Sneek Peak~~Chapter 4

After two more texts, the food arrives.  I don’t worry about finding something to say because Wesley does all the talking.  About his ex-girlfriend.  With his mouth open.  Which is not a pretty sight, especially when the meal is moussaka.

The longer the evening drags on, the lower my heart sinks.  Wesley’s arrogance online is only a front for his acute case of narcissism.  When he isn’t talking about himself, he talks about his ex-girlfriend—or texts her.  I lose count after the eleventh time he texts her back.

“Do you want dessert?” he asks hurriedly.  I get the impression he wants me to say no.

“No, thank you,” I decline.

“Good, we can get back to my place sooner.”

“Excuse me?”

He tilts his head like he thinks I’m a loon for not catching his meaning.  “We’ll head back to my place, pop open a bottle of wine, and take it from there.  And you can spend the night.  I’m not the kind of guy who just kick a girl out after he gets what he wants,” he adds generously.

My jaw drops.  “And just what is it you want?”

He makes another annoyed sound.  “What I want?  It’s what I expect.  I mean, come on, I buy you dinner even though you blatantly misled me into thinking you were someone else.  I think I deserve something in return.  And besides, you’re so fat you obviously haven’t had any since you tipped the scale two hundred pounds ago.  You’re aching for a bang.  So what’s the problem?”

His phone buzzes for the umpteenth time and he picks it up.  I throw my napkin on the table and shove my chair back with a screech on the linoleum floor.  “You are,” I hiss and stomp off.

“Hey, wait a minute, where are you going?” he calls.

I keep my eyes on the floor, avoiding the stares of the other patrons and hustle out the door.  The crisp night air is refreshing and I take in a deep breath.  I’d never been so humiliated in all my life.

I look both ways and spot a bus stop two blocks down and start walking in that direction.  Bus service runs late in the downtown area so I know I can catch a ride.  Sands is on voluntary stand-by in case I need out of the date but I am too embarrassed to call.

“Isabella, wait,” I hear Wesley and quicken my pace, which isn’t very fast.

“‘Isabella’.  He won’t even call me by the name I go by,” I mutter.  Briefly, hopefully, the thought occurs to me that maybe he is trying to be a gentleman and is coming to apologize.
He catches up, grabs my arm and yanks me to a stop.  “Where do you think you’re going?  How dare you walk out on me like that?  I’ve never been so embarrassed.”

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