Page 31 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Mitch breathed a sigh of relief as the stupid bell rang, and the poster-dude for hownotto wear a button-up moved to the next table. His racing pulse slowed a fraction when Charlotte blessedly didn’t take another Jell-O shot. Instead, she adjusted her towel and muttered something under her breath that sounded like,where are you, Mr. Cheesy Forever?
No, she couldn’t have said that. Or if she did, it was the alcohol talking.
The next guy in the speed date trail of losers walked over, then grimaced. But he didn’t take a seat.
“Oh shit,” the guy whispered, looking ready to bolt when Charlotte glanced up.
“What are youcliffinghere,do?” she said, then shook her head. “What are youdoinghere,Cliff?” she replied with a distinct shake to her voice.
“Why are you dressed like that, Charlotte?” he replied, still not taking a seat.
Mitch edged closer. This guy knew her. He knew her name.
She straightened in her seat. “It’s a long story. But I have to ask. Did you lose your phone, Cliff?”
“No, why?” the guy answered, slipping his hands in his pockets, looking visibly uncomfortable.
“I ask because you never texted me back. And we went on that date—that date that I thought went really well. You talked and talked all night.”
Heat rose to Mitch’s cheeks as anger set in toward speed date asshole number three. It made no sense why he cared. He wasn’t invested in this chick. He barely knew her. But for whatever reason, he inched forward, needing to get closer to her.
The dude, this Cliff, shifted from foot to foot but didn’t answer.
“It’s a sign, Cliff! You’re here, and I’m here. You’re supposed to be my Mr. Cheesy Forever,” Charlotte said with such boozy hope in her voice it was almost painful.
“Are you okay?” Cliff asked, his grimace turning to a look of irritation.
Charlotte blew out a frustrated breath. “Yes, I’m not sure I can feel my toes. But besides that, I’mstupor.” She shook her head. “No, I’mslooper.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she took another breath. “I’m super!” she jabbered on the third try.
The dude glanced down a few tables and caught the eye of a blonde. “Listen, Charlotte, I’m here with my girlfriend. We got back together.”
“But this is speed dating,” Charlotte replied, her voice raising an octave. “Why would you bring your girlfriend to a speed dating night?”
Cliff gestured to the speed date tables. “Look around. Only total losers come here to find love. Normal people do this for the free margaritas.”
“Oh,” Charlotte breathed, her slender shoulders caving forward.
A muscle ticked in Mitch’s jaw. He was ready to throttle this guy into next week.
“Actually, I should thank you, Charlotte,” Cliff the douche said as his irritation gave way to a wide grin.
“For what?” she replied with that damned heart-wrenching hope in her tone.
“Our date was so bad, I knew I should get back together with Kimberly,” the guy—no, the total asshole—answered, then blew a kiss, an actual air kiss, toward the blonde.
He couldn’t see Charlotte’s face, but he could feel the waves of humiliation rolling off of her. The sting of her rejection opened a wound in his heart, and he clenched his fists. He hadn’t gotten into a brawl since he was seventeen. He blew out a slow breath. He couldn’t get into a fight. He’d put that life behind him. But he’d happily resurrect that part of him to deal with this fool. Unfortunately, or perhaps, fortunately, he didn’t get the chance. In a burst of drunken fishy movement, Charlotte stood. Mere inches away from him, he inhaled her strawberry sunshine and unclenched his hands.
“I’m glad I could help,” she said through a tight sob, then grabbed her bag and tottered away toward a hallway with the wordrestroomspainted on the wall.
Mitch ran his hands down his face. He knew why this hit him hard. He knew the utter devastation of betrayal, of thinking you were on cloud nine only to have your hopes and dreams busted to hell. He blew out a tight breath when he caught a glimpse of Mr. Chest Hair scurrying through the crowd toward—yep, the hallway leading to the restrooms.
She’s not your problem. Don’t concern yourself. You’re picking up Oscar tomorrow. Find the nanny so you can get your damned life under control.
Dammit!
Despite all the reasons he should leave Charlotte Ames alone, he moved through the crowd. He’d simply walk by and make sure she’d made it to the ladies’ room. It didn’t hurt anyone. The chest hair Casanova probably had to take a piss. Yeah, that had to be it.
But it wasn’t.
