by Sam Mariano
“She’s feeling fine.”
Her smile is weaker when she looks back up at me. “All switched.”
As I head back to the table, I realize I should have sent Trent to the hostess stand. Now the hostess—I can’t for the fucking life of me remember her name—is going to make sure it spreads like wildfire when Virginia leaves with me tonight.
When I get back to the table, I’m feeling quite satisfied with myself for scoring a night with Virginia. Then the lady in question comes over looking mildly annoyed, and puts my plate down with more force than is strictly necessary.
“Something wrong?” I ask her.
“Nothing is wrong. I hope that’s not cold, it was done a few minutes ago, but you were flirting with the hostess and I didn’t want to leave your food unattended. I took it for a walk. Your salmon is well-traveled, at least.”
A faint smirk tugs at my lips. “I was not flirting with the hostess.”
“Uh huh.”
“She’s orange. She’s like an Oompa Loompa with better hair. Come on, now. I have higher standards than that.”
Biting back a smile, she says, “Well, that Oompa Loompa certainly got friendly with your arm.”
“Apparently she is a dinner jacket aficionado. She was impressed with the cut.”
“I bet she can’t even spell aficionado,” she mutters.
She’s cranky tonight. Probably leftover jealousy from when she thought Mia was my dinner date. “I think I’ve spoiled you,” I tell her, leaning back in my seat, preparing to fuck with her.
“Oh, have you?” she inquires.
I nod my head. “You’ve gotten so used to single Rafe.”
“He’s been around for a while now,” she admits. “I confess, I kinda like him. Not that I don’t like philandering Rafe, but single Rafe is much more fun.”
“For you,” I say dryly.
“Of course,” she says, offering an angelic smile. “Don’t you exist solely to make my life fun?”
“I think I do. Speaking of making your life fun, I switched your schedule, so you’re leaving at seven. I was going to wait to tell you, but since you’re so interested in my visit with the hostess…”
Blinking, she says, “You switched my schedule?”
“I did. Your buddy Felix is closing, you’re leaving at 7, and we are going to buy Skylar a birthday present.”
“Oh man, I don’t know if I’m ready for all that excitement.”
I flash her a smile. “Well, you better get ready.”
26
Virginia
I sigh to myself, replaying the perky, “Have fun, you two!” that Stacy called out as I left the restaurant with Rafe. It seems like I just got people to stop talking about me and Rafe and the epic, secret romance they have concocted in their minds. I thought denying and avoiding the topic would make it less interesting to gossip about, but somehow my discretion turned it from a “did they or didn’t they?” into “they definitely did.”
Whatever, I guess it doesn’t matter. I just hate the girls at the restaurant thinking they can go after Rafe now. Before, they understood he didn’t get involved with his employees, so even if they daydreamed and fantasized about him, they never actually thought they could get anywhere with him.
I changed all that.
That was not a thing I wanted to change.
It’s completely different when Rafe brings a random woman from the outside into the restaurant as his date for the night, and when co-workers that I have to try to like have the nerve to say the things they say about him in front of me. When I’m at work, I shouldn’t have to deal with my co-workers trying to pursue the object of my affection. That makes it a lot harder to enjoy coming to work.
“Felix is so pissed,” Rafe states, looking amused as we walk to his car. “Did you see his face? Make sure you never pawn me off on that little bastard again; if he gets his hands on my food, he might poison me.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe instead of avoiding people who want to poison you, you should stop making people want to poison you?” I ask him, opening up his passenger side door. “Just a thought.”
“I feel like you want to poison me, and I didn’t even do anything,” he informs me.
“I don’t like Stacy. It’s not you, it’s her. She doesn’t respect the boundaries of… the boundaries,” I conclude, not wanting to explain it. “As you mentioned when you fired Felix, we both want to be comfortable here. This is where I work. I spend more time here than anywhere else, and I’ve always enjoyed it, but…” I trail off, feeling stupid. He’s just going to think I’m being jealous, and one of the things he likes about me is that his admirers usually don’t bug me. Of course, I usually don’t have to work with them.
Surprising me, he says seriously, “I’ll tell Trent to talk to her about behaving appropriately. You’re right, I didn’t think about that. I didn’t flirt with her,” he adds, looking over at me.
“I know,” I say, looking down at my lap. “Everybody thinks we slept together, so it sort of opened up a whole new world of possibility for some of the girls.”
“Well, give me names, and I’ll close it back up,” he says, simply.
I look over at him as he checks his rearview mirror and backs out of his parking spot. I didn’t expect him to do anything about it, I was just venting my frustrations. But there he goes, being my hero again.
He’s so wonderful.
I sigh again, but this time my sigh is full of regrets because he’s so damn perfect.
“What?” he asks, glancing in my direction.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just like you.”
His uncertainty melts and his easy smile returns. “I like you, too.”
After finding Skylar’s birthday gifts and getting incredibly distracted at the Sugar Factory, I’m just a little bit tipsy. Originally, I told Rafe we should stop in and buy Skylar one of those lollipops the size of her face to go with her gift. I don’t know if she’ll actually even attempt to consume it, but I can attach it to the nameplate with some curly ribbons and make the package really pretty.
