I’d been thinking about this dinner for the last twenty-four hours, and my nerves were frayed. I’d run through all the possible outcomes of what we’d decide, but one thing had been paramount; I’d been hopeful because I wasn’t alone in this anymore.
Hope was stupid, and Ian was even more stupid for making it enter my mind.
Stuffing the last bite in my mouth, I made a decision. Fuck Ian. Fuck this fancy-pants restaurant with their delicious, unfulfilling chips.
Ian could show up to an empty table for all I cared. I was done waiting, and I wasn’t going to sit there for another second. No, I was going to McDonald’s because a Big Mac sounded epic right now. And a large fry. And a coke, god their coke was the best.
I let the waiter know with the best smile I could muster and a big tip for wasting his time.
Just as I’d made my way through the door, Ian damn near crashed into me.
“Oh, thank god. I thought I’d miss you. But I’m here.”
My nostrils flared, and I ground my jaw, taking him in. His chest heaved over panting breaths like he’d run here. “Really, Ian?”
He held up his hands like he was holding me off from an attack. “I had a phone call that ran overtime. It fried my brain, and I’m sorry.”
I didn’t give an inch, instead, taking my time to look him up and down and glare like I found him less than. Anger flooded my veins and nothing else. At least, until I saw the orange-ish smear of lipstick on the collar of his shirt. Then the anger was diminished when another emotion poked through. Hurt. So much hurt. Like the last remaining bit of hope was obliterated and the sharp edges from the explosion pierced my lungs.
How dare he make me feel like this? I was Carina Russo. I didn’t get stood up by men so they could fuck around with someone else. Not anymore. His eyes widened when I took my time stepping in his personal space. I did my best to make myself as intimidating as possible even when I had to look up to meet his eyes.
“You wanted this,” I said through my clenched jaw. “You wanted to meet me for a chance to talk this over. And you show up late with some lame excuse about a phone call? Like I can’t see the disgusting lipstick on your shirt? Reeking of someone else’s perfume.”
If possible, his eyes widened more, and he jerked back and pulled his collar out to find the offending mark. His mouth fell open, and he looked to me with panicked eyes, taking a breath in to issue his defense. But I didn’t want to hear it.
“This was a mistake.” My shoulders dropped in defeat, and I turned to go. Before I’d even turned the other way, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back, the panic still covering his face.
“No, it’s not, just let me explain.”
“I’m eight months pregnant, Ian.” I cut him off, this time with a lot less fire and a lot more exhaustion. I didn’t have time or energy to fight. “I’m tired, and I need to focus on what’s to come. I can’t depend on someone who can’t even make a fucking dinner.”
He dug both hands into his dark locks, and it almost sparked the urge for me to do the same. I remembered how soft they felt under my grip that day I’d had the pleasure of touching him—when things had been so much easier.
“Goddammit,” he grunted to no one but himself. He took a breath and held his hands up again, pleading with me to hear him. “Okay, Carina. I fucked up. Honestly, I did have a phone call that ran late, and I did forget the time. An old hookup surprised me at work just as I was ending the call, and you know what, I’d had a shitty enough day that I let myself go for a bit. At least until you popped into my mind, and I immediately remembered dinner.”
I fought my cringe as he admitted the woman coming to him and him liking it. I wanted to turn away from it, but he wasn’t done. He dropped his hands to his side and took another deep breath, his tone pleading.
“I’m sorry. I fucked up, but it wasn’t because I was fucking someone else. So, please—please—give me a chance here. Just to eat. Just to talk. Because, Carina, that’s my baby and that…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed before continuing. “That means something to me. You don’t know me, but that means something to me. So, please, just talk to me.”
Watching the emotions mar his face hit me harder than his words. It wasn’t so much the words, but the way he said them that had me giving in.