Page 34 of My Fearless Fake Fling

“Yep,” he replied, wearing a Cheshire cat grin.

“I’d love to go here, but I’m super hungry. We’ll be waiting—”

The jerk pressed a finger to my lips to shut me up and moved us up another spot so we stood in front of the hostess counter.

“McCartney, party of two.”

McCartney? That was interesting. Here I’d spent two nights with the guy and never thought to learn his last name. Gone on countless adventures with the guy andnever thought to learn hislast name. Moreover, what did that say about me? Was I confusing fearless with reckless,again?

Len pressed his hand to my back to get my attention. I looked up to see him and his concern visible through his downturned mouth and the crinkles at the sides of his eyes.

“You okay?” he whispered. “You look far away.”

“Just thinking about some stuff.”

“Not tonight, fearless. Tonight, is for fun, which means you put all that other stuff out of your head.”

I supposed I could do that, though, something continued to niggle at the back of my mind. I’d have to think more on it later.

The hostess ran a finger down the built-in tablet screen and pressed on his reservation. A moment later, a server, this one a woman, greeted us.

“Hello. Welcome to Ceibo. I’m Lydia and I’ll be your server tonight.”

We followed Lydia to a table tucked in the back corner. The room was dark with real and painted-on-the-wall palm trees. The painted palms surrounded a twilight beach scene and they played the sound of water lapping the shore. Deep blue lights strung around the room twinkled and gave the appearance of the nighttime sky.

Ambiance. The man knew how to pick a restaurant.

If this was how he treated a fake girlfriend, imagine how he treated the real ones.

We ordered cocktails first off. Mine, a Campari, citrus, peachy dream in a glass that went down way too fast and easy. Our server brought a second out for me before our appetizer came out. It was grilled cheese—like not the sandwich but an actual slab of cheese that had been grilled. They had us spread it on crusty chimichurri bread.

Len and I gorged ourselves on Argentinian flavors. And for dessert we ordered this—goodness—almost a tiramisu but made with dulce de leche, Argentinian chocolate and yerba mate.

No words existed for how good the meal tasted, and the conversation between Len and me flowed freely. Mostly a recap of our fun at the zoo and stories from some of his travels. We kept it light. Fun. And then it happened. I was maybe three bites from finishing my dessert when I heard it.

“Kami?”

I ignored her.

She persisted. “Kami,oh god, I thought that was you.” Dierdre, the traitor, walked up to our table uninvited and acted like I hadn’t called her out—well, Len posing as me hadn’t called her out in that text.

There was a man I didn’t recognize with her, not Rex, the last guy she’d been dating before I cut her out of my life.

“And who is this?” she asked, ogling and appraising Len.

He held his hand out for her to shake. I glowered. Her stupid hand might contaminate him with her backstabbing betrayal.

“I’m Lennon.”

I squeezed my hands into tight balls on my lap as she leaned in a bit too close, oblivious to her date standing there, flashing her cleavage.

“Lennon,” she said. “I like it. I’m Deirdre. Kami and I have been friends for years.”

Len looked at me and then back at Deirdre. My heartbeat sped up even as I sat waiting to see what he was going to with that information.

“Deirdre?” he asked. “TheDeirdre?”

She smiled cockily, as if him knowing about her made her special somehow, that is until he metaphorically went right for her throat with teeth bared.

---