The thing is, since we’re here and I’ve never actually consumed alcohol at the Sugar Factory, Rafe decided it was time. So now here we sit at the bar, and I am halfway to fucked up. He’s not helping me at all since he’s driving, and I’m approaching the point of not being able to see straight.
“Oh my God, why does it taste so good? I need to stop drinking it,” I tell him.
His arms are folded on the bar and he’s nursing a glass of water. That’s so sexy. Everything he does is sexy. I like when he’s responsible and he takes care of me. I want to sway over there and wrap my arms around him in true drunk girl splendor.
Sitting upright, I shake my head. No, get it together, Virginia.
“Drink all you want,” he tells me. “I’ll drive you home.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want the closers to see my car still there when they go home. Then everyone will be saying I went home with you. We have a grand affair, don’t you know? It’s the most fun thing anyone has ever talked about. They exchange so many sly looks. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into ordering a drink,” I deduce.
“It’s no problem, Virginia. I can have someone drive your car home. Hell, I’ll do it now,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“I don’t think you giving me a ride home is a good idea,” I tell him. “Remember last time you gave my drunk ass a ride home? It didn’t end well.”
“I thought it ended well,” he says dryly, as he types out a text.
“Fine, it ended well in certain respects, but it can’t end that way tonight, and you smell really good, so I think we should probably not do that,” I inform him, doing my best to express my drunk girl logic.
“All right, then you can come back to my house,” he offers back, with his terribly flawed sober Rafe logic.
I point at him. At one of him. I close one eye, and then there is only one of him again.
Much better. I open both eyes. “No.”
“But I smell so good.”
I grin, leaning over and bumping him in the shoulder. “Don’t use my compliments against me, you rogue.”
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he demands.
“Mm… I don’t know. My favorite color is brown.”
“No one’s favorite color is brown,” he says dismissively.
Anyone who has seen how lovely his brown eyes are would most certainly see the benefits of choosing that as their favorite color. “It used to be blue,” I tell him. “I like both. But brown wins every time if there’s a competition.”
“Tell me something else. Something more substantial.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll tell you something, but you have to promise not to judge me.”
He smiles benignly. “Are you joking? Me? Judge you?”
“Just promise.”
His eyes narrow, but I can see the interest there. If I want immunity before telling him, it must be good. Since he seems to be in the mood to go rooting around in my soul, he bites. “All right, I promise.”
“It’s kinda bad,” I tell him.
“Worse than shoplifting a Christmas ornament?”
“Well… that was an action, this was more of a thought crime. I didn’t actually do anything wrong, it was more that I considered doing—or not doing, I guess—something.”
“All right,” he says, even more interested.
“I should preface this by saying, I love my mom. I know not everyone has great relationships with their parents, but that’s not the case for me. I mean, our relationship is by no means perfect, no relationship is perfect, but I love her and she’s important to me.”
“Got it.”
“Two years ago she called me and told me she had to talk to me about something. She’d been to the doctor, and they thought she might have cancer.”
Rafe leans back. “Oh, shit.”
I nod my head. “So, of course I was really scared and upset about it, I was worried for her, I felt terrible. I started researching everything I could about it, you know? All the tips and tricks. It’s stupid, but you always think you’ll be able to stumble across some miracle cure that somehow the rest of the word missed, because you really need it.”
He nods his understanding. “Sure.”
“So, I started sending her this new diet regimen she needed to adopt, tea she should try—the works. If there’s a suggestion on a website somewhere of a miracle cure, I found it. She eventually got tired of all the emails, and she called to tell me to cool it, you know? We didn’t even know if it was cancer, and I always do this, I always get ahead of myself. She’s my mom,” I offer with a shrug. “She nags me sometimes, even when I’m trying to help.”
Rafe smiles faintly. “My mom nags with the best of ‘em.”
I lean forward and catch my straw between my lips, sucking up a long sip of alcohol. “Anyway, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I should have also prefaced this by saying that my father did die of cancer when I was 11.”
Grimacing, Rafe says, “Aw, shit, I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, so, it just brought all that back. All the memories, you know. It was horrible. Seeing his body break down, watching him as he lost his ability to do things—it was just bad. And so I started to imagine it happening to her. Having to go through all that again. At least I’m a grown-up this time, I guess, but I started thinking about how I would have to move back home and take care of her.”
I look up to see how he responds, and he nods his head, like that makes sense. “Right.”
“But the thing is…” I pause, take another sip of my alcohol, and look at him again. “The thing is, I wasn’t sure if I was willing. Not because I didn’t want to relive all that. I didn’t, but I just… I didn’t want to leave here. I didn’t want to leave Vegas.”
Understanding dawns. I don’t have to say I didn’t want to leave him; he gets it. Sighing, he slides off his stool and pulls me off mine, then pulls me into his arms. “Christ, Virginia.”
