Page 69 of Hate Me Like You Mean It

“Alice! Yay! Are you here?”

I instinctively peeled my ear away, checking to make sure I hadn’t accidentally put her on speaker. I had not. She was just screaming.

“Listen, I can’t really hear you, but we’re the big group in the back. Right under the neon badger smoking the three-foot joint! I’m waving, can you see me? I can’t see you.”

Oh, good, she was already drunk.

“Hey, I’m almost there!” I said, raising my voice. “Just had a quick question for you—what’s his name? Your boss?”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“Your boss’s name,” I repeated, practically shouting into the speaker. “Is it Trevor?”

“Hold on just a sec.”

My fists tightened when Dom relaxed into his seat, looking aggravatingly satisfied with the unexpected turn of events.

The background chatter and music suddenly died. “Hey, sorry. Bathroom’s a lot quieter. Can you repeat what you were saying? Are you here yet?”

“Almost, just thought I’d call ahead and double-check something. Did you say your boss’s name was Trevor? I can’t remember.”

“What? No, nono, Trevor’s his dad. Super-sweet guy, but very old and very married.” I shot Dom ahah, see?look, but he still didn’t seem convinced. “Tristan is the one I’m setting you up with. Slightly less sweet, but much more age-appropriate, and a little…”

She paused just as a black Cadillac with fully tinted windows pulled into the spot in front of us.

“Um… severe-looking, you could say? But in a quiet, hot way. Like he’s always decked out in a tailored suit and looks a little angry all the time, but he’s just… I don’t know. Observant? Shy? It’s hard to describe.”

The door opened. A man stepped out.

He was wearing a dark, crisp suit, his salt-dusted beard trimmed to striking perfection. Without missing a beat, and as though he could feel the weight of my unabashedly curious stare, his eyes cut to mine.

He was really handsome. In an intimidating, stern daddy sort of way. I offered him a small smile. It wasn’t returned.

“He’s a little hard to get a read on and takes a while to warm up to people, but I really think you’ll like him,” Rachel continued.

The man adjusted his cufflinks, turned around, and strode into Underbite like he owned the place.

“Anyways, you’ll see what I mean in a bit. His last meeting ran late, but I think he’s almost here.”

I smiled. “Perfect, sounds great. See you in a bit.”

I hung up, slipped my phone into my bag, and plucked the lid off my lipstick.

“What are you doing?”

“That was him,” I said by way of explanation before yanking down the passenger mirror.

“Who was him?”

“The guy who just came out of the Cadillac. Suit. Beard. Tall.”

“The constipated-looking one?”

I didn’t dignify that with a response, too focused on freshening up my makeup.

“He’s barely younger than the dinosaur we were looking at.”

“He’s in his late thirties at most,” I argued in between lip pats. “Plus, I’m digging the salt-and-pepper beard. Maybe he’ll let me—no,make me—call him daddy.”