Page 7 of Switch
Fuck.
Fire and fury erupts out of me, and I slam my fist into the brick wall hard enough to make my knuckles bleed.
The Chihuahua growls, and I look over to find both the dog and his human staring right at me.The lady looks at me like I might be losing it—to be fair, she’s right.The dog looks like he wants to fuck me up.
Wonderful.I’m probably about thirty seconds from her loudly complaining to management about my violent behavior.
My fingers hover over my phone.I erase the original reply to Brennan and retype it half a dozen times before finally saying,I’ll take the date for Friday.
The second I hit Send?I slam my fist into the wall again.
ChapterThree
Fallon
I should have canceled.I nearly did.
But then my mother heard about Wes setting me up on a date and called me.So glad, sorelievedI’m not acting like a hermit for a change.We’ve been so worried.
What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
So, here I am at Mama Elisabetta’s, surrounded by soft lighting and the gentle clinks of tableware, waiting for a blind date with all the enthusiasm of my annual dermatology exam.To my left, there’s some sort of celebration going on.Lots of laughter.Lots of wine.Across the restaurant is a couple who can’t stop holding hands.The girl is starry-eyed.The guy keeps checking his pocket.He’s about to propose.
Which…I don’t need to see.
I’m fiddling with my cuffs.Picking invisible threads and straightening them over and over.Pulling them down to cover the gold bracelet on my arm, because I’m not in the mood for questions.After months of rarely leaving either my house or my comfortable uniform of basketball shorts and a time-softened T-shirt, I’m having trouble sitting still in this Michelin-starred restaurant and a Zegna suit.I waffled about dressing up or down, but in the end, I chose what I knew Marina would have told me to wear.
She always knew best.
Take your elbows off the table, pet.Look dignified.
She’s not here.Still, I sit straighter.Yes, Mistress.
A shriek from the table with the hand-holding couple tells me the young man has definitely proposed.Or a mouse ran under someone’s table.Given the situation, I’m not sure which scenario I’d prefer.
My watch tells me it’s five past eight.That gives me an excuse to leave, right?If I showed up five minutes late to class, my students would disappear faster than you can say “ten-page essay.”
Wes: How’s the date?
Fallon: Nonexistent.He’s late.Going to head out.
Wes: Give it a few more minutes.
Fallon: I know you didn’t like Marina, but you need to stop pushing.I can manage my own love life.
Wes: It’s not that I didn’t like her.You deserve to be loved for who you are, not by someone who’s constantly trying to control and fix you.
I blow out a harsh breath.
Family, right?You can’t change them, and you shouldn’t murder them even when they’re judgmental dicks.We’ve had this conversation before.I’m not going to rehash it over text in an Italian restaurant with uncomfortable chairs.
Fallon: I’m not going to find love from a blind date.
Wes: It’s a start.
Screw this.I drain the rest of my beer and press my hands to the tabletop, ready to stand.
“You Fallon?”
