Page 24 of Bleeding Heart

“Don’t let my size fool you. I’m a big girl. I’ve been to fancy restaurants before.” She bites into the croissant with a smarmy smile, booting me from her shop. “Thanks for breakfast.”

Hours later, I round the hood of my coupe, helping Paisley out of the car. She’s wearing a lacy pink dress. The hem in front skims over her knees. The back is longer like a train, but it only goes to mid-calf. The natural tone in her legs from all the yoga is apparent. The anklet is still there, resting above her matching heels, and allowing me to forgive that the top of the dress is, again, a high halter. I’m pretty sure Paisley chooses this style with malice, but with her hair spilling over the bare skin of her shoulders, like it would over the pillows on my bed, she’s incredibly sexy.

Bouts of stiff silence have filled the ride over. It is unusual for Paisley to be impolite and she isn’t normally angry with me about anything for very long. I tuck her to me, noting Paisley’s head barely comes below the joint that connects my arm and upper torso and the exceptional contrast of the tone of her dress to my gray suit.

“Seeing as this is our first official date, I almost brought you flowers,” I admit, attempting to chip away at the ice.

“Why didn’t you?” She peers up under thick brown lashes.

“It seemed trite and the last time I chose flowers it was for a funeral. White lilies reek of death.” I didn’t know what kind of flowers Paisley likes and I don’t want to be the fool who gets it wrong.

“I like roses in this color.” She denotes the pink she’s wearing. It’s the same coral hue as the paisley stamped on her store’s bags. I file it in my brain that coral is likely her favorite color, and she looks incredible in it.

A valet takes my key and a doorman in a white coat opens the front entrance. Trig and Kimber are waiting for us inside by the hostess stand. We don’t stand there long, though the hostess thanks us for our patience while she’s sat other people.

I’m ready to show Paisley a good time, order a drink, and enjoy our night out, when it becomes apparent I’m going to need to make it a double. The other people are people we know.

“Oh my goodness, I wish someone had told us you’d be here!” Sloan hugs Kimber.

“Isn’t this a coincidence?” Carver remarks flatly.

“I didn’t know the group of you were social,” I scoff.

Pussy whipped by my former manager, Cary watches his new wife, Holly, convince the hostess and a server to push our two tables together. “We’re mixing business and pleasure. Carver is in the market for a new car.”

“Carver just got a new car.” I remind the group.

This is unbelievable.

A vein in my temple flares when Carver pats me on the back.

“According to my wife, it’s never too early to shop,” he says.

“Stop!” Sloan bats at him. “I’m only this way because you spoil me.”

“You deserve to be spoiled.” Carver’s attitude changes on a dime. He brings the pads of her fingertips to his lips. “Min-i-van.” The syllables rush out in rapid succession.

“The specs for the new Maybach SUV are intriguing. Cary could order that for me.” Sloan’s lips playfully twist.

“The price tag alone for that car intones hiring a driver.”

“What do you think you are? You hardly let me behind the wheel as it is.”

We don’t get along, but despite the bait and switch from a double date to a quadruple date, I’ll cop and say something nice about Sloan. Having had a great mother myself, I know she would make a great mother. The problem is, as much as deep down they both want them, neither is willing to compromise about having brats.

Everyone gives a nice greeting to Paisley, similar to the one Kimber and Trig had for her when we walked into Royce’s. There’s no genuine need for an introduction. Everyone is familiar with the woman posing as my girlfriend. If I have to muddle through this fiasco, at least she’s here with me.

I pull the chair out for Paisley, brushing her hair over her shoulder. The eight of us wind up seated: Paisley, me, Sloan, then Carver across from Trig, Kimber, Cary, and Holly. I want Paisley on my right, protected from the jackals. My friends showing their ugly mugs’ at Royce’s is a setup to see if we’ll slip up. However, I spend most of the time we’re sipping cocktails, reconsidering the arrangement. The girls should have either taken the middle or kept the second table as their own and put the men out of their misery.

Except, I’m not miserable next to Paisley. Once she and Kimber are munching their salads, they are happy to chat solo. I’m able to keep up the conversation with Trig and hear most of what Cary is saying to my far left.

Holly has a level of contentment with her new husband. They’ve held hands for the duration of the meal. The constant affection strikes me as odd until I realize I’m resting my palm on Paisley’s knee. Unconscious of the action, my thumb brushes the pink lace, making sure she’s real.

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