Page 12 of The Little Black Book

I cut my eyes toward Zoey, and she gives me an encouraging look before mouthing “speak.” My eyes fall closed for a second while I take a deep breath. I’m obviously going to have to carry the conversation, here.

“So, have you eaten here before?” I ask, holding eye contact to show her I’m really listening.

“Yes.”

Okayyyy.

“I think the food is great, and I love the atmosphere.”

Silence.

Maybe Zoey was right, and I should’ve taken her toMercacio’s. Did she expect something fancier like that? It isn’t like this place is a hot dog stand, or anything. Hell, the meal she ordered costs upwards of fifty dollars.

I try a few more times to engage her in conversation, but her one-word monotone answers make me think I should just save my breath. I don’t get it. She seemed so excited in her texts. I guess this just proves you should always call someone to ask them out. That way, there’s no guessing their tone.

Our food arrives––thank God––and as Stacey digs in, I glance over at Zoey. She gives me a slight shake of her head and a sad smile.

I agree. This is not the one.

I start to eat, and five minutes in, Stacey sits back with a groan.

“This is delicious, but I’m so full,” she says, taking her first sip of the wine.

My wide eyes look down at her plate. She ate two bites of that giant steak she ordered, maybe a third of her baked potato, and barely touched her salad. I lift my gaze to meet hers, and she gives me a tentative smile.

Normally, that would’ve given me hope I could somehow salvage this disaster, but shit. I cannot believe she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu and didn’t eat it. Is this some kind of test? A ruse to discover if I’m a cheap-ass, or something?

“How’s the casino?” she asks, shocking me out of the disbelieving daze I’d fallen into.

“It’s great,” I say slowly, forcing my eyes away from the mountain of food she left in front of her. “Business is good, and I still have fun every day.”

“That’s nice,” she says, taking another drink of her wine. “I really loved staying in Maine. It’s so pretty and picturesque, much nicer than living in the desert.”

“Maine?” I ask, my brain still playing catch-up.

Her gaze narrows. “Where I went? To take care of my dying grandmother?”

“Right,” I say with a shake of my head. “Sorry.”

“Anyway, it’s really nice there, and my grandma was bedridden, so I had a lot of free time on my hands. She had this really cool car––a sixty-nine Chevelle––and I had so much fun driving it while I was there. There are all these really cool shops downtown, cute little restaurants, and even a couple of bars. I was pretty disappointed when she died, and I had to move back here.”

Is she fucking serious right now? She’s upset, not because she lost her grandmother, but because she had to leave the life she was living when she wassupposedto be the woman’s caregiver?

I look over at Zoey again, who’s holding a chicken wing halfway to her mouth and staring at Stacey with a disbelieving expression. Then she looks at me and grimaces.

I refocus on my food––I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste it––and hope my rapid eating will keep further conversation to a minimum. This is worse than a disaster. It’s a fucking shit show of epic proportions.

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t pay attention to me.”

I pause mid-chew to look at her with an incredulous expression. Did she really just say that? I finish chewing, swallow, and pat my lips with my napkin. Then I take a drink of my wine before I respond.

“I don’t think this is working, period.”

“Excuse me?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sorry, Stacey, but I don’t think we’re a good fit.”

“Fuck you,” she says, leaping to her feet and snatching her bag from the back of her chair.

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