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The Spare

Page 21

by L.M. Fox

My cutlery clinks loudly against the plate as I abruptly lay it down, beaming across the table at her. “Wow. You’re fucking incredible.”

There goes that sweet blush again. Jeez. Why am I using a dating app? I should be asking why she needs one.

“And you’re so humble. You barely mention your career, and here you’re doing something so noble every day. While I’ve been blathering on about slinging wine.” I shake my head. “That’s hot.”

She takes a small sip of her wine. “I’m quite certain your job requires much more than that. And from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’ve been given a Herculean task. Trying to turn things around.”

“I appreciate you saying that. But the amount of work and training you’ve put in to get to where you are… it’s really impressive.” I reach across the table, placing my hand over hers. “I can only imagine how your patients must feel, having you in their corner in their time of need.”

“Thank you.” She grins back at me. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Suddenly, an ominous figure storms toward our table, stealing all of my oxygen. My eyes widen at his terrifying approach. He’s wearing all black and covered in tattoos. Holy shit. Is this another scorned lover connected to one of the women from my past? Before I can run screaming from the restaurant, a thunderous sound reverberates above me.

“Get your fucking hand off my wife!”

My wife? What the fuck?

“Look, psycho,” Sydney snarls. “Not sure if you recall, but we’re divorced. It’s probably lost on you that I’m no longer your wife since I meant so little you packed up and left without a word. But then again, you sent the divorce papers, so…”

I clear my throat, attempting to gain her attention long enough to say my goodbyes.

The freakishly scary man wearing black, who could star as a crime boss on The Sopranos, responds, “Let’s be clear, carissima (dearest). Neither of us has forgotten one single thing about the other.”

“Jesus,” I squeak. “Every damn time. I can sure pick ’em.”

The two of them look at me momentarily before returning to their stare-off.

Head lowered, I mumble, “Sebastian will never let me live this one down.”

“Two years, and this is the best you can do?” he sneers, lifting his chin in her direction.

“One, don’t pretend to know a thing about me. Two, the only thing a man would need to be an improvement over you is a pulse.” Sydney spits in his direction.

“Don’t kid yourself, Principessa (Princess). There’s only one man alive who can give you what you need.”

“It was nice meeting you, Sydney. Sorry⁠—”

“I’ll pass,” she responds in a flat tone. I’m not sure if she even heard me, but I don’t waste any time heading for the door.

How was this happening?

Sure, I’ve been careless with the women I’ve slept with in the past. I had such a devil may care attitude about sex I didn’t bother to consider whether they were married or otherwise in a relationship. It was one night. That was a them problem.

I stopped taking women to my home or going to theirs, opting instead for a hotel or my billionaire brother’s place whenever he was away. This, however… this was supposed to be safe. I was finally making better choices with women.

Fucking lot of good that did me.

Hopping in my car, I drive home, my pulse pounding in my ears. My gaze continually bounces to the rearview mirror in case “Don Corleone” decides to finish me off to make it clear what happens to anyone who touches “his wife.”

I notice one of my favorite restaurants, Luigi’s, up ahead and decide to stop for a drink. Luigi will get a kick out of this story. Hell, maybe he’ll feel sorry for me and offer to buy a case of wine to make me feel better.

Heading inside, the welcoming Italian eatery brings an instant calm. The familiar aroma of rich tomatoes and herbs permeates the air. Hell, I should’ve brought Sydney here instead of that expensive steak place. Scratch that. I’m done with dating apps. I need to find some other way to find a suitable wife. Because clearly that isn’t working.

“Sam!” Luigi greets as I approach. “It’s been too long.”

“You’re right. Far too long.”

“Are you dining with us or getting takeout? Meeting a lady friend?”