Worth the Chance(27)

I’ve never been to the restaurant Vinny takes me to. It’s small and intimate and would normally be something I’d appreciate, but the staff all seems to know him and I find myself annoyed that it’s clearly a place he frequents with his conquests. I don’t know why it bothers me, it just does. We’re both adults, even I’ve had my fair share of dates and overnight partners. Yet something deep inside me is bothered by knowing he’s been here and done this before…with someone else.

The waitress comes to greet us, and I feel my pulse accelerate when she also greets Vinny, no Vince, by name. She’s cute, although too thin. So much so that I find myself wondering if she has an eating disorder, or perhaps a drug problem, while her and Vinny take a minute to catch up. Careful inspection finds dark circles under her eyes, even though a thick layer of makeup attempts to conceal it.

“So, what can I get you tonight? Beer for you and...” The waif like waitress smiles at me and waits for my response.

“I’ll take a Merlot. Thank you.” I bury my nose in the menu, unable to conceal that I’m bothered by his familiarity with the restaurant, the waitress…the entire dating scene. What girl wants it smacking her in the face as she goes out to dinner with a man she is trying to learn to trust?

“Do you like tilapia?”

“Yes.” I answer, but don’t look up from the menu.

“I’ll order for us then.” Vinny folds his menu and tosses it on the table, as if the discussion we just began already ended.

“I can order for myself.” I’m not successful at hiding that I’m annoyed, even though I really do try.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just figured since I’ve tried most of the things on the menu—”

“Looks like a few that aren’t on it too.” The words come out under my breath, dripping with so much bitterness that even I find the statement catty.

Vinny doesn’t respond immediately. Curious as to his response to my immature statement, I lift my head and find him glaring at me. Neither of us says anything for a minute as we stare into each other’s eyes, playing visual chicken, both too stubborn to look away.

“I come here with Elle and Nico all the time. I know Lily from outpatient rehab, never touched the woman. I’ve never taken a date here.”

I can see in his face he’s telling the truth. Heat seeps up to my face, I’m embarrassed for jumping to conclusions, but even more embarrassed at how I reacted to the conclusion I drew. Like a jealous girlfriend, unsure of herself.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” There’s a slight uptick in the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you’re territorial, because I feel the same way.”

“I’m not—”

Vinny interrupts me before I could deny what he’s accused me of. “You are.”

Exasperated, I let out a sigh and wave my hand. “Whatever.” It earns me a full-fledged, panty dropping, dimple bearing smile.



The tension from earlier in the evening long forgotten, we spend hours catching up.

“So you were valedictorian?”

Surprised he knew I’d received any accolades, I correct him. “Salutatorian. You kept tabs on me?”

“Isn’t that like, number two? And yes.” He arches his eyebrow. Clearly he remembers how competitive I could be.

“Scott Julian beat me by .002.” It’s been years, but the agony of defeat still grates on my nerves. “I got a B+ in gym.” Rolling my eyes at my own admission.

My response earns a chuckle. “You lost number one because of gym.”

“Yep.” I lift my wine to my mouth and drain the glass. It pisses me off, but I can find the humor in it too. Finally. Well, maybe a little anyway.

“That was the only class I ever got an A in.”

“What about English? You did well when I tutored you.”

“Got a B.” He finishes his beer. “Tutor was hot.” He shrugs, a grin on his face. “Distracted me.”

“So it’s my fault you didn’t get an A in a real subject?”

His brows narrow. “Gym is a real subject.”

“Pfsst.” I pooh-pooh his answer. “Gym is not a real subject.”

Eyebrows popping, he finds amusement in my answer. “Bet you Scott Julian agrees with me.”

“Whatever.” I squint, my hand waving away our argument as no big deal, even though it’s one I could clearly argue for hours. One that still sits uneasily with me. “You just like to get a rise out of me,” I accuse.

One lip turned devilishly upward, an eyebrow arched suggestively, he doesn’t even need to speak his retort. We both know what it would be.