Page 18 of Wasted On Us

“Now. I’m willing to give you a chance. I have you matched with a business. I implore you, while you are under their employment, to not try any more creative attempts at impressing your bosses. You will receive an email in the morning with further details regarding this position. Just show up on time, and do what you’re told to do. Nothing more, nothing less.” She pauses to take a long drink from her coffee cup. “Is this something you think you can handle?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Thank you, Eileen. You won’t regret this, I promise.”

I reach out for a handshake, but she doesn’t respond in kind, so I end up clumsily wiping my hand on my skirt and heading for the door. Disregarding her frosty demeanor, and my bizarre faux pas with the phone, it went about as well as it could have. I have a job, which is exactly why I came here in the first place. And that’s enough to raise my spirits today… until I remember that my car is in the shop, my family forbids me from speaking to the owner or his hot-as-hell orgasm-dispensing son, and the loaner has presumably been towed to the same place. Resigning myself to paying for an Uber I can’t particularly afford, I step out into the waiting room.

And see Mateo. Crammed into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, reading a very out-of-date issue ofGood Housekeepingthat’s probably been sitting here for at least five or six years while gathering dust and the grubby fingerprints of unsupervised children.

“Why are you still here?” I’m baffled by the sight of him. I’m not sure any members of my own family would’ve waited for me this long.

He looks at me like the question is the silliest thing he’s ever heard. “You don’t have a car. Why would I just leave you here with no way to get anywhere?”

Now it’s my turn to stare. My mouth hangs open in what resembles a fantastic approximation of a goldfish.

“How’d it go?” he continues, ignoring the way my brain has seemingly completely shut down.

“I got something.” His eyes light up, and I rush to manage his expectations, walking out of the agency door as he holds it open for me and back to his car. “I don’t know what it is yet. They’re going to send me details tomorrow, but it’s a place to start.”

“That’s great! I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park, whatever it is. We should um… celebrate. There’s a place up the street that does a fantastic happy hour.”

I consider the options in my head. I could either have Mateo drive me back to my depressing apartment, where I can sit alone until someone emails me in the morning. Or I can have innocent drinks with a guy I know who is doing me a favor. The guy who is repairing my car and wants to congratulate me on my new employment. The guy I most certainlydo notwant to fall back into bed with. I don’t think there’s anything too bad about that. And besides, I’ve had a rough couple of days.

Ignoring the tiny voice in my head screaming at me about how ill-advised this is and how I promised myself to cut Mateo off completely, I get in the car.

“Happy hour it is.”

All I have to do is keep things totally platonic this time. No tipsy admissions

about my ADHD brain or my rusty vagina. How hard can that be?

Chapter Eight

Mateo

I feel a slight pang of guilt at playing hooky all day, right after my dad reprimanded Lucy yesterday for using too much personal time. I’m never going to hear the end of it from her if she catches a whiff of who I’m with and why. But the risk is worth it. After that weirdness with Eden this morning, I’ve been off-kilter, so I just fire off a text to Jake to let my dad know I’m taking a long lunch. Her coldness toward me really put me in a bad head space. I need to make things right with her. Whatever it takes.

She seems more relaxed now that her appointment is over. Maybe that’s all it was. Regardless, I’m just happy to be in her company for even a few more minutes.

“I didn’t even know this place was here,” Eden muses, sniffing at her glass of sparkling rosé, her eyes wandering around the stylish interior of the bar. “I love the rustic-chic vibe they’ve got going on. The menu seems fabulous, too. I’ll have to come back here sometime.”

I thought she would appreciate the Brick & Vine. The atmosphere is intimate and inviting, yet it maintains a sense of casual elegance. The charm of the exposed brick walls seamlessly merges with polished hardwood floors, and the ambient lighting from scattered strings of warm fairy lights adds a layer of romance. Dominating the overhead space are lush, oversized pothos plants, cascading down from the ceiling in elaborate hanging planters, their tendrils almost grazing the patrons seated below. It’s a sight that always makes me wonder about the careful nurturing behind their impressive length.

“We could order a few appetizers,” I suggest, picking up the well-crafted menu placed in front of me and giving it a cursory glance. Not that I need to. After all the times I’ve been here, I could probably recite the entire list of dishes. “Their calamari is phenomenal.”

She shakes her head firmly, taking the menu from my hands and putting it on the bar top on her other side where I can’t reach it. “No! This time drinks really need to be just drinks.”

“Fine, fine. I get it.” I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Drinks and dessert.”

Rolling her eyes, Eden groans. “Dessert?” Then she pauses for a moment in consideration. “What do you want? I’m too nerved out to each much.”

I float the idea of a gelato flight, then an affogato if she wants to perk up a bit. But neither seems appealing. When I mention a tiramisu, her eyes seem to sparkle, and a hint of a smile crosses her lips. Tiramisu it is, then. The second the bartender sets it down in front of us, the look on her face tells me all I need to know—that she has a deep, deep weakness for the dessert.

I let her take the first bite and watch the way her eyes roll into the back of her head.

“Good?” There’s a slight smear of cream on the side of her lip, and it takes all of my energy not to wipe it away with my thumb. Thank God she gets to it with her napkin first, before I make a fool out of myself. She takes a second bite, evaluating before answering my question.

“Very. Not the best I’ve ever had, but pretty damn close,” she admits. “Know where they have the best tiramisu?”

“No idea.” If I’m being honest, I’ve never actually had it until right now. I’m more of a cannoli guy myself. “Tell me so I can take you there.”

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