Page 24 of All I Desire

“Maybe when the server comes back, she can take my order, too.” I smirk.

A chuckle escapes his lips. “What, babe? I just wanted to take care of you by ordering. Take a load off that pretty little head of yours. What? You don’t like it when a guy takes charge?”

Babe? Something snaps in my brain. I scowl at him and he grins wider. I think about Matthew and his last silly text about an hour ago. He’d sent a photo of a billboard that said ARRESTED? 1-855-WTF-POPO. It made me laugh for a straight five minutes.

You don’t like it when a man takes charge?

“I don’t think this is going to work,” I say briskly, standing up.

Jordan stands up and leans in. “What? You don’t like men talking during a date? You some kind of ballbuster?”

“Actually, yes, I am. A ballbuster. That’s my middle name, in fact. Natalia Ballbuster Hastings.” I glare at him. “You seemed different online. Kinder. For future dates, you might want to stick to that.”

He tosses his napkin down and sneers. “You seemed different, too. Thought your tits would be bigger. I figured you’d be desperate because you live alone with your pussycat. Guess I was wrong. Go home to your cat, because you won’t be getting this tonight.”

He motions to his dick. I grimace. Is he for real?

I snort. “I’d never be desperate enough to fuck you.”

As he walks off, he hisses the word “bitch” under his breath. Since I don’t want to be in the parking lot alone with him, I sink back into the booth, my heart pounding. Everything about the last ten minutes reminded me of Chad. Always fighting. Always walking on eggshells. Always being put down. This guy was simply a little more blatant, and quicker, with his verbal abuse. With Chad, it took months. By that time, I was already deep in his web and thought I was in love.

The waitress comes over, her pretty face pinched with worry. “I’m so sorry, we’re out of that kind of wine,” she says, wringing her hands. “But the calamari’s coming soon.”

“It’s okay,” I say in a soothing voice, beaming at her. “Can you bring one Corona instead? And I’ll take a dozen chargrilled oysters. Maybe you can split the calamari with me, since my dining companion thankfully decided to leave.”

Her grateful smile and my relaxed muscles tell me I’ve done the right thing. I turn to my phone, fighting the urge to recount to Matthew what just happened. No, that’s a rotten idea.

Instead, I text him a photo of my ice-cold beer when it and the oysters arrive.

Wish you were sharing this with me. Tastes amazing after a long day.

You are speaking my language, girl. Can’t wait to see you on Friday.

I grin and spear a smoky oyster, enjoying the entire dozen by myself.

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