Page 21 of Pumpkin
Frankie laughed. “God, no! You do realize, you have to eat all the sides too, right?”
Pumpkin ran a hand down his flat, muscular belly. “Hell yeah!Although,” he added pointedly, “I’m not wearing the right pants for this. Would you judge me if I rode home pants-less?”
Frankie pulled into the parking lot and quickly found a spot. “Definitely,” she smiled at him after throwing the vehicle into Park. “And even more so when you throw up and I get to say, ‘I told you so’.”
Pumpkin made a face. “You’re no fun,” he grumbled, though he thought perhaps she had a point.
Whatthe fuckhad Calliope been thinking? Had she lost her ever lovingmind? Dosia had never,everdoubted her aunt before, but man, was she going to be looking up the nearest loony bins for her later.Ifshe survived this god-awful date.
Bart the Banker was actually Bartleythe Banker. And he made sure Dosia knew it. When he’d come to her grandparents’ to pick her up, she’d put her hand out to greet him with a smile, saying, “It’s nice to meet you, Bart.”
To which, he’d stuck his nose up at her as he shook her hand and proclaimed his name was Bartleybefore going into a five minute long rant about how ‘Bartley’ was more distinguished than ‘Bart’.
Dosia was ready to call it quits right then and there, but Calliope had pulled her aside and told her that sheneededto go. Then in a mystical voice, she added,“The man who buys you dinner will win your hand in marriage and your heart for life…” Before she cracked up laughing and walked into the other room.
Not happy about it, but trying her hardest to remember not to be such a pessimist, Dosia headed back over to Bartleyand let him guide her to his car. Once seated, she asked where they were going. Since he’d picked her up and Calliope knew him, she hadn’t taken the usual first-date precautions she had done in the past.
That was when Dosia discovered that Bartleywas taking her to a restaurant almost an hour away from her grandparents’ house. She’d balked, saying that she needed to be back by eight-thirty to tuck herdaughter into bed, but Bartleyassured her that she’d be back in time. Apparently, he wasn’t planning on this being a very long date.
Which, honestly, after that fucking awkward car ride, Dosia was completely okay with. Whenever she’d tried to start up a new topic of conversation, somehow Bartleyalways managed to bring it back to the fact that he was a banker, made two-hundred and ten thousand dollars a year, and was in line for a promotion.
Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
Dosia had decided to order the most expensive meal on the menu. She didn’t care what it was. She was getting it and an entire bottle of their most expensive wine.
Becauseshedidn’t have to pay for it. As the breadwinner in a relationship, Bartleyhad made it very clear that a woman’s place was at home. No doubt, barefoot and pregnant, though he hadn’t said that.
Because Bartleyautomatically assumed she wasn’t making two-hundred and ten thousand dollars a year. Which she wasn’t, but still… The assumption irked her.
Theonlyreason Dosia hadn’t called an Uber for herself to take her home as soon as they’d arrived was for that free meal. Petty? Most definitely. But who the fuck did Bartleythink he was? So what if Dosia wasn’t bringing in six figures? She’d done well for herself. She was a good mom and she lived within her means.
Would it have been nice if she had the money to upgrade her car? Absolutely, but it wasn’t like her cardidn’twork. Other cars just workedbetter. And there was nothing wrong with putting her daughter’s needs above her own. Some might even consider that admirable.
And it wasn’t that Dosia minded the idea of a man she was dating earning more than she did. It was the fact that there wasn’t a humble bone in Bartley’s body. There was a difference between being chivalrous and being misogynistic, and Bartleyneeded a new dictionary if he thought for one second he was being chivalrous.
Dosia was going tokillher aunt. She’d already sent her a text with the emojis for wood, rope, and fire. To which, Calliope had just laughed. What the fuck was she playing at?
“…country club?”
Dosia jumped, realizing that she’d been half asleep while sitting back sipping her wine. “I’m sorry, what?”
Bartley’s right eye twitched, but he held onto his smile that was actually more of a sneer. “I am playing golf tomorrow at my country club,” he told her with enough attitude for her to know he was repeating himself. “The only reason we are not there tonight is because it’s closed on a Sunday and your niece said today was the only day you were available.”
Clearlythatannoyed him too.
“Aunt,” Dosia corrected automatically.
“Pardon?”
“Calliope’s my aunt, not my niece. She’s two years younger than me, and yes, I know how that sounds, but it’s true.”
Bartleylooked like that information was the least exciting thing he’d ever heard. Maybe she should try talking about how sand was formed, see if that interested him more. She certainly might find it more interesting.
The awkward silence was worse than the car ride. Dosia cleared her throat. “Um, sorry, tomorrow won’t work for me.” Or any day. She had no intention of going to a country club to watch this narcissistic jerk play golf.
She took a big gulp of her wine.Calliope, if you can hear me, I’m making witch’sstewtomorrow for lunch and you’re the main ingredient!Dosia thought as loud as she could into the cosmos.
“Yes, your, uh, bookstore. I’ve seen the records. Doesn’t bring in much revenue.”
