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Chapter One
Delilah
Youknow,awomanlike you won’t have options forever.
My date's words echo in my ear, fueling the anger already stewing inside me. Bastard. I try not to let it get to me, not wanting any of the heat in my chest to become sadness. I will let myself be angry, could even let myself be embarrassed. But I won’t allow myself to be hurt by someone who doesn’t deserve even an ounce of my tears.
The swishing of the plastic bag in my hand only adds insult to injury. It's my takeaway bag, holding a salad that I never even asked for. My date took the liberty of ordering it for me himself because, according to him, I need to lose a few. That was the moment I should have gotten up and walked out, but I second-guessed myself. Thought maybe he didn’t mean it like that. Maybe I was overreacting.
Well, it only went from bad to worse.
“So, what do you do?” he asked once the waitress had left giving me a meaningful look. I think, looking back, she was either wishing me luck or warning me to run for the hills. I wish now I had been able to read her better. Taken her advice.
"I work at a restaurant," I tell him. He gives me a look that makes me almost sorry I said that. Like maybe working at a restaurant is a bad thing. So, I add, "As a cook."
"Ah." He nods, but it's a thoroughly unenthusiastic one. "And what do you do for hobbies?"
"Um..." I struggle to find the answer. I haven't had much time for my hobbies lately. "I like to read and write sometimes."
"What do you read?"
“Um...a lot of online blogs," I smile warmly. " I love this one called Fit and Curve. It’s kind of a lifestyle and fashion tip for curvier women,” I think about it for only a few seconds before I add, “I also read romance novels sometimes, and the occasional self-help book.”
I don’t typically reveal that to people I’ve just met but I’m trying to open up more on dates. I'm typically a friendly, vivacious open book, but on dates, I clam up out of insecurity.What if they think I'm stupid? What if I sound like the uneducated hick from Alabama that I am and some guy laughs in my face?
So far, though, it hasn't happened, and that gives me the boldness to admit to my romance novel leisure.
But then a little insulting quirk appears at the side of my date's lip as he leans into me, “So, not real books?”
The insult is there in his voice, even if I didn't already catch it in his face.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask tightly.
He shrugs and gestures with his hand in an exaggerated flourish. “Oh, nothing. I just thought when you said read, that you read about…I dunno. Intelligent stuff. Stuff that matters. But I forget that not everyone has the privilege of being an intellectual with a college degree.”
It's like a stab right to the chest. The knife twist comes in knowing that at least the college degree part of that statement is true.
I gape at him unable to believe how rude he's being. But he simply brushes it off like it's nothing, launching into an explanation on how he's working at a university leading a research team that studies quantum physics or something or the other. The whole time I’m staring at him in utter disbelief and disgust.
By the time the salad comes, I'm ready to get the hell out of there. The waitress is nice enough to bring it in a to-go box already as if she knew this would go left. I shoot her a smile of gratitude and she nods in commiseration as she leaves.
Still, I try to be nice about it. Must be the southern girl in me.
“Well, this has been fun,” I say. “But I forgot that I actually….uh…I have an early day tomorrow, so I need to go get some stuff done and go rest."
He frowns. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah,” I turn to gesture to the waitress for the check, then turn back and attempt a smile. “This was fun, but like I said…”
He shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “Unbelievable.”
I shouldn't ask but I can't resist. “What is it?”
“You fucking women,” His voice deepens and shakes a little as he speaks, eyes flash with fury. Even still, he smiles but it's like something out of a horror movie. “You just love to play games, don’t you?”
His tone is starting to scare me. God, please don't let him make a scene here. "I don't know what you mean—”
His hand suddenly shoots out and grabs mine, his grip so tight that I let out an involuntary gasp. He yanks me closer and I nearly fall over the table. At the same time, he leans in and his eyes blaze with a crazed intensity that shoots fear through my heart.
