Love On the Line: An Enemies to Lovers Standalone

by Adriana Peck

  “Masie, my boy, I know that better than you ever will.”

  ◆◆◆

  Rosa’s standing outside Loudmouth’s before I arrive. She’s stunning. A red dress, slim with a very subtle zipper on her left side. Black high heels, but she’s still shorter than me. Her hair looks a little different, too, I can tell she got it done today. It’s ridiculous how good she looks tonight compared to me in my tee shirt, jeans, and black sport jacket. I’m massively underdressed for the occasion, but Rosa doesn’t seem to mind at all when she sees me.

  She grins, reaches out for a hug. It’s a warm embrace, and I feel my heart flutter for the first time since Carly. It's been a while, and a part of me feels as if I don’t really deserve this. As Rosa and I lean back, our eyes meet. Her eyes are stunning. Beautiful with a deep green. I could get lost in them for hours. I forget the cold of the outside air. The sound of traffic dies. All the lights around me seem to point directly at Rosa, and for a brief moment I feel as if I am lost in her eyes, lost in a waking dream that I hope will never end. I can’t help but feel bad about our first kiss, because right now would be the utterly perfect time for that.

  This feels too good to be true.

  We head inside Louie’s as I hold the door open for Rosa. Inside, it truly is packed, just like Louie said it would be. I see patrons of all kinds. Men in suits and ties, fresh from a day at the office. College kids, frat boys. Sorority girls in packs. Couples on dates. I suppose I’m one of those now, too.

  Overhead, Christmas lights hang around the frame of the bar. Liquor bottles are lined up in neat rows behind a portly figure, the bartender, who is arguing with a suited-up drunkard over a bill. The bartender yanks a wad of cash out of the drunkard’s hand as soon as they hand it over, and stuffs it in to the cash register.

  Louie spots me from the bar, waves me over with a “MASIE! HELLO! OVER HERE, IT’S ME, LOUIE!” as if I wasn’t looking directly at him already. I smile politely, wave, and take Rosa’s hand to guide her as we wade through the crowd gathered around the bar.

  He shows us to our table, taking a moment to step away from the chaos at the bar. “Masie, I’m impressed you made it out! Thought I was going to have to give away your table there for a minute! Two minutes, if you want to get specific!”

  I check my watch. 10:32. Very funny, Louie.

  He offers us a drink, and Rosa asks for a glass of house red. I order a beer. When Louie brings the drinks over to us, he slaps me on the back as a sign of good luck, I assume. Rosa takes a sip of her wine, and I nestle my beer as I think about what to say.

  “So,” I say jokingly. “I thought Italian women drank more than just red wine. Whatever happened to the mimosa plan?”

  “It’s too late for mimosas,” Rosa grins back. “You’ll have to take me out for breakfast to truly follow through on your promise.”

  Breakfast. She’s already hinting at breakfast plans. I bite my tongue. Making breakfast plans means there’s an eight-hour gap in our schedule tonight, and I almost want to crack a joke about that, but it doesn’t feel like the right time.

  “I don’t really eat breakfast that much, to be honest. Know any good places around here?” I ask earnestly. Rosa smiles and bites back, playing along.

  “Oh. You’re too good for breakfast then. Well, breakfast doesn’t hold a grudge. It welcomes newcomers and old friends alike. Oh yes, I know many good breakfast places here around town,” Rosa laughs. I laugh, too. She’s the funniest person I’ve met in a long time, and I find that I can easily relax in her presence.

  Rosa finishes her glass of wine, and I down the rest of my beer as I wave for Louie to bring us another round. The crowded bar around him doesn’t seem to notice Louie stepping away momentarily to bring us our drinks. Normally, Louie never leaves the bar. But, for an old friend, I suppose he’s happy to make an exception. Of course, that means we have to hear the screaming up-close and personal.

  “ANOTHER ROUND FOR MASIE!” Louie shouts over the patrons as he delivers the wine and beer. I thank him quietly, and Louie slaps me on the back again. I’m worried he’s going to do this every round we order.

