Page 21 of Breakup Games

“Nice work,” Mason says, voice in my ear. I’m tempted to take the earpiece and microphone off and throw them as far as I can away from me. It’s more invasive than I thought to have Mason able to heareverything. Flirting, even though it’s fake, isn’t something I want another person eavesdropping on. It’s too personal, because even though I’m hamming it all up to stroke Enzo’s ego, there’s some of me shining through.

And for some reason, it’s a little more than that and I’m fighting hard not to feel judged and embarrassed, which isn’t like me. Three or four years ago, yes, I was worried about what everyone and their brother thought because Cory was—and still is—incredibly concerned with his reputation. I knew it then, as I know it now, that someone with a narcissistic personality disorder diagnosis is overly concerned with what other people think. They hate themselves at their core, all while feeling a sense of superiority. They’re unable to take in their own energy from the universe, and instead have to take it from someone else.

That person was me for years and years and years.

But Mason…he’s just someone I’m working with. For free, I might add. One fake date with Enzo sounded fun and exciting, but now that the date is wrapping up and he’s walking me out of the restaurant, I don’t know if I want to do this again.

Because Enzo is smitten.

“You sure you don’t want to go home with him?” Mason pushes, and I tip my head to the side, reaching up to smooth out my hair. “I’ll pull the fire alarm before he gets too frisky.”

I let out an annoyed sign and turn my head so I can roll my eyes without Enzo seeing. No fucking way am I even getting in an Uber with Enzo. And it’s not because he’s in the mafia. It’s because he’s a homophobic creep who hasn’t seen a dentist in years and has some very obvious unresolved daddy issues since his parents have been elbow deep in organized crime since before he was born.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I say to Enzo as he opens the door for me. Between Mason’s chatter in my ear and the whoosh of a car going by, I didn’t catch anything Enzo just said.

“I can get us into a club,” he repeats. “You can bring your friends.”

“That is tempting,” I take a step toward the street, trying to mentally figure out how to get away with him kissing me goodnight. “But I know if I go…” I flash an innocent smile. “I told you my rule.”

“You are a tough one to crack.”

“Too tough to try?” I raise one shoulder, blinking as I reach up and grab my necklace.

“Oh, nothing is too tough for me.”

“Well, you’ll have to prove it then.”

He steps in. Oh crap. “I look forward to doing that.”

“Me, too.” I step back. “Goodnight, Matthew,” I say.

“Thank God you didn’t call him Enzo.” Mason’s voice in my ear is like the Jiminy Cricket of consciousness I never wanted.“That would have been bad. To be honest, I thought you might. I had a bet going with my partner. Now I owe him fifty bucks.”

Trying to keep the look of annoyance off my face, I pull both arms in, trying to hint with my body language that I’m closing myself off. Enzo either ignores me or doesn’t get it, but I manage to turn my head and end the night with a kiss on the cheek.

We part ways, and I get into an Uber—the same fake one from before—and have him drop me off atUntitled, one of my favorite places to meet up with the girls. Kat and Elsie are there already, and Zara will join us when she gets off from her shift at the hospital later tonight.

“Hey!” I say to them, reaching up and rubbing my ear. I turned in the earpiece and microphone to the FBI driver and Mason texted me that he will reach out later tonight. I’m eager to talk to him. About Enzo. Not to figure out who he was sitting next to. Because there’s no way he was on a real date. He was talking to me half the night so he would have looked like a crazy person if his “date” didn’t know, so she was probably an FBI agent too—which means he could have been on a date.

Unless there’s adon’t shit where you eatpolicy at the Bureau and he can’t date a coworker. Though they could just be hooking up and if that’s the case—

Stop.

I’m spiraling, something I help clients not do. It doesn’t matter. I got some info for the FBI, did my duty as a citizen, and now I need to move on with my life, not worry about what some arrogant FBI agent is doing in his spare time. It doesn’t matter that he’s tall and muscular, with a deep voice that rattled right through me every time he spoke. There was a slight vibration with every word, and I couldn’t help but think how good that same vibration would feel if it were somewhere else.

“How was the date?” Kat asks, coming over to our table with a tray of mocktails. She got sober a year ago and we’re all soproud of her. When we’re together, none of us drink. Elsie was never much of a drinker anyway, and I cut back myself after realizing I was using it as a way to dull my feelings instead of just feeling them.

“A real date?” Elsie raises an eyebrow.

“No, one of my usual. Guy is a total cheater.”

“Aren’t they all.” Kat takes a drink, shaking her head as she sits down.

“Oh come on, there are good guys out there! Look at your dad!” Elsie goes on.

“True,” I say and nod. My parents have been happily married for over forty years and I should have paid more attention to how Cory was nothing like my father. But I was only eighteen when we met and I can’t regret the past. “But not this guy.” I wave my hand in the air. “Anyway, tell me about the dressage clinic you’re going to.”

The conversation turns to horses and Elsie’s dating profile that she's been “in the process” of setting up for the last six months. Zara joins us, and we have a great time just talking and laughing. We leave just a bit before midnight and the wind has picked up. I regret not taking a jacket as I huddle next to Elsie on our way out.

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