Page 34 of Dear Pink

“Let’s eat.” He opens the door for me and follows me insidewith his bike.

“I don’t think you can—”

“Dr. Russo, nice to see you so soon,” the hot hostess says. I falter a step. She’s the one who looks stunning. In a strapless black silk sheath hugging her curves and pointy shoes elongating her already long legs, she could be the next Bond girl. She grabs Gabe’s bike from him, and her hand lingers on his bare arm. “I’ll park it in the usual spot,” she says, her silky hair swaying across her bare shoulders.

God, could she act more obvious?

“Thanks, Natasha.”

Of course, her name is Natasha. Natasha-Good-in-Bed, I bet. I shrink into my shoes. What type of guy invites a date to a restaurant where his latest hook-up works? I bet he scores a new date on his bike every weekend.

“Who’s your pretty friend?” she asks.

Who me? Is Natasha-Good-in-Bed talking about me?

“This is Hannah.”

“I love your pink hair. The color makes your eyes pop.”

I stop short from rolling my eyes. “Thank you.”

“Can we have the table in the corner?” Gabe asks, putting his hand in the curve of my lower back. Goosebumps break out on my arm. I’m confused. Is Natasha confused?

She grabs two menus and walks to a private table. We follow and so do the eyes of the other female customers. I catch one woman wipe her mouth as if Gabe were on the menu. He’s oblivious. I find this character trait both infuriating and endearing. He’s not self-absorbed at all, but the effortlessness of his confidence makes me insecure somehow. I should leave, but I can’t turn away.

“Here you go,” Natasha says when we get to our table. “I’ll send Sasha over after you look at the dinner selections.” Great, probably another Bond girl. Sasha-Sexpot, most likely. Before Natasha turns, she leans in and whispers, “I wish I had your eyelashes.” She points to her even longer ones and mouths, “Fake.”

Why does she insist on chatting with me? How awkward.

“Natasha’s a sweetheart,” Gabe says when she disappears into the kitchen.

I bet. “She seems nice.” I smile to avoid smirking.

“Natasha volunteers at Lost Paws. We match abandoned kitten and puppy litters with people to foster. Next week, we host an Adoption Day event. My clinic covers the spay and neutering fees for new adoptees. Natasha adopts out every single kitten. I love seeing them find their forever homes.”

I’ll admit it’s sweet. But I won’t let my guard down. “Is that how you adopted Lolly?”

“No. Lolly adopted me. I found her eating out of the dumpster when I went to empty the trash, and she followed me inside. Boy, was she a stinky mess. I couldn’t believe the stench.”

I laugh at the expression on his face. His eyes brighten when he talks about Lolly. My heart melts. If he wasn’t also dating Natasha, Gabe could be someone I want to know better.

“I bathed her, and she beamed at me the whole time like it was the kindest gift anyone had given her. It broke my heart. I couldn’t find her a home, and I tried everything. In the end, I was lucky because I couldn’t let her go.”

Part of me wants to believe him, but I can’t. This must be an act. I wait for the other shoe to drop. It always does.

“Is this Hannah?”

Yep, Sasha-Sexpot is the ultimate Bond girl name. Flawless pale skin, red lips, and dark bangs hover above her eyes at the optimal length, she’s practically a French pinup girl. In tight black cigarette pants and an equally tight white button-up, she’s only missing the matching beret to complete the look. I note a slight change in Gabe’s face as she says my name. He must regret his decision to ask me out. The Bond girls are much better shagging candidates.

“Yes, this my friend, Hannah.” And there goes the other shoe. I’m a friend, not a date. I’m such an idiot. He thinks I’m lonely. This is a pity date, and Natasha and Sasha know it.

“Oh,” Sasha says and seems disappointed. Did I read her face wrong? I cleared the way for her three-some with gorgeous Natasha. She should thank me. Silently, she heads to another table.

Gabe touches his pocket. "I'm sorry, but my phone keeps buzzing. I normally wouldn't have it on, but my vet tech, Andre, said he would call if there's an emergency. I should check in with him."

"Yes, of course,” I say. “Coco might need you."

"It isn't Coco. We adopted—well, more Gina adopted a sweet orange tabby kitten, Peaches, and she had a high fever this afternoon. It might have spiked if he’s calling."

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