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But appetizers at places like these—the places I frequent—are very rarely enough to satisfy my roaring hunger. Not that I ever actually eat to fullness. I haven’t eaten to fill my hunger since Chelsea Bettencourt called me a linebacker in sixth grade.
So, as gross as the salad will be, I’ll eat it and quietly listen to Corbin ask me for the hundredth time why I don’t eat honey.
“Honey?” His voice trickles into my ears, a distant sound that tears me from this lackluster menu.
How ironic, the name he chooses to use for me is a food item I haven’t had since I was twelve.
I glance up from the menu in my hand and offer him a stiff smile. “Yes?”
“Have you decided what you want?” He looks at me pointedly, then toward the waitress standing at the edge of our table, waiting for our orders.
“Oh. Yes. May I have the autumn salad? And can we hold the vinaigrette, please? I’ll have just oil and lemon for the dressing. Could we also skip the cheese? Thank you.”
Corbin rubs his chin, watching me hand over the menu. “Saoirse, that’s just a small appetizer. Don’t you want a meal?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Not that hungry,” I say, forcing the indifference in my tone despite the rumbling in my stomach.
On cue, my stomach growls, but I ignore it. I’m used to the gnawing feeling at this point in my life. I glance toward the entrance of the restaurant where Hugh, my bodyguard, is sitting at a table alone, his eyes skimming the room. He’s been my guard for the last ten months, and I loathe him more than I loathe being unable to eat at a restaurant.
It’s nothing more than his personality. He’s hit on me multiple times now, and usually, I shut them down. At this point, it’s exhausting to constantly do. He isn’t like Scotty, who always made an attempt to treat me like I’m a real person.
No, Hugh views me as a paycheck. Yet, he also views me as a piece of ass he somehow thinks he owns the rights to, as well. And he hasn’t backed off since I’ve begun dating Corbin, either.
I brush my hair over my shoulder and lean forward to grab the glass of red wine. Corbin’s gaze stays on me, mouth agape when I chug it down in one swift gulp. When I set the glass down, he refills it, and I down it again.
Expensive wine. God, it’s so fucking smooth and full-bodied, and I don’t care about the calories when I’m getting a tiny salad. I’ll be fully wrecked by the third glass, and Corbin, though he’s attractive and kind, can be a bit annoying to deal with.
The waitress sets bread between us, and Corbin digs in. I glare at it like it’s my arch-nemesis. He butters up a piece, handing it to me. “Eat, honey.”
I chew on my bottom lip, taking the bread from him. Did he forget I can’t have butter? Ugh. I roll my eyes, not bothering to correct him. I’m in hangry mode at this point. He’ll be lucky if I don’t stab his hand. Corbin doesn’t deserve that. I stifle a groan, hating the way my body is raging internally, and forcing myself not to take it out on an innocent.
“Thanks,” I say, nibbling on the small section without butter.
Corbin watches me, satisfied that he’s made me eat. My stomach swirls with uneasiness. Is my secret so clear to everyone that they know I don’t like to eat? Maybe I should do a better job at pretending. I can play it off as a stomach thing.
“Did you get the staffing interviews finished that you needed for the hotel?” Corbin asks, chewing on his slice of bread. He pockets it into the side of his cheek and takes a sip from his whiskey glass.
“I did. We’re sending out job offers tomorrow.” I sip my wine, pretending like I’m trying to pace myself. Then, I pull apart the bread to make it seem like I’ve eaten more than I have. If I keep him chatting, he may even be too distracted and forget that I haven’t eaten.
“Corbin!” a woman cheers.
I glance toward her direction, a short blonde woman dressed in a black cocktail dress heading our way. She’s sporting a cheerful smile, and Corbin stands to greet her. They embrace in a hug, then he turns to me. “Honey, this is Becca Reynard, otherwise known as the Mayor of Boston. Becca, this is my partner, Saoirse.”
That dreaded stuffy word again. I stifle my eye roll, offering a polite smile instead. She sticks out her hand, and I shake it.
Corbin grabs his glass and moves it to the empty seat beside me. He gestures to his old seat. “Sit with us. We’ve just ordered our main course.”
“Thanks,” Becca says.
Corbin slides into the seat beside me once he tucks her chair in, and wraps his arm around the back of my chair. Great, now another person I have to pretend in front of. I inhale, trying to keep my patience, but the wine is already getting to me, so that option might be out the window.
Just smile, princess. Hold it together a little longer.
Scotty’s voice fills my ears. His soothing words whenever he sees me on the verge of a spiral. They’ve always calmed me, and I focus on that playful smirk that always grounds me. If he were here, he wouldn’t be sitting at a table across the room the way Hugh is. He’d be right behind me. Close enough that I could catch a whiff of coffee and campfire scent that always means he’s near.
I’d been spoiled with him for five years. He was my best friend. And now, he’s left me to deal with the bullshit alone. Though, I’m not really alone when his voice is so clear in my head.The asshole.
Corbin and Becca chat about work, and whatever else it is a governor and a mayor chat about. The waitress brings our food, and I choose to stab the leafy greens instead of my own eyeballs.
