Chapter Twenty-One

Luke apparently forgot all about my promise to treat him on our second date. Lucky for him, I haven’t.

“You know we can go someplace more expensive,” I say as we walk into Carlos’s. “Like the sushi restaurant. Actually, you should pick something like that, so you can get your money’s worth.”

He laughs. “But I want to check out the Mexican restaurant from your Instagram. You post pictures every Monday.”

“Almost every Monday.” When it’s a family holiday—like Christmas—I don’t go. Mom would kill me—after disowning me.

The host greets me by name and takes us to my favorite booth in the back. Since it’s still before six, the place isn’t too busy. Our server brings water and a couple of the huge menus, plus two laminated drink lists and specials.

“So what’s the main attraction here?” Luke says without bothering to open the menu.

“Mexican Monday or Margarita Monday, depending on who asks. They have margaritas for only five bucks. And nachos. I love nachos. I could eat ’em for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” And I probably should. I run every day anyway.

“Okay, other than nachos, what do you recommend?”

“Everything’s great. Try their surf and turf fajitas.”

“Sounds good.”

I order nachos for dinner, and we both get margaritas. Me because I love them, and Luke because he wants to try one. Our drinks arrive almost immediately, but then, Carlos’s is known for its quick bartenders.

As soon as we clink glasses, my phone buzzes. I check it just in case it’s work-related. Just because Tim didn’t give me overtime tasks doesn’t mean nothing can go wrong on the weekend. Still, I hope it’s not work, because I really, really don’t want to cut this evening short. I’m entitled to a nice, uninterrupted dinner with Luke.

It’s a group text from Jan.

–Jan: When you coming home? I brought you a souvenir.

–Michelle: No time soon. I saw her drag Luke out of the party.

I roll my eyes.

–Sammi: Hahaha. I’m actually having a very civilized dinner with Luke.

–Michelle: I presume you already had a very civilized fuck with him?

–Jan: I thought it was supposed to be animalistic.

–Sammi: It was civilized and respectful and filthy. Did I mention filthy? Rated XXXXXXXX? Now I have to go back to dinner to keep my strength up. Thank you, Jan, for the gift. Congrats again, and love you to pieces. And Michelle, I’m going to create a dating profile for you as soon as I get some free time so you, too, can have a civilized fuck.

Then I turn off my phone and drop it in my purse.

“What’s that?”

“Not a persistent ex.” Let’s hope Gerald somehow broke all his fingers. And fingernails. Or better yet, he got some kind of gamma radiation that rendered him unable to use touch screens. Now that’s a superpower I can get behind. “And my phone’s off.”

“I heard from Tim you guys are always on call.”

“He can call someone else today.” Then I wrinkle my nose. “Actually, I’ll check my messages after dinner. Although I’m sure the only thing I’m going to get is static from Jan and Michelle.” I take a quick sip of the margarita. I’ll wager Jan won’t bug me for the rest of the evening—she’s going to be busy screwing Matt. But Michelle? Well. She has lots of free time. Hence my offer to create a dating profile for her.

“I’m sorry you had to leave the party early,” he says.

“I’m not. It led to a lot of fun.”

He goes on as though I haven’t spoken. “I should’ve known my parents would be there. Mom’s close to Alexandra.”

“I’m glad you were there. You saved me from…” I swallow the rest of the sentence. Maybe Luke knows about his creeptastic dad, but it’s one thing to know, another to have it pointed out. He couldn’t choose his dad. So instead, I end, “…feeling sorry for myself.”

“Sorry for yourself? How come?”

“Well. Jan got it right on her first try.” I cringe almost immediately. Saying it out loud makes me sound petty and stupid. Ugh.

No, self. No. Put a filter between your mouth and your brain. You could’ve picked any topic but this. You could’ve even said you felt sorry for yourself because Michelle has bigger breasts.

That sounds a helluva lot more reasonable and rational.

Thankfully, our server shows up with the food, interrupting the flow of conversation. I grab a chip piled high with melted cheese and browned ground beef and shove the whole thing into my mouth.

“Most people don’t get it right on their first try,” Luke says, then concentrates on building a fajita.

Guess he’s not going to let it go. But I didn’t make it clear I wanted to end this topic. Well. I can’t end it now, because it would leave the wrong impression.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for Jan.” There. That should clear things up. “It’s just…” I shrug. “I’m being silly. I’m moody in winter. I should probably go someplace warm and sunny for a week to cheer myself up.”

“You like fairytales, don’t you?”

“I guess…? I read a few, like any kid, and even watched some as an adult because Michelle likes them so much.” If it had been left up to my brothers, I would’ve never known about Cinderella. Or Sleeping Beauty.

“So you know about the frog prince.”

“Sure.”

“That story did a lot of damage to women.”

Huh? “Why?”

“You know what the subliminal lesson is.”

“That you have to kiss a bunch of frogs to find your prince?”

He shakes his head. “Just the opposite. You only need to kiss one frog. It sets false expectations.”

“I don’t think that’s the way…”

“How many frogs does the princess kiss in the story?”

I frown. It’s been a while since I read it. I’m pretty sure she had suitors. I mean, she’s a princess. A single, eligible princess. Probably hot, too. I don’t think fairytales do ugly princesses.

“One,” Luke says.

“One?”

“Google it if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.”

“So the tale says that if you don’t get your prince after one try, you should give up.”

“That is so not the moral of the story.”

“But that’s the way it’s written. It doesn’t teach you to persevere.”

“Then tell me this. How many frogs are we supposed to kiss?”

“As many as it takes, obviously. Until you find a guy who loves you inside and out.”

He offers me a shrimp I’ve been eyeing on his plate. I accept it because I can’t not accept grilled shrimp.

He continues, “Don’t feel bad. Women aren’t the only ones who have to kiss a few gross things. Men kiss snakes.”

I almost choke on the shrimp. “You lie!” I protest on behalf of the female half of the population. “Women cannot be snakes.” I shudder. “We have limbs.”

“You’re right.” He sounds immeasurably gracious. Which makes me instantly suspicious.

“We have to kiss lizards.”

I laugh. “Lizards?”

“Lizards are more than fair. Lizards and frogs both have limbs. At least lizards are fashionably svelte.” He polishes off his tortilla-wrapped steak and seafood. “So don’t feel depressed about the situation. Jan’s Jan. You’re you. And honestly, I think you’re more interesting than any other woman I know.”

Warmth spreads through me even as I arch an eyebrow. A few of my exes said the same thing, although when I asked why, they gave me lame explanations. Like how I’m a programmer, which is unusual for a woman. Or how I’m fun to be around. What will Luke say?

I prop my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my hand. “In what way?”

“You say what you mean, and you do what you say.”

I blink, unsure what to make of that. Of all the things he could say, that one never crossed my mind. “Not my gorgeous ass or legs?”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with suppressed laughter. “See? No games, no false modesty for my raven girl.”

My cheeks flush at the easy, natural way he says “my.” I used to hate it when my dates got possessive. I thought it was because they mostly sounded idiotic. Sort of like a beta gorilla thumping its chest. But now I realize that wasn’t the case at all. I never liked it because I never wanted to claim them as “mine” in return.

Maybe things are moving too fast. I haven’t known Luke for very long, I haven’t dug into his background the way I usually do, and we just had our second date. But my heart says he’s the one. And I’m not one to argue with my feelings.

“What?” Luke says when I continue to stare at him without saying anything. “Is there something on my face?”

I shake my head and throw a few bills on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”