Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I hurried back into the restaurant, and a waiter showed me to the table. Whoever this guy Edgar was, I had to grudgingly admit he had good taste. The place was classy but not too formal, dark and cozy enough that it felt private but not so quiet that there’d be awkward silences. There was a great view across Lake Michigan with the lights of the city reflected in the dark water, and the food looked and smelled amazing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten something that wasn’t takeout or instant noodles.
We rounded a corner, and I saw him, waiting at the table. Oh, he’s cute! Edgar had pale golden hair and beautiful, expressive blue eyes. I mentally shifted gears. I’d been dreading this; now I was wondering if I still remembered how to flirt.
Edgar jumped up when he saw me and gave me a big, honest smile. He pulled my chair out for me, which was old-fashioned but sort of sweet. We ordered and started talking. He’d been divorced about two years, had two kids he obviously adored, and his weaknesses were Godzilla movies and red licorice.
He was nice. And attractive. I decided to get this over with before I got my hopes up too much. “I want to tell you right up front,” I said, “I work for the FBI.”
Edgar grinned, which gave him dimples. “Cool.”
I blinked. “Really? That puts most people off.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Mine’s worse.”
“I doubt it.”
He cleared his throat theatrically. “Investigator for the IRS.”
My jaw dropped. “Oh. Okay, yeah. That’s way worse.”
“Does it put you off?”
I locked eyes with him and smiled. “No. No, it doesn’t.”
He smiled back at me, and then both of us reached for the bread, and we bumped fingers and laughed, and maybe this could work and—
I froze. You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Marching out of the shadows was Gennadiy.
I started to get up, but he was already at the table, looming over us. And he was pissed. “Who is this?” he demanded, glancing at Edgar.
I just stared up at him, dumbstruck.
“I’m Edgar,” said Edgar, uncertainly. Gennadiy didn’t even look at him. Edgar looked at me. “Is this your...ex?”
“No!” Gennadiy and I both said as one. I was annoyed at him showing up like this, but Gennadiy was seething. What’s his problem?
I managed to shake off my shock. “What are you doing here?!”
“My family owns this restaurant.” He looked between the two of us. “What are you doing here?”
I looked at my hand, still touching Edgar’s. Gennadiy and I had spent three months in close proximity, but this was the first time he’d ever seen me with a man. Oh God, is he...jealous?!
I jumped up from the table. “Don’t move,” I told Edgar. I put my hands on Gennadiy’s chest and guided him back across the room, which felt like being a mouse pushing a bull. He was looking annoyingly amazing in a midnight-blue shirt, and I could feel his heart pounding under my palms. He kept glancing back at Edgar, a murderous look on his face, and that stoked my own anger. Partly, it was that Gennadiy had no right to be jealous. Partly, it was that there was a weak little part of me, deep down, that was melting at the fact that he was jealous. I hated myself for that.
I pushed Gennadiy up against the wall, and he scowled down at me. “You’re really on a date with that zanuda?” he snapped.
“Yes! Gennadiy, what is this? You can’t just—”
He was turning scarlet. I’d never seen him so angry, not even when I first met him at the casino. “After dinner, what happens? You’re going to go to his place and—” He broke off, panting, too angry to say it.
But I was pissed, too. “Yes!” I hissed. “Yes, I’m on a date with him, yes, I like him, and yes, Gennadiy, if everything goes well, then I might just go to his place, drop to my knees and worship his dick!”
His eyes flared, the gray ice turning so bitterly cold it was frightening. Then he turned and walked away. I stood there panting, my palms still warm from the heat of his chest. Jesus.
I walked back to the table and, before Edgar could speak, I grabbed my glass of Chardonnay and glugged half of it. Then I gave a huge sigh. Better.
“Was that guy...someone from work?” asked Edgar gently.
I nodded, my heart rate still slowing. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Are you okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned. And even a little protective, which was all the sweeter because he was half Gennadiy’s size.
I nodded firmly. “Yes. I’m sorry about that. But don’t worry, it’s all over. I dealt with it. Now...where were we?”
He smiled, and I smiled back. But I felt a flutter of unease in my stomach.