Page 7 of Summoning Mr. Wrong
“Already did.” He looked supremely satisfied with himself. “Oh look, you’ve got a new match already. Felipe, 27, doctor, likes hiking and classic films. Boring but stable. You could do worse.”
I looked down at my phone in horror. Sure enough, I had a new match with a guy who was way out of my league. And Deus had already sent him a message.
“‘Hey handsome, free tomorrow night?’” I read aloud, mortified. “You didn’t even use proper punctuation!”
“Trust me, guys like Felipe don’t care about punctuation when you call them handsome.” Deus stood up and stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tattooed abdomen that I absolutely did not stare at. “You should wear the blue button-down shirt hidden in the back of your closet. It brings out your eyes.”
“I’m not going on this date,” I protested.
My phone dinged. Felipe had responded: “I am free tomorrow! Dinner at Luciana’s at 7?”
Luciana’s was the nicest Italian restaurant in town. I couldn’t afford a glass of water there.
“Perfect,” Deus said, reading over my shoulder. “Tell him you’ll meet him there.”
“I can’t afford—”
“I’ll give you money.” Deus waved dismissively. “Consider it part of the favor.”
“I thought you didn’t know what the favor was yet.”
He gave me an enigmatic smile. “Maybe I’m getting clearer on it.”
Chapter 5
The next evening found me standing outside Luciana’s in my blue button-down (which did bring out my eyes, annoyingly), freshly showered and more nervous than I’d been for any date in recent memory.
“You look acceptable,” Deus had declared before I left the apartment. “Remember to ask questions about him, maintain eye contact, and don’t talk about your student loans until at least the third date.”
“I know how to date,” I’d grumbled.
“Evidence suggests otherwise.” He’d straightened my collar with surprisingly gentle hands. “Now go get ‘em, tiger.”
Felipe turned out to be even more attractive in person than in his photos. Tall, with perfect hair, a dazzling smile, and the confident air of someone who’d never had to worry about making rent. He stood up when I approached the table, which was both charming and intimidating.
“Julian, right? You look great. That shirt really brings out your eyes.”
Damn it, Deus was right.
The date started well enough. Felipe was polite, asked appropriate questions, and didn’t once mention an ex. I began to relax, thinking maybe Deus’s interference had been a good thing after all.
Then, halfway through our appetizers, Felipe’s phone lit up on the table. He glanced at it, frowned slightly, then turned it face down.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, just work.” He smiled, but it seemed forced. “So, you were saying about your job?”
His phone buzzed again. And again. By the time our main courses arrived, he was checking it every few minutes, his responses to my conversation attempts growing increasingly distracted.
“I’m really sorry,” he said finally, “but I need to take this. Hospital emergency. Do you mind?”
“No, go ahead,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.
Felipe stepped outside, leaving me alone with my overpriced pasta. Five minutes passed. Then ten. When fifteen minutes had gone by, I asked the waiter for the check, my heart sinking.
The waiter looked confused. “Your bill has already been settled, sir. Your friend took care of it before he left.”
“He left?” I repeated, my stomach dropping.