I don’t get to hug him much anymore, so I take advantage and soak him up this time. I secure my arms around him and hold on tight, breathing in the incredible scent of him. I stumble through memories until I’m back in my bed with him, and that’s why I can smell him so close.
“And the thing is, I’m not delusional,” I go on. “Back then I was even less sure I had a future here, so it’s not like I thought I would gain some great thing by staying. I knew I would never have—have things I might want, and I was still so invested, I found myself wanting to stay here with what I had more than I wanted to go back and help my own mom. What kind of person does that make me?”
“No, none of that,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my hair. “You’re a good person. I know bad people, and you’re not that. You didn’t want to give up your little slice of happiness, that’s all. I’m sorry it’s such a small slice. You deserve more.”
Tears blur my vision and I hug him tighter. I miss him so much. Getting drunk with the guy you can’t get over is a terrible idea. “I didn’t need more. I was happy with what I had.”
“And I fucked it up.” I’m not even sure that part is for me, he’s just reviewing the facts. He did fuck it up. I let him fuck it up, though. I should have said no. I knew the cost. I knew it would be hard.
Someone clears their throat and I pull back, blinking away my tears. Rex is standing there in a white T-shirt and jeans with his black leather jacket over it.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt, but I figured you probably didn’t want me to hotwire the car. I need her keys.”
“Damn, that was fast,” I murmur, grabbing my purse and digging around for my keys.
“I was nearby,” he explains. “You okay?”
I nod my head, pulling my keys out and handing them to him. “Thanks, Rex.”
Rex leaves as fast as he came, but now that he has burst my Rafe bubble, I feel awkward about being the crying drunk girl.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Rafe. “Alcohol makes me emotional.”
His lips curve up faintly, but he doesn’t look amused. “And here I wasn’t supposed to make you cry anymore.”
“You didn’t make me cry,” I assure him. “The sour gummy watermelon slices made me cry. Maybe the pool of alcohol they’re soaking in. Definitely not you. I just feel bad about being an emotional mess. How are we ever supposed to hang out as friends if I end the night like this?”
“It’s one time,” Rafe says generously. “And I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a great time hanging out tonight. I still am. There’s nothing wrong with feeling things, Virginia. You don’t have to be flawlessly composed and unfeeling. I would hate that. I don’t like seeing you sad, but numb is worse. I love your heart. I wouldn’t change a thing about tonight, so don’t stress about it.”
My shoulders sag and I take a big gulp of my drink. “You make it so hard not to kiss you. Why can’t you just be a jerk?”
“I am a jerk,” he says wryly.
“You’re perfect,” I disagree.
“Do they sell your drunk goggles in bulk packages? I want to buy a bunch to pass out at family events.”
I grin, biting down on my straw. “It was fun seeing you with your family.”
“You’ll be seeing plenty more at the party.”
“Skylar’s going to love it.” I use my straw to stir my drink. “Laurel was telling me all about the party, and it sounds like a big to-do.”
“A very big to-do.”
“I thought since it’s a mermaid theme, they would have asked to do it at your house. Because of the pool, plus you have such an enormous yard to decorate,” I offer.
Rafe shakes his head. “Forget ask, I offered. You know Sin, though. Prideful bastard. Had to be at his house.”
“Maybe they’ll have Nicky’s at your house.”
“Maybe,” he offers, his tone non-committal.
Now that I’m f
inished blubbering all over him, we slide right back into having fun together. I expect Rafe to cut me off before I finish the giant drink, but he lets me finish the whole damn thing. I stumble to the bathroom, then come back, take his hand, and drag him to the gift shop where we bought Skylar’s giant lollipop. It’s in the bag already hanging from Rafe’s hand, but I insist we should get candy for the road, and he lets me haul him around, getting impressed as only a drunk girl (or a tourist) can over all the candy.
“Here you go,” Rafe says, grabbing my attention. “I found the perfect thing for you.”
He holds up a blue lollipop.
I cock an eyebrow. “You trying to say something, Morelli?”
“I just know how much you love blue. And sucking on things.” With a pseudo-innocent shrug, he says, “Match made in Heaven.”
“Just for that, I’m going to suck on it really good the whole ride home. The bluest thing in the car will be your balls.”
Rafe chuckles at my threat and leads me over to the cash register so he can pay for my sucker.
27
Rafe
When I get Virginia home safely, I follow her inside her apartment. Despite my urging her to move and the thick fucking envelopes of cash I gave her, she still lives at the same apartment. I thought about taking matters out of her hands and making her move, but I guess if she likes this tiny-ass apartment so much, it’s her business.
Virginia kicks off her shoes, swings and drops her purse, then wanders into the kitchen. She’s completely wasted. Can’t hold her alcohol for shit.
Smiling fondly as she roots around in her cupboards, I lean against the arch in her kitchen. “May I ask what the hell you think you’re doing?”
“I’m gonna make a cake,” she informs me, knocking the bowl in the sink. “Whoops.”
“You’re not going to make a cake,” I tell her, pushing off the wall and going over to take everything she just got out away from her. None of it is perishable, so I push it into a neat pile on her counter, grab her wrists, and drag her away.
