Page 43 of Bittersweet

The server takes Marc’s order and I pout because . . . why does he get fries? This man is asadist.

When our waiter is gone, Marc’s gaze zeroes in onme.

“I know that was a little controlling, but I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked this week. You can’t blow it all on a bowl of fries.” He smiles, almost apologetically, and it’s kind of sweet. “I was gonna tell you this later. But damn it, I’m going to tell younow.”

“O-kay.” I nodslowly.

“My best attribute, that I mentioned before—it’s my ability to motivate people. And I’m going to motivate you to not just lose weight but be a better person.” He holds his hands out either side, as if he’s presenting me with an award-winningidea.

Visions of a beefcake, supergirl version of me saving kittens from trees, and helping old ladies with their shopping flash through my mind.It’s entirely possible I may need to becommitted.

“I want you to start right now. I want you to go home tonight and write down every item of food in your kitchen, and then, I want you to write out what a typical day is like for you. You're going to start a food diary. Keeping accountable is one of the first steps tosuccess.”

Wow. I’ve never had homework on a date before. I wonder if Mr. Moretti will spank me with his ruler if I don’t hand my assignment in ontime.

Laughter bubbles up my throat and Marc stops midsentence to narrow his eyes at me. I was so lost in my thoughts, I wasn’t even aware he was stillspeaking.

“What about this is funny,Romy?”

“Er . . . nothing. I was just . . . it’s nothing. My mind gets carried awaysometimes.”

“That’s also something we need to work on. You need to learn how to keep focused so that your body can follow suit. I can already tell you’re going to be a handful forme.”

“Only one? Surely you can use both hands.” I give him a coy smile, attempting to bring this date around because it can’t be too late.Canit?

“Oh, I’ll be using both hands, Romy.” Marc leans across the table and grips my forearm, giving it a playful squeeze. His eyes smolder. My breath catches.Apparently, it isn't too late. “I’ve been told I’m very good withthem.”

Marc and I really do have chemistry. Maybe I’ve been so caught up in trying to piece my heart back together after Elio slaughtered it that I haven’t given Marc a fair chance. Instead of putting up roadblocks to protect against another head-on collision, maybe I should be opening the gate, and letting this manin.

* * *

Later,as we leave the restaurant, Marc grabs my hand and pulls me close. I’m startled, so I sort of wind up whacking him in the thigh in an attempt to getfree.

He laughs. “Geez, you’re so awkward,Romy.”

I cringe. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. By the time Marc’s done with you, there will be no awkwardness left in sight. Just a fucking hotbod.”

My brow furrows. “Huh, okay. Well, I’m not sure awkward is really something you can change with workouts, butsure.”

“Coordination comes with practice,” Marc says, and surveys the parking lot. “So where are youparked?”

“Oh, Iwalked.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, it was still light out when I left. It was nice,actually.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you. No date of mine walks homealone.”

“No, really, it’s fine. I’m good towalk.”

“You’re not walking, Romy,” he says sharply, as if I have no say in the matter. Then, because he appears to have clued in to the fact that I don’t like being told what to do, he lowers his tone and says, “Let me drive you. Let me take care ofyou.”

My heart squeezes. And there it is: that spark, that glimmer of hope. The desire to have someone take care of me, to cherish me, and see to my safety fills me up. The sweet promise of a man who’ll do anything to protect me shrouds me in warmth. I accept his offer and he leads me to a bright red Dodge Challenger. Not one of the really cool retro ones, but a new one, that’s shiny and that kind of looks like Lightning McQueen but without all of thestickers.

I climb in and Marc revs hisengine.

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