“Anyway, I thought of showing up with dinner tonight. We usually go out on Saturday evenings, but I’d rather stay in. Maybe if we’re out of the fancy restaurant scene, he’ll be different,” I suggest, though I doubt it. Matthew’s more of the take what you get kind of man, and I’m sure the setting isn’t going to change that.
“I think you should do it. Send him a message now that you’re coming over for dinner. Don’t give him a chance to back out. And if he does, well, show up anyway. Kiss him and see if there are any sparks that lead to an inferno in the bedroom. If not, you know what to do.”
She makes it sound so simple.
But in reality, it is. If there’s nothing between us, then why are we dating?
Grabbing my phone, I pull up his name. First thing I notice is it’s been two days since I’ve even heard from him. There’s a slight tremble to my fingers when I start to type my message.
Me:I’d like to come over for dinner tonight. Six o’clock. There’s something we need to discuss.
I exhale loudly as I set my phone down on the table. Usually it takes upwards of an hour or two for him to reply, so when I see the bubbles appear almost instantaneously, I’m pleasantly surprised.
Matthew:Sounds great. I’ll order Thai from that little restaurant you like.
My eyes widen when I read his message.
“What?” Amalee asks.
“He’s, uh, well, he’s ordering dinner for us.”
“See? Maybe he’s just been busy and not trying to be standoffish. You said he was closing a deal, right?”
Setting my phone back down, I murmur, “Yeah. He mentioned it’s almost complete.”
“I bet that’s the problem. A hundred bucks says you two are naked and doing the nasty before dinner is even delivered,” she replies with a giggle.
“Maybe,” I mutter, not quite so sure I agree.
“But if not, then you’re already prepared for what to do. Kiss him and see what happens. At least if you have to break up, you won’t be blindsided.”
Very true. The last serious boyfriend I had broke up with me at dinner on our two-year anniversary. I was expecting the diamond earrings I saw a receipt for but was given the boot instead. Turns out, those earrings were for someone else, and he had another reservation with her later that evening.
When the check arrives, I pull out my credit card faster than she does. Amalee knows better than to argue with me in these instances. She knows I have the money, not that it’s actually mine, in the way that I actually earned it. It’s my mother’s money, plain and simple.
My mother passed away three years ago from a brain aneurysm. Worse than losing your mother at the age of twenty-seven was being the person who found her. We were supposed to have lunch, but I was running late. To this day, I wish I would have called instead of texting her. Or maybe reached out to Beula, their housekeeper, to check on her. But no, I went on with my morning, completely oblivious to the fact my mother was dying across town.
Margaret Morgan came from money. Her father was a New York senator for more than three decades and had his name attached to several businesses throughout the state. When he passed, his fortune went to her, his only daughter, and when my mother died, it went to me, her only heir. Honestly, I don’t want the money. It’s more than I’ll spend in this lifetime, but it does afford me a few luxuries and freedoms, like volunteering my time at the animal shelter.
I’m their number one donor.
After the waiter delivers my card and I sign the slip, we exit the restaurant and stop on the sidewalk.
“I’m so glad we got together,” my friend says, pulling me into her arms and hugging me tightly.
“Me too,” I reply, honestly.
“Remember, if he isn’t going to produce the goods, then give him the boot,” she says, leaning in and adding, “and hopefully those goods are at least eight inches.”
I bark out a very unladylike laugh and shake my head. “You’re bad.”
Amalee winks and grins. “Oh, I know. I’m working so many hours I have to live vicariously through you.”
“That’s not a good thing, Am.”
She stands up straight. “I’ve been flirting with one of the men down in finance. He’s not bad looking. I’m thinking of letting him slip his hotdog in my bun.”
My eyes widen. “Amalee!”
“What? It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten some meat, Kyla. A really long time. I’m desperate, hence the guy down in finance. I’m pretty sure he wears a toupee, but I don’t care. He can just take me from behind, so I don’t accidentally pull it off his head.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to suppress my giggle, but it doesn’t work. “That’s way more information than I needed or wanted to know.”
She just shrugs. “I’ve gotta go back to the office. Text me later tonight after you either break up with him or shag him into oblivion.”
Shaking my head, I turn and head in the opposite direction, praying no one heard her crude comment. Though, I’ll admit, it does hold a bit of merit. I don’t necessarily need the oblivion part, but a little shagging would be nice.
As I slip into my car, my phone rings. I already know who’s calling, and I’m smiling as I answer. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Kyla, how are you?”
“Just wrapping up lunch with Amalee.”
“Ahh, how is Miss Dawson?”
“She’s fine. Busy working. How are you?” I ask, as I start the car and the phone switches over to my Bluetooth.
“I’m all right,” he replies, yet I hear the hesitation in his voice.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, dread filling my body. I’m so dang grateful I didn’t pull out of the parking garage yet.
“Nothing,” he insists before sighing. “I’ve been doing some thinking, honey.”
“Uh oh, that’s worrisome,” I tease, though
