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“Maybe,” I said, the word hanging between us like a question I wasn’t ready to answer.
Victor smiled, but his eyes seemed to search mine for something more. I wasn’t sure if he found it, but the night was young, and I still had time to figure out what, or who, I really wanted.
By the time our dinner arrived, I was bored to tears. Victor’s voice droned on, each word laced with self-importance as he cut into his New York strip steak. “I’m having my summer home on Long Beach Island renovated. I can afford it now since I’m doing so well,” he boasted, a smug smile tugging at his lips.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, maintaining a polite expression instead. The entire evening had been an endless monologue about Victor and his exploits. Not once had he paused to ask about me, and I wondered how I had missed this side of him months earlier. Was it the mixer’s dim lighting, or had I been blinded by his initial charm?
“That’s nice,” I said, taking a large gulp of my wine. It was my third glass, and I was dangerously close to asking for a fourth. The more he talked, the more I realized how little chemistry we had. His outgoing front must have been a ruse to trap women on dates because, beneath it all, Victor was nothing more than a self-indulgent bore. I prided myself on being a good judge of character, but tonight, I’d clearly been off my game.
“You’re not very talkative tonight,” Victor finally remarked, his brows furrowing as if he’d just now noticed I was sitting across from him. “Is there something wrong?”
I finished chewing a bite of filet mignon, swallowing the meat down before replying. “I’m just tired. I had a long day with several showings,” I lied, forcing a weary smile.
“I guess a nightcap is out of the question?” he asked, his tone laced with disappointment.
I nodded, biting my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret. Are we even on the same date?
“I need to freshen up,” I excused myself, pushing back from the table and heading for the bathroom. Once inside the lounge area, I sank onto a plush couch and pulled out my phone, scrolling through my recent calls. Lincoln’s name was still there, a glaring reminder of the evening I could have had instead. Without overthinking, I pressed his contact and held my breath as the line rang.
“Erika,” Lincoln answered, his voice a low, familiar rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. My stomach tightened, and further down, my core clenched in response.
“Where are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“At a bar. I couldn’t wait for you to call back,” he admitted, the noise of background chatter and music filtering through the phone.
“It’s noisy there,” I noted, straining to hear him.
“Karaoke night,” he explained. “Where are you?”
“Out on the worst date I’ve had in a long time,” I confessed, unable to keep the frustration from my voice.
Lincoln clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “You should’ve gone out with me.”
“It’s only 9 p.m.,” I said, glancing at the time on my phone. “We can still go out.”
“And ruin your good time?” he teased.
It wasn’t a good time, and I regretted calling Victor. He was trying to extend the date and if I didn’t agree, he would more than likely try to talk me into a nightcap. I wasn’t interested.
“You’re really enjoying my misery, aren’t you?” I shot back, but there was a playful edge to my tone.
“What restaurant?” he asked, his voice turning serious.
“Roma Steakhouse,” I replied.
“They make a good porterhouse. I might just stop by for dinner,” he mused.
My heart fluttered, and I felt my face heat up. “When?”
“Now. Southwest eggrolls aren’t as filling as steak,” he said, the soundscape around him shifting. I heard the blare of a horn and realized he was on the move.
“Are you outside?” I asked, a smile tugging at my lips despite the situation.
“I’m hailing a cab,” Lincoln replied, his voice briefly muffled as he spoke to someone else. When he came back on the line, he added, “I told the driver to hurry.”
“What will you say when you arrive?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“To your date? I’ll simply tell him he’s dominating my fiancée’s time.”
