Page 10 of Burning Caine
Antonio
Islidintothebooth next to my date, smiling. “Mi scusi, it was work.”
“On a Saturday evening?” Victoria was a beautiful woman with dark hair, big eyes, and a curvaceous body. She was a reporter, and I’d expected she would be fascinated by the world around her, with riveting stories to share. But her favorite story was herself.
“Papa doesn’t understand evenings and weekends.” I shrugged, looking at her plate, half the food still on it. “Are you finished?”
“Actually,” she said, moving closer and putting a hand on my lap. “I didn’t want to sate my appetite.”
“You are propositioning me, sì?”
“God, that accent turns me on.” She squeezed my thigh and inched her hand upward. I stopped her. She licked her lips, a clear sign of her intentions. “And yes, I am.”
“Victoria—”
She dropped her voice to a husky whisper and leaned closer. “Yes?”
“What’s my favorite pastime?”
She sat up straighter, brow furrowed. “What?”
I removed her hand from my lap, and it hovered there.
She tilted her head, speaking slowly. “It’s our third date. August means I’m home-free, right?”
“Home-free? You said this yesterday. What are you talking about?”
The hand landed on my lap again, higher than where I had removed it, which I did again.
“Victoria, the answer is no.”
“Maybe you don’t understand the question.”
As she reached for me again, I moved out of the booth and stood. “I think it’s best if we don’t see each other again.”
She leaned back, as though I had slapped her. Her pretty face contorted. “You’re kidding me! You are fucking kidding me!”
“I’m not, and please don’t make a scene.”
“A scene? You’re breaking up with me in this shithole and you think I’m not making a scene?” She threw her phone into her bag and hauled herself out of the booth, straightening her dress as she stood. Shithole? The restaurant had been a test. A test she failed.
“Victoria, this was only our third date. It’s not a ‘break up’ after only—”
“You’re supposed to take me to expensive restaurants! Dress in a fucking suit! Take me back to your place and bang the shit out of me!” She poked me in the chest, her voice raising in pitch and volume.
I clenched my jaw and bore the brunt of her fury, relieved I had discovered her true self. My money, my body. All she cared about. That was all they ever cared about.
“I should have listened to Mae! She warned me about this! But oh, no, I thought I’d be the one to conquer Brenton’s Casanova!” The finger rose to point in my face. “Fuck you and your little Calendar Club!”
She stormed out of the restaurant as I shook my head. Who was Mae? And what was the Calendar Club?
I sagged to the edge of the booth seat, waiting for the server to return, and I closed my eyes to find my center. Her face was as clear as the day I had fallen for her. We only met once, and I never learned her name, but she was my anchor, my shelter from the storm. Every heart break, every rejection, every moment I thought about giving up, she was there. Her long brown hair, always in a ponytail or braid, and her pale eyes.
Last semester at MSU. Last class of Roman Art and Archeology. She scanned the class as she gave her end-of-semester presentation, blushing furiously, despite her calm and commanding demeanor. Brilliant and beautiful.
She had stuck out, always sitting in the front row, asking questions so quietly I couldn’t hear from my seat in the back. She had passions in common with me, even though she turned me down the one time I asked. Still, the memory gave me hope there was someone out there I belonged with.
If only I knew her name, then I could find her. Instead, I held that image in my head for eleven years. For a time, I chose beauty and willingness over everything else, and her memory faded. But the last four years, she had become more persistent. I saw her in crowds, in my dreams, in the eyes of the officer at Bobby’s house. Always giving me strength to continue and not go back to my old ways.