  Sure enough, the next five rounds are punctuated with a slap on the back from Louie the bartender after a good shout. Rosa’s giggles grow more and more out of control. I find myself telling jokes a little too racy at times, but Rosa laughs at them harder than I would have guessed. We spend the night telling stories, exchanging histories of past friends and lovers. Carly doesn’t get brought up at all, thank God. I honestly don’t think Rosa knows that much about her, and if the staff at the Restaurante Porto didn’t tell her about Carly, all the better. That means I can tell her in my own time.

  As Rosa tells me a story about a high-school boyfriend (a football player, no joke), I can’t help but stare directly into her eyes. I feel like a creep doing it, but she smiles and I can’t look away. She rests her chin on a hand, elbow propped up on the table next to her glass of wine. I keep an eye on it, ready to catch the glass in case she slips and knocks it over. And just as things pause for a moment, just as we’re looking deep into one another’s eyes—

  “MASIE! LAST CALL FOR MY FRIENDS AT THE TABLE BACK HERE!”

  I look at Rosa, she’s staring back at me. I can tell she’s had a lot to drink tonight. We’re definitely sharing a cab home. I wave Louie down, tell him we’re ready to pay the tab as I hand him my card.

  When we leave Loudmouth Louie’s, I can feel Rosa hanging onto my arms tight. She’s stumbling over cracks in the pavement, and I can sense her leaning into me more and more with each misstep. We head to the square and I wave for a cab. My apartment’s pretty far from here, but I know Rosa’s is closer. I look down at my date for the evening, and I see her eyes are closed as she leans into my arms.

  Yup, she’s drunk. And now I have to make sure she gets home alright. If you must know, I’m taking responsibility as her date. Plus, I am the one that bought her those drinks, after all. It’s the right thing to do, as much as I hate the inconvenience. We get in the cab and Rosa’s halfway between drunken stupor and passed-out. I give the cabbie her address, buckle her in before I’m able to fasten my seatbelt. Rosa opens her eyes, looks at me and giggles hysterically for a few seconds before passing out, head slumped back on the headrest.

  “She alright back there?” the cabbie asks from the front seat, peering at me with suspicious eyes through the rearview window. I give my most innocent-looking smile, which should just be a normal smile, right?

  “Just getting a friend home after a long night.”

  “You’re sweet,” Rosa mumbles from the headrest. Her head doesn’t move as she speaks, and her eyes remain closed.

  “You okay, miss?” the cabbie asks Rosa, assuming she’s awake enough to hear him.

  “I’m fiiiiiiiine…” Rosa trails off, dozing back off to sleep. The cab ride’s smooth enough for her to rest her head without rolling off to one side or the other. Lucky her. I’ve got to deal with the shifty cabbie, Rosa. Do you see what I go through for you?

  “Just help me get her home,” I tell the cabbie. “I gotta get her to the third floor, and I want a cab waiting for me when I get back down. You’re taking me home next, after all.”

  “As long as the meter's running, fine by me.”

  ◆◆◆

  I practically drag Rosa upstairs, her arm around my shoulder as my hand holds her waist. She lives on the third floor, so it’s a long hike up the stairs. Elevator’s out of service, just my luck. Fortunately, Rosa’s awake just enough to do her share of the walking, so I’m not carrying her like a sack of flour up the stairs. Every few steps, she looks up at me and giggles. Something about my face must be off tonight. I don’t see what all the fuss is about anyways.

  “I still had a—hic—great…time, Mason,” Rosa slurs as we climb past the second floor. “Sorry I—hic—got a bit too caught up in things.”

  I don’t bother to tell her that I’m the one that bought her those drinks. I didn’t mean for her
to get this drunk on our first date. First date. We made breakfast plans. I wonder if she’s going to want to keep those plans after tonight. I wonder if she’s going to remember making those plans. At this point, I wouldn’t blame her at all if she forgets about our plans. I’ll see if she remembers them in the morning. I’m getting tired carrying her up these stairs, and I thank God we’re finally at the third floor.

  Rosa unlocks her door after a few failed attempts. She hiccups, looks at me and giggles every time the key misses the holes. It’s pretty funny after the third time, honestly. I like her more and more every minute, even when she’s black-out drunk.

