Page 100 of Come to Me

I throw the money in her face. She frowns. "You're making a scene."

"That's my money, you know. Money, I earned from acting. And, guess what--my fucking show is coming back for another season, and I'll make even more money. More than Ryan does even."

She just shakes her head. There's no reason to bother. She's not here, not really. She doesn't have it in her to understand me.

I push myself out of my seat.

I step back, and suck in a deep breath. My heart is pounding against my chest.

Luke stands up and wraps his arm around my waist. It's possessive, a clear indication that we're together. "Are you sure you want to go?" he asks quietly.

I nod. "I'll pay the check first. With the money I earned acting."

I glare at my mother again, but she's too fucking drunk to even care.

"Did you even watch the play?" I ask.

She shrugs like it's nothing.

"I don't know why you even came."

I shake my head, hurt and mad that she still has the power to wound me.

Our server is in the corner, watching with her jaw hanging open. I move towards her and hand her two more hundred-dollar bills.

"Keep the change."

"But, Miss Summers. That's so generous."

I turn to leave but stop. "Wait. What's your name?"

"Daria Sanders."

"What's your night off?"

"Tuesday."

"I'll leave tickets for you at will call for next Tuesday. Don't miss it, okay? We're going into our last week."

She gasps, her hand going to her mouth. "That's so—thank you! Should I write my name down?"

"Okay." I nod, and lean in towards her. "Could you just keep this all to yourself?"

"Of course!" Her eyes go to my engagement ring and she gasps again. "Is he really as good as you were saying?"

I can hear people go quiet around us.

So the whole restaurant heard that.

"Yes," I say, loudly enough that he'll hear. "He can be an idiot, but he's fucking amazing in bed." I lean in closer. "Or in the shower or the car or the park or a movie theater."

I'm pretty sure she's about to faint, but she manages to hold steady as she hands me a slip of paper with her name, number, email, and--that must be a Twitter handle.

"Can you make sure my mom gets into a cab?"

She nods. "Of course. And, I have to say--you handled that very well. I would not have stood up to the pressure if it was my mom."

I smile.