Page 117 of Unhinged

“Jeez,” I mutter between laughing. “Deprived. See, dumpling? You desperately needed me in your life.”

His smirk makes me tingle all over. “Uh-huh.”

“What’s with your dad’s unique name?”

“My grandmother had wanted to name him something outrageous like California, and my grandfather picked Moe. They couldn’t agree, so they let Uncle Dale and Aunt Amy name him. Uncle Dale wanted Batman, and Aunt Amy said Poop Shoot or something. They flipped Bat, and there you are.”

“That is my new favorite story.”

“They let a seven-year-old and four-year-old name a baby, and it played out spectacularly.”

I laugh, and he gives me a weird look. To keep him talking, I ask, “Where did your parents meet?”

He raises an eyebrow, and I want to lick the syrup from his lips. “Prison.” I laugh again, making him smile. “College. And they divorced when I was seven.”

“My parents were only married for two years. They met at some tooth convention. He was an older, suave orthodontist that caught my mother’s eye. When my mother became pregnant, he went berzerk. As you can tell, my father is controlling. He began verbally abusing her and tried to bully her into aborting me. But she refused. He demanded a paternity test during the divorce since he didn’t believe I was his. Unfortunately, I am, and he never lets me forget it.”

“Son of a fucking bitch.”

“She was a bitch. My grandmother wanted nothing to do with me, either, and she was his only living relative. She’s dead now.”

“Damn.”

“Jack Simpson came along when I was almost three. It sucks that he and my mom are divorced, but he still loves me like he loves his son Beau. Since my sisters mostly lived with their dad, Henry, Jack helped raise Finn and loves him too. Marc Garrison may have fathered me, but Jackie is my dad.”

Greg smiles, and we finish our French toast at about the same time. The red head returns with our check, and I snatch it out of her hand. Not sorry just for the shitty smiley face drawn on the bottom alone.

Greg bitches, “Hey! I’m the one who asked you out.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Yuck. Don’t be one of those guys.”

“Which one?”

I find my wallet in my purse and roll my eyes. “The kind that asks that question.” I smile sweetly at Strawberry Shortcake as I hand her my debit card. I then turn to Greg. “I wanted to come here. My treat.”

I fold my hands on the table as we wait for my card. Greg drapes his arm on the back of the booth, and I ask, “Have you ever been in love?”

His mouth falls open, and I swear his face experiences every emotion. “Damn, these questions.”

“It’s conversation.”

“It’s intrusive.”

“It’s a date. And a valid question.”

“Have you?”

“I asked you first, dumpling.”

Greg fidgets again, and it’s a telling sign. He rests his forearms on the table as he plays with a napkin and bites his lip. “I think so.” Greg then sighs and nods at the table like he’s just now confirming his answer. “Yes.” I didn’t expect that answer to stab me like a pitchfork. How could he be in love when he’s not dated? Or did he?

“Who was she?”

He looks toward the other side of the room. “Come on.”

“You can’t even tell me about a past love? You went on a date with Rhonda. Was it her?”

Greg shakes his head and shifts again like he might leave. “No.”

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