Page 33 of Black Jack (Advantage Play 5)

“Bon appétit.” She turns to me, then adds, “I’m Jen, by the way.”

“You mentioned that already,” Bianca returns, clearly dismissing her.

Someone’s prickly this evening.

“Oh. Right,” Jen laughs, though it’s awkward and forced. “Well…I hope you enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you,” I reply, keeping my tone polite but indifferent.

“And if you need anything else, just let me know. I’m happy to help in any way that I can.” Her mouth stretches into a flirty smile before she escapes to help another table, leaving Bianca and I alone with our dinner.

My mouth is watering as I take in the meal in front of me and squeeze a quarter of a lemon onto the white meat. When the tangy juice has melted into the fresh seafood, I take a bite and groan.

“You’re right. The lemon’s good,” I admit.

Bianca ignores me and slices a bite-sized piece of asparagus before shoving it into her mouth. Her earlier warmth is gone, leaving the bitchy Bianca I’ve grown accustomed to. I just wish I knew what spooked her.

“You okay?” I ask.

She reaches for the almost untouched tumbler filled with vodka and downs the whole thing but doesn’t bother to answer me.

Alright, then.

11

Jack

We eat in silence, then I pay the check, and we head outside.

The night is cool and dark with the exception of the restaurant’s lighting as we head to where my car is parked. With my hand on the small of her back, I scan the lot before guiding her to the passenger side and opening the door.

“I’m not a helpless damsel in distress, Jacky Boy. I can open my own door,” she spits.

“And I’m not a sorry asshat who makes his girl open her own door,” I return just as quickly.

“His girl?”

“I believe the giant-ass rock on your left hand would be reason enough to call you mine. Am I wrong?”

She looks down at the ring she purchased for herself. The ring that’s so over-the-top, I never would’ve picked it out in a million years. Not that I would need to. I have my grandmother’s ring that’s been passed down for generations, but that’s beside the point. The ring she’s wearing signifies a lie more than anything else. It’s a ruse for onlookers that’s meant to make us look committed and in love. Two things that are far from the truth but important, nonetheless, if I have any hope of getting my old life back.

“That’s funny. This ring meant shit to our waitress in there.” Bianca’s chin dips toward the restaurant’s entrance. “She was practically drooling over you the entire night.”

Wait. That’s why she’s pissed?

I shake my head. “What the hell are you talking about, Bianca?”

“If I can do anything else for you––and I mean anything––just let me know,” she mimics the waitress but sounds like she’s a phone sex operator, making it the most ridiculous impression I’ve ever heard.

“I’m sorry, are you jealous?” I laugh.

Her jaw drops. “Of course not. I just don’t like it when women hit on the man I’m supposed to be engaged to.”

“Okay, then. What about the host at the front who helped us find our seats?”

“What about him?”

“His eyes were glued to your tits the entire time.”

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