Page 83 of Splintered Hearts

Fucking prick.

“I think he’s more upset than he’s letting on. Be nice. He looks sweet.”

“He is.” She pats my arm before letting me walk the rest of the way ignoring the curious looks from the other patrons. At six foot two, with piercings and more tattooed skin than not, I’m used to the looks, but I don’t care about any of that right now. I slide into my chair and Noah glares before the look softens from disbelief to shock.

“What are you doing here?”

Noah looks absolutely devastating. He’s wearing contacts tonight, but I miss his glasses. Food has already arrived, and fuck, it smells good. “Couldn’t let you eat all this alone now, could I?”

“What are you—” Looking around the restaurant, he then focuses back on me. “What are you doing?”

Looking down at the extra plate, I’m confused. This is an Italian restaurant. The fuck? “Is this what he ordered?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

“He brought you to an Italian restaurant and ordered plain chicken breast and steamed vegetables?” Noah nods sadly taking another sip of his nearly empty wine glass. “And the red flags keep waving.”

Tension eases as Noah laughs. “He implied I was eating too much.” I want to kick the shit out of that man. Popping another piece of bread into his mouth, he shrugs. “All you can eat garlic bread.” I grab a piece and eat, though I don’t want to take too much from Noah, all you can eat or not. He can eat this place clean out of garlic bread, I don’t care.

Looking down at Ben’s plate, I grab a fork. “Plain fucking chicken breast. What a psychopath.”

Noah pushes Ben’s plate to the side and I know what he’s going to do. Grabbing the other fork, he hands it to me, and pushes his Alfredo further into the middle. “Here.” Noah shrugs. “I’ve eaten my weight in garlic bread already. Sharing is caring.”

“Thanks,” I say, and Noah goes back to eating. “So, um. Didyou have a nice time until then, at least?”

“It was terrible the entire time.” Noah sighs, popping another piece into his mouth. “Apparently, he doesn’t like feminine gay men, but it’s okay because he absolutely loves shooting things.”

“Why are you so high maintenance? You can’t have everything.” Noah’s green eyes land on me before they float. Covering his face he cries—or laughs. I can’t tell. “I’m sorry, I was trying to be funny.”

“No.” Noah laughs, pulling his hands away. “That was funny. Thank you. I needed that.”

“He really said that?”

Nodding, Noah’s glassy eyes land on me. “Oh, and he did not like you at all. I know you’re in shock right now. Called you an asshole. Or a dickhead. I can’t remember.”

“Ah well, at least you had something in common.”

“I didn’t like him talking about you that way. You’re not an asshole. Just... prickly.”

“Prickly?”

“Like a cactus. A cute, temperamental cactus.”

“Drank all the wine yourself, I see.”

“He had a glass.” Noah looks away.

“And you had the bottle.”

“Nothing to do while I waited for my food but drink. It was on the horse. House. On the horse house.” Laughing hard, I just shake my head. “So what did you do after I left? Watch TV, paint... masturbate to the nudes you pretend you don’t draw of me?” He smirks.

“Yes,” I deadpan, and Noah laughs, but I can’t believe that guy didn’t stay. “That guy was the asshole. You deserve better.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell myself. It’s not sticking, though. I shouldn’t be surprised.” The slight slur of his words makes me hyperalert. Noah will be okay, though, we aren’t driving home.

“Why do you say that?”

Shrugging, he goes to drink from his glass, forgetting it’s empty. “I should expect it.”

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