  She lets herself into the apartment, and I make sure she stumbles her way to her bed as she drunkenly turns on every light in her apartment as she tells me to stay around as she sobers up so we can make something to eat together. I accept the invite, knowing full-well that isn’t going to happen, though. Rosa finds her bed, flops down heavily, tossing her purse aside and kicks off her shoes as she lays face-down on the sheets. I smile as she immediately starts to snore.

  Something about her is just so intoxicating. And I’m not talking about the heavy scent of red wine she carries with her into the apartment.

  I turn off every single light as I leave Rosa’s apartment. I scurry back downstairs, as fast as I can so the cabbie’s meter doesn’t run too high.

  Eighteen

  I wake up confused out of my god-damned mind. I’m fully dressed, face-down, one shoe still hanging on my left big toe. I don’t remember anything from last night. What happened to Mason, where we went after our trip to Loudmouth Louie’s, nothing.

  I don’t remember how I got home.

  I try my best not to panic. I take note of my surroundings. I’m in my apartment. The bed’s still made, I happened to sleep on top of the sheets this time around. Nobody’s in the room here with me, as far as I can tell. I prop my head up, looking around. Nope. Empty.

  Suddenly, a flash of memory jumps to the forefront of my mind like a bolt of lightning.

  Mason took me home in a cab. We walked up the stairs.

  What a gentleman. I should date more men like him. Nasty at first, then sweet and kind once you’ve managed to get them out for drinks. No wonder men like him are hard to find.; I imagine they get scooped up after the first night. Unfortunately for me, my knight in shining armor is nowhere to be seen. Looks like he was too polite to sleep on the couch. Oh well, it would have been awkward to wake up to him after a first date, anyways—

  We made breakfast plans.

  I slap my forehead in wonder. How could I forget? I see the light coming in through my apartment windows, and I look at the clock on the microwave. It’s 12:30 in the afternoon. I’ve made a promise left unkept, and I feel my heart hang heavy with regret.

  I take out my cell phone which I totally forgot to plug in last night after the bar. The battery’s close to dead, but I have time to make at least one phone call. I find Mason's contact, hover over his name. But I don’t dial his number, for some reason. Some part of me feels like he won’t answer. I feel like I totally blew thins last night. Getting too drunk, making him pick up the tab and get a cab. And now I’m too hungover to wake up on time for the plans we made for the next day.

  I’d probably hate me, too. I hate me a lot right about now. And the hangover isn’t doing a lot to help with that, either.

  Taking a shower helps me clear my head, and I brew a pot of coffee. Despite it being noon on a Sunday, I feel like taking a walk will clear my head more than anything. Part of me wants to walk by the Restaurante Porto. Not to go inside, God no. Just to look in the window, see if Gambio’s training a new head chef. Or to see if the place got closed down without me and Mason being there. I highly doubt it, but it’s possible, I think to myself as I shrug my shoulders.

  After my coffee, I force myself to eat something. A bagel will do just fine. I force it down, get dressed, and head outside my apartment building. It’s a brisk Sunday afternoon, but I wear a trendy blue windbreaker to keep me warm. It’s about a twenty-minute walk to Gambio’s, so I head that way first.

  By the time I make it to Gambio’s, it’s almost 1:30. I peer inside the window, I can see Gambio waving his arms at someone in the kitchen and I hear my old boss hollering his usual chastities:

  “Faster, faster!”

  “Try harder, you idiot!”

  “I’d deport you myself if you were actually Italian!”

  It takes a lot of energy not to barge in there and tell Gambio to lay off. I stifle the thought. Just like Mason would say: not my cow, not my farm. It’s Gambio’s restaurant, after all. It looks like it’s still open, but with a high enough turnover any restaurant will eventually be forced to close its doors.

  I pry my face away from the glass, check my bearings. I figure I can walk by Mason’s restaurant, too, to see if he’s around. It would be better to apologize in person, I think to myself as I start heading in the correct direction.

  It’s a short walk to Mason’s restaurant. It’s only a block or two over, just past the square. When I get there, I can see through the windows that the place is coming along nicely. From the outside, the place is actually starting to look like a real restaurant. He must have had somebody come by to do the exterior, because I’m almost tempted to go inside and make a reservation.

