Page 26 of Gluttony

“We’ll see.” I grace him with a smile but I’m all too aware it doesn’t reach my eyes.

We skate for almost the entire hour before my bladder screams for a break. It’s cold and I’ve got enough coffee in me to make my bladder cry for mercy.

“Gotta pee.”

Mickey shrugs, indifference written all over his face. In fact, the entire time out there it felt like he was doing me a favor even though being surrounded by happy kids and their parents is literal Hell for me.

As I’m taking my skates back to the rental desk, I scan my surroundings. None of the happy faces are familiar. Just a plethora of proud dads taking pictures and smiling moms giving their kids instructions for the rink. It would be a touching and picturesque scene if it weren’t so damn traumatizing.

“Ready to continue?” I’m exhausted, my screaming feet and numb fingers would much rather be home under the comforter, but I promised I’d be here so here I am.

So why do my thoughts keep veering back to my bosses? Why am I wondering what a day out with them would look like?

This time, I physically shake my head to erase the intrusive thoughts. The CEOs of H2O are our marks. Nothing more, nothing less, and I need to stop thinking of them as anything else.

The day turned out to be fun, after all. I do love walking around the different, smaller parks of Manhattan, Washington Square Park being at the top of the list. Watching the chess players living their best lives gives me joy. My favorite part of the day was the Banksy museum. I’d been meaning to go for a while and, to be honest, I was surprised that Mickey had remembered.

I guess he does listen.

But as we walk into Devon Quinn’s restaurant, the steady sound of people talking and enjoying their food added to the citrus and rosemary aroma that wafts across the space makes my mouth water with anticipation. I’ve only been here once before, and not only is the head chef and owner hot as fuck, but the food is delicious. Too bad he only comes to this location maybe once or twice a year.

As we make our way to our table—Mickey made reservations ahead of time—it’s clear I’m underdressed for this place, but since there’s nothing I can do about it, I try not to let it bother me. It helps that the hostess didn’t say anything.

“The special tonight is Moroccan Roasted Sablefish.” The server seats us at the reserved table and takes our drink orders as we eye the blackboard with tonight’s menu choices.

“We’ll both have the special and a bottle of Chardonnay.” I freeze at Mickey’s order, staring at him like he’s lost his mind then forcing myself to shake it off. I was eyeing the Veal Scallopini but…okay, guess I’m having fish.

Once the waiter walks away with our order, I lean and smile, grateful for this day nonetheless.

“By the way, thank you for the rose from Thursday. It was unexpected.” Mickey and I never celebrate Valentine’s Day, not really. At first it was because of our financial situation, no way we were spending food money on flowers and chocolates or whatever. After that, it just seemed silly.

“What rose?” Mickey glances up at me, chewing on a piece of complementary baguette.

“The long-stemmed red rose you had delivered to my door on Valentine’s Day?” My statement ends in a question as Mickey’s face morphs from relaxed to confused by way of his slanted brows and down-tipped mouth.

“Nope, not me.”

A different waiter comes to the table with the Chardonnay, opening it and waiting on us to tell him who will be tasting.

“Right here.” Mickey taps the stem of his glass and the waiter fills it just above the curve. Mickey has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, and neither would I to be honest, so he just downs the white wine and nods at the man watching him.

Once both of our glasses are filled, he walks away from us and I resume my conversation.

“Then who was it?” I realize I’m whisper-yelling like this is problematic, and just as the words fly out of my mouth, the door opens, a gust of wind entering uninvited, as three tall, gorgeous, and pissed-off looking men step inside.

Fuck. Me.

“They’re here.” It’s unclear to me whether I’m speaking to Mickey or talking to myself at this point.

“Who?” Mickey looks over his shoulder as Hadley, Orion, and Hayes stare straight at me before their annoyed gazes swing over to my date. “This is our first date, play the part.” I smile, talking between my teeth so no one reads my lips as the men nod my way before heading to the back of the restaurant.

“This is good, make ‘em jealous being out with me. Maybe one of them will fuck you tonight. Got a thirty-three percent chance with that.” His words are as powerful as his slap the other night. The delivery, the viscous nature of them, it all feels a lot alike.

“I thought today and tonight was about us?” Even as I ask the question, my eyes dart to the back where the three of them sit, filling the space with their heavy presence. Hadley has a direct visual of me while Hayes and Orion are facing each other, giving me their profiles. Fuck, it’s rare that I see them all together like this and, for some reason, it’s overwhelming my entire body. And I do mean everywhere.

Ignoring my question, Mickey leans in and commands my attention. “Don’t fuck this up.” I blink at him, taken aback.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

---