Page 38 of Chasing After You
I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “You don’t get it. I can’t do that, it would change everything.” That kiss might have changed my entire perspective on what kissing should be like, but Henry wouldn’t have even kissed me if I hadn’t made the first move.
Why couldn’t I say,Oh, I don’t know who the right person is for you, Henry?
“Okay, but you still have to leave the fucking bathroom,” my best friend reminds me, and I groan as the door opens. An older woman walks in, giving me an odd look.
“Fine, I’m going,” I whisper, checking my hair in the mirror first.
“Proud of you.”
“You should be. I feel like I’m walking to my funeral,” I say, stepping onto the restaurant floor.
“At least you’ll die looking good. Love you, babe.”
“I love you too,” I echo automatically, realizing I messed up leaving Henry alone, especially when he looks as good as he does tonight. There’s some woman standing over him, and the man I’m assuming is her date has taken my seat. He seems more interested in the fact that Henry is well . . .Henry, to even appear upset his date is fawning all over my fake boyfriend.
I note how stiff Henry is, and anyone with half a brain can tell he’s uncomfortable.
“So what is it like working out all the time?” she asks, following it up with a fake high-pitched giggle, dragging her hand down his arm as Henry tries to shift away. I want to gag and shove a steak knife through her hand for touching him. Too aggressive?
“I’m sorry, I’m having a private meal. Do you min—”
“Yeah, do you take steroids? I think I read somewhere that you do. There’s no way those muscles are real without extra help,” the guy adds in, cutting Henry off. He didnotjust speak over Henrypolitelytrying to ask them to leave—which is honestly a huge step for him—to ask if he juices.
My temper flares because I’ve been accused of that shit, and it’s not cool. His muscles aredefinitelyreal. I saw the article after its publication the other day, and Stacey had me issue a release denying it with recent drug tests results. The site posted a retraction, curing most of the backlash.
“Excuse me, that’s my seat, and that’s my boyfriend so get your hands off him. Pretty sure I heard him trying to tell you he’s having a private meal, and I’m guessing Henry didn’t ask you to touch him, or give you permission to. If I were you, I’d back the hell off,” I snap, ensuring I follow it up with a polite smile as she stares at me like a deer caught in headlights. I know I’m letting my own experiences after the Olympics bleed into my reaction right now, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong to tell them off. Relief floods Henry’s face, and I’m happy I didn’t actually grab the knife on the table to stab her with it.
Any other man, I’d probably be irritated, but for Henry, I’m ready to cut a bitch.
The man sitting in my seat gapes at me, his jaw ajar, clearly recognizing me, but my patience wavers further when his eyes drop straight to my chest.
Seriously?
I swear, men have a one-track mind.
“My eyes are up here,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. Henry’s chair screeches on the flooring as he stands up.
“You’re Mirabelle Walker,” he stammers, jerking his eyes back up to my face, and then over to Henry.
“Show some respect,” Henry warns, and I give him a look telling him silently to back off. He doesn’t get to pull the penis card and be all macho right now. I can handle this myself.
“Yes, I am Mirabelle Walker, and I’m sorry, but not actually, because you’re interrupting a private dinner,” I say evenly. “I understand it might be cool and all to see us at the same restaurant as you, and we happily would have had a conversation with you or taken a picture had you asked, but instead, you accused him of taking steroids and put your hands on him. You shouldn’t believe everything you read, and you definitely shouldn’t touch anyone without their consent.”
All three of them are speechless as the waiter happens to appear with two plates of dessert.
The woman’s face is flaming with embarrassment—as it should be—and she looks at Henry as if asking him whether I can speak to her like that.
The waiter looks at the couple, narrowing his eyes. “Excuse me, but I believe your seats were in the main dining area. Please return to them before I call my manager to have you removed,” he says, and they immediately make their exit. The waiter huffs, smiling apologetically at us. “I’m so sorry that they were able to disturb your evening. If you’d like this to be boxed up, I would be more than happy to get that done for you right away.”
Henry looks at me, raising an eyebrow to ask what I’d like to do. Honestly, I’m upset, but I don’t want to ruin the evening any more than I already have. Perhaps I should have bit my tongue, but I couldn’t help myself.
“No, it’s okay. We’ll stay. Thank you for the apology, it’s appreciated,” I say, mustering a smile as I take my seat. Henry follows my lead, and the waiter sets the plates in front of us.
“Let me go speak with my manager to see what we can do to make up for the interruption,” he says, but Henry shakes his head.
“Please don’t worry about it,” Henry interjects, smiling at the waiter.
The chocolate cake in front of me looks incredible, but unfortunately, I’ve lost my appetite. I was dangerously close to losing my temper on that couple, and that would have reflected poorly on us instead of them. Maybe I was more awful than deserved, but I don’t understand why people think it’s okay to touch us and accuse us of shit like taking steroids because we’re public figures.