  Painted white decals decorate the newly-installed and polished plate-glass windows. There’s a space for the restaurant’s name on the window, and the same above. A frame hangs above the door, a perfect place for the restaurant’s signage, once it’s finally up. For now, the frame remains empty. A red-and-white striped awning hangs over the front of the restaurant, giving cover to patrons who need shade from the sun or from the rain.

  I peer inside through cupped hands, where I can see men and a few scant women hustling to and fro. They’re carrying either lumber, tools, or both. All of them wear hard hats, and most wear gloves and work boots, too.

  Mason stands out like a sore thumb in the group, in his grey hoodie and grey sweatpants, splotched with paint, still wet. Sawdust peppers his clothing, scattered about at random. At least he’s wearing a hard hat. That makes me feel better. Mason holds a clipboard, reading off a list of things I assume he wants the contractors to finish today. He’s reading to a larger, portlier man. Rupert, I think. Mason told me his lead contractor’s name before.

  All of a sudden, one of the workers carrying an extra-large sheet of plywood spots me. A few contractors look my way as I peer inside on them, watching as they work. Mason looks up, and we make eye contact as he smiles and waves for me to come inside. My heart races. He doesn’t seem too mad, I can see a warm inviting smile on his face as I push open the door.

  I’m greeted by the noise of construction work, alright. A drill powers on somewhere in the back of the kitchen. I hear multiple people sawing. I can see that they’re building booths to stagger around the perimeter of the restaurant, and it looks like Mason was just going over the final plans with Rupert before I stumbled in with my hangover.

  “Rosa,” Mason says, with only a hint of surprise in his voice. “Glad to see you’re alive.”

  “All thanks to you,” I say. “You’re the one who got me home safe, after all.”

  Mason does a comically overblown bow, hands outstretched, still holding his clipboard. Rupert looks back and forth between us, grinning like a madman. It’s silly, but I still appreciate Mason’s gesture.

  “Your majesty was delivered home safe and sound before one-thirty in the A-M. I do believe she slept through our breakfast plans, however.”

  I cringe. “That’s what I came here for, actually. To apologize. I remembered our plans after waking up, my head is killing me.”

  Mason checks his watch. “You did wake up in time for my lunch break. How about we get a sandwich somewhere?”

  I smile. “That’d be nice. I worked up one heck of an appetite getting here, anyways. And this time, I’m buying. To make up for last night, I mean.”
<
br />   “Then let’s take a walk. I know a good place close to here. Plus, the owner isn’t going to shout at us. No Louies or Gambios on my lunch break, that’s what I think.”

  I laugh at the joke as Mason offers me his arm and hands his hard hat and clipboard to Rupert. “I’ll be back in an hour to check on things. Don’t get too crazy without me.”

  “Impossible, boss,” Rupert says to Mason as we walk out the door to get a cab. “You’re taking all the crazy with you. Don’t bring it back in one piece.”

  Nineteen

  We agree on stopping by a local l hotspot I’d read some good reviews for online. The Sliding Shack proves to be a small burger joint indeed, with only room for just a few tables inside. Mason and I squeeze through the door and step up to the counter, where an old menu with plastic removable letters tells us a burger is only $1.00. Fifteen more cents to add a slice of cheese, and fries come free with every meal. Mason and I agree that we can split a few burgers, and he pays for the meal without hesitation. What a gentleman indeed, my knight in shining armor. The teenager manning the grill station pumps out slider after slider, and I can feel my mouth watering as the meat sizzles. After the food’s brought out, we find the most secluded table we can and sit down.

  The burgers are to die for. How on earth have I never been here before?

  “How’s your food?” Mason asks me between bites.

  “Better than Mickey-D’s,” I laugh as I wipe my face, fearing I’ve ruined my look with horribly smeared ketchup. I worry Mason will think I’m gross, but then I notice he’s still covered in sawdust and paint from all the work he’d been doing on his restaurant. I mark us even.

  There’s nobody else here beside the teenager who made our burgers, and he’s outside on a smoke break. I look into Mason’s eyes and he glances up from his burger.

  “Hey,” I smile. “I’m glad we did this.”

  He shrugs, but still cracks a hint of a smile. “Hey. Me too.”