shitheads to witness me getting dumped. Why did it have to be him? Was Mr. Canton, my sadistic eighth grade math teacher, unavailable? Did Ritchie LaVoie, who took my virginity and then joked about it with the whole school after, have a previous engagement?
Because while tonight had been humiliating, knowing a Hebert, andthatHebert, of all people, had witnessed it, only made it worse.
All while looking especially handsome. His long hair was pulled back into a man bun. He was wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose the tats on his forearms, and his dark jeans were molded to his legs. The man wore clothes really well.Bastard.
Finding clothes that fit my tall frame was always a challenge. But this asshole was like NBA-player tall and looked like he’d stepped out of a hot Viking lumberjack magazine.
He picked up his beer and sauntered over far too gracefully for someone who was the size of a baby giraffe.
“Everything okay?” he asked, looking down at me.
