Page 9 of White Pawn
Chapter Six
Marisa
“One Way or Another”- Until the Ribbon Breaks
There are toomany people at this crosswalk. Their warm, sweaty bodies are only inches from mine. I close my eyes and pretend like they’re not here. I feel the crowd shift and open my eyes and walk. Justin wanted to pick me up from my apartment, but I’m not ready for that, and…I’m not an idiot. If he even sets foot within fifteen feet of my apartment building, he’ll think he’s going to take me up and screw my brains out. And it’s not time for that yet.
My feet are aching and I’m cursing myself for wearing these high heels by the time I reach the red awning of Victor’s. I take a second to smooth my hair out and touch up my lipstick before I walk inside the crowded entrance where men in suits and women in Sunday dresses are waiting. I go straight past the hostess stand and into the brightly lit dining area. The room is bustling with waiters carrying trays, people laughing, and there, among the white table cloths and hanging glass fixtures, right underneath the massive fake palm tree, I find Justin sitting at a table, scrolling his phone. I take a deep breath and calm my flittering heart as I approach him.
He glances up, standing to pull my chair out when I stop at the table. His eyes skate over my body and I smile as I sit. “You look beautiful,” he says, pushing my chair up to the table.
“Thanks.” I pick the menu up and read over the items—all in Spanish. “Have you eaten here before?”
“All the time. This is my favorite restaurant in Manhattan.” He takes the top of my menu between his fingers and pulls it down. “The uh…” he points to an item, “Vaca Frita Al Mojo Agrios is the best.”
I lift my brows. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“You like meat? Like brisket?”
“Yeah…”
“Get that, trust me. It’s fucking amazing.”
A few minutes later and our order is placed: two Vaca Frita Al Mojos and two glasses of merlot. Justin excuses himself, leaving his phone right on the edge of the table. I watch as he weaves his way through the tables and chairs and out into the atrium of the restaurant, then I grab his phone. I can’t help myself, I just…need to know what I’m dealing with here. I quickly tap on the messenger icon, my stomach growing queasy as I scroll. Message after message from women. Some are innocent: I loved your book, while others are dirty messages. Others are risqué pictures. The message at the top—last responded to right before I walked into the restaurant—is to some bitch named Tori Davis. She evidently misses him and went on and on about how she can’t wait to see him again in two weeks at some book signing. His response: a smiley face with happy, jazz hands.
Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we Tori-fucking-Davis?I close out of the app and place the phone back, facedown on the table at a 45-degree angle, the top right corner on top of his napkin, just like he left it, then I take a sip of wine and wait for him to come back. The waiter stops by the table to refill our wine. I scroll on my phone, trolling Justin’s page. The post he made about going to dinner with a “lovely lady” has over two thousand like and hundreds of comments:Lucky girl. Oh, no please don’t tell me you’re taken. Sad panda here…I roll my eyes and close out of the app just as Justin steps back to the table and takes a seat. His light blue shirt fits him just right and it’s thin enough I can make out the tattoos on his chest. He is so perfect…well, to look at. He’s like an oleander flower: beautiful and deceiving because he’s absolutely toxic. He is heartbreak in physical form, unless you’re immune, that is. And I have spent my time building up a resistance to the kind of charms he exudes. And I will tear him down.
“They brought us more wine,” I say, pointing at the glasses.
“Cool.”
I want to roll my eyes.Justin, you are a distinguished author. Surely you can do better than “cool”.I take a sip of wine, then clear my throat. “You know, I hope you don’t mind, but can I pick your brain for a second, you know, about writing and all that stuff?”
“Of course, lady.” He smiles and I want to melt, but I don’t. I tell my stupid heart to calm down.
“Well, I know, you are traditionally published but—”
He holds up a finger. “Hybrid. I still do some indie stuff.”
“Oh, yeah, okay, well, with the…indie stuff, I mean how do you market it?”
“That’s the fucking million-dollar question. It’s all a fluke if you ask me. But, the best advice I can give you, do as many book signings as you can.”
“What?” I feign naivety.
“Book signings. Oh my god,” he says, leaning over the table, a huge grin spreading across his mouth, “you sheltered little thing. Have you not been to a signing?”
“No…”
“Shit, the indie ones…amazing. I love them. You get to meet readers and party.”
“Maybe I can go to one with you.” Because Tori-fucking-Davis isn’t going to get you again...
“I don’t know.” A smirk settles over his face as he lifts his wine to his lips. “Mismatch and all.”
I roll my eyes. “Not as a date, you asshole. Just as a friend.”
“Yeah, yeah. You do realize I’m not going to just be friends with a girl like you, right?” His white teeth sink into his plump bottom lip. “I’m attracted to you, and the first time you let your guard down…” he lifts a brow and winks at me.
