Love Bites. Rachel Burke K

realizing I wasn’t going to let it drop, he sighed. “Listen, Justine, people sometimes… grow apart. Relationships change over time. But like I said, I love my son. He’s my whole life. So I have to do what I can… for him.”

       This heartrending speech was interrupted by our waitress, a tall, gorgeous blonde who looked identical to every other waitress in Los Angeles. She smiled at Vincent, clearly admiring the handsome, dark-haired gentleman seated next to me. Only I no longer saw him as handsome. I saw him as a number. Another number to add to the long list of Neanderthals on Justine Sterling’s master dating list.

       “Are you two ready to order?” she asked.

       Vincent looked at me expectantly. This was the moment of truth. He knew that at this moment, one of two things would happen. I would either a) decline dinner and demand to be taken home or b) accept dinner, thus insinuating that I wasn’t opposed to his affair proposal. Vincent was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an amateur at this game.

       Fortunately, neither was I.

       “You know,” I said, grabbing my menu. “I’m starving. Are you?”

       A subtle smile inched across Vincent’s lips. He nodded slightly, taking my free hand in his. This was it. I had agreed to dinner. He had me right where he wanted me.

       “You order first,” I urged him.

       I didn’t listen to his order. Instead, my eyes browsed the page until I found the most expensive item on the menu.

       “And for you, miss?”

       I smiled confidently and pointed to the astronomically high-priced beef rib. “I’ll have the 32-ounce rib, please. Medium well.” I paused, looking over the wine menu. “And actually, I’d like to order a bottle of your finest champagne, too.” I turned to Vincent. “Is that okay?”

       “Of course,” he insisted, waving his hand at the menu. “Whatever you’d like.”

       I knew he wouldn’t object. Even through my alcohol-fogged glasses, I saw him as he really was now. Vincent, with his expensive car, expensive clothes, and expensive home, was a façade. He was an image. On the outside, he had the perfect life. A perfect marriage, a perfect son, and a perfect job that allowed him to travel all over the world. But in reality, he had an unhappy wife, a lonely son, and a job that did nothing but contribute to both of those factors.

       And a man like Vincent certainly wouldn’t taint his ego and decline a beautiful woman an expensive meal. Especially in front of their beautiful waitress.

       I waited for our waitress to bring the champagne bottle, then downed one last glass before excusing myself to the restroom.

       “Hurry back,” Vincent called after me.

       I shot him an award-winning smile before walking away. Luckily, the bar area of the Penthouse was so crowded that it was easy to lose sight of someone.

       I snuck around the corner, down the elevator, and hailed a cab home, leaving Vincent all alone with a 32-ounce steak and lots and lots of wasted champagne.

       Chapter 6

      Renee’s house was covered in boxes. She and Dylan had moved into a condo prior to the unexpected pregnancy, so they were now transferring some of their items into storage to make room for the baby. She said they were going to start looking at houses soon.

      Renee was sitting upright on the sofa when I walked in, a silver laptop propped on her lap. She was the only person I knew who could wear an oversized t-shirt and a messy ponytail and still look gorgeous.

      “I know it’s a mess,” Renee said, without looking up from her laptop. She looked deeply focused. I felt like I was interrupting something.

      “It’s fine.” I stepped over a box to get to the loveseat. “Do you, um, want me to help you pack?”

      “No, it’s okay. Dylan will finish at some point.” Her eyes were still trained on the computer. Fixated on her latest project, no doubt. Renee was always embarking on some sort of new venture.

      I sat quietly on the loveseat and scanned the room while Renee finished typing. The only decorative items that remained were two aromatherapy candles and a black and white photo of Renee and Dylan that hung on the wall.

      “Sorry. I’m done.” Renee slammed her laptop shut like it had offended her with its distraction.

      “What are you working on?”

      “Oh, it’s… nothing.” The smile she was hiding indicated otherwise.

      “Renee.” I looked at her accusingly. “Spill.”

      Her eyes lit up. “Okay, but you can’t say anything because Dylan doesn’t know yet. Promise?”

      I placed my hand over my heart. “Grove’s honor.”

      As we both laughed simultaneously, the mention of our previous joke immediately invoked a flashback in my mind.

      It was the fall of 1998, the beginning of our sophomore year. Renee and I were smoking a joint in the Groves, the woods behind our high-school football stadium. We were supposed to be at the football game, according to our parents, but the only reason we’d gone to the game was to stalk our current love interests. After realizing they weren’t there, we immediately headed to the Groves.

      “Tell me the truth,” Renee said, taking a swig from the Budweiser can she’d hidden in her coat pocket. “You did, didn’t you?”

      “Did what?” I knew exactly what she was referring to.

      “You know.” She rolled her eyes. “Derek. You had sex with him, didn’t you?”

      I hesitated. Derek Spaulding was the sole reason I’d come to the football game, and the second person I’d ever slept with. But because I was 15 and insecure, I’d hidden this from my friends so they didn’t judge me and think I was slutty.

      “You can’t tell anyone,” I insisted. “Especially Beth.” Renee’s friend, Beth Broadley, was still a virgin and I didn’t want to make her feel bad. I also suspected she judged us and thought we were slutty.

      Renee placed her hand over her heart. “I swear…” She looked around like she was seeking something sacred to swear on. Coming up empty, she looked back up at me and slurred, “Grove’s honor.”

      We laughed like this was the funniest saying ever created.

      Much like we’re doing now.

      “Okay.” Renee inched closer to me, something she always did when she was about to dish a secret. Like the close proximity somehow trapped the secret from getting out. “Have you ever heard of Faded? The denim company?”

      I nodded.

      “Well, they held an online indie artist contest and Electric Wreck was selected as one of their finalists.”

      “That’s great.”

      Renee shooed me with her hand. “No, what’s great is that I just convinced their marketing team to sponsor Electric Wreck’s next tour.”

      I could tell she was waiting for my enthusiastic reaction, but in truth I had no idea what that meant. “So… what happens now?”

      “They’ve agreed to give the band 25 grand to cover their touring expenses. And in exchange, the Faded logo will be on the band’s touring vehicle and all their touring flyers and promotional materials.”

      I