Page 5 of Just This Once

I huff. “You are…”

He grins, waiting.

“Ridiculous.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Don’t be mean,” Marianne says, but Dante waves his hand.

“I like her kinda mean.”

“I’m not mean.” I scowl at my so-called best friends, who are watching this…spectacle with interest. Then I arch my brow at Dante in a challenge. He’s practically a child, obviously still working on his frontal lobe if he thinks he can swoop in here and take over. He has a lot to learn.

He crosses his arms, and I absolutely do not drop my gaze to his chest, where his collar is open, revealing the hint of a tattoo. “Maybe, maybe not. But you are beautiful.”

I cough a laugh. I’m not beautiful. I’ve never been called beautiful. By now, I’m confident in myself and who I am and what I look like, but I’ve never been the pretty girl. I’m too tall or too thick or too muscular. My face is too long, my lips too thin, and my personality too harsh.

The funny thing about being too much is that it doesn’t extend to time or fucks. And I’m almost out of mine for the night.

I roll my finger around in a circle. “Can we skip to the end of whatever it is you’re here to do? Because if it’s to reconnect with your old pal, you’re facing in the wrong direction.”

He smiles, sucking air through his teeth. Pure male satisfaction. And I squeeze my legs tighter together. I will not give in to the tingle rushing over my skin or the way my blood responds when he whispers, “What if I came over here to make new friends?”

“No.”

He chuckles. “No?”

“No,” I repeat. “I have enough friends.”

He glances at Clara and Marianne as if to sayIs she for real?

And, yes. Yes, I am for real. Who the fuck does this child think he is?

When he lazily props his arm up on the back of my stool, I straighten my spine, moving away from him to concentrate on ripping my napkin into strips, balling each one up, readying them to throw at Clara and Marianne once this guy leaves. Because I know he will eventually, and when he does, I will be ready to bring the hammer down on them for continuing this farce.

I keep quiet as Dante and Clara catch up. He asks what she’s up to now, and she explains how she and Marianne own Lux & Lace, and how they met shortly after she graduated from Drexel with a degree in fashion design. Apparently, Dante didn’t go to college, went right to work instead with only a few community college credits under his belt. Not that it matters. I don’t care.

Couldn’t care less when he talks about how proud he is of Clara and how happy he is to hear she’s doing so well. Especially because he was there for her when she began to explore her sexuality. Of course I know her history. Even though shegets along great with her parents now, they’re heavily involved with their church, and she’d been afraid of what her parents would say when she came out as gay and hid it through most of college. And the stories about how Dante was there for her in those early years in high school don’t warm my heart.

At all.

I finish my drink and start in on the one he bought me, which is probably why I don’t feel it when my stomach rolls because of his fingertips skating across my back. Nope. It only makes me realize I’ve gotten too comfortable, and I have to adjust my position on the stool. Away from him.

“And how do you fit in, Taryn?” he asks, and I really wish he’d stop using my name.

In that voice.

Like sandpaper and honey. Rough with a hint of sweet.

When I don’t answer, Marianne does. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids.”

He nods knowingly. “Third-wheeling it.”

“No,” I snap because he’s really starting to get under my skin. “Actually, Mari was my third wheel way before I became theirs.”

“I didn’t know you’re married,” he says, eyes on my bare left ring finger, his hand finally falling away from me.

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