As I was dropping my stuff into my little red clutch, there was a knock on the door. I glanced at the clock. Six forty-five. He was early. I opened the door, but it wasn’t Peter. Damn it!

Drew stared at me for a minute. “I figured I would come by and see how you were before I headed to Sean’s. You look nice. Guess you’re feeling better.” He put his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to one side.

“Yeah, I’m feeling much better. I told you earlier.”

“Right.” He nodded. “So, where are you going?”

“Dinner.”

“With who?”

“With me.” We turned to see Peter coming down the hall. He leaned past Drew and kissed my cheek. “Hey, Alex. You look beautiful,” Peter said, ignoring Drew and focusing on me instead. To say it was awkward was the understatement of the century. I glanced at Drew. He was staring daggers at Peter. If looks could kill…

“You ready, babe?”

Peter held out his hand to me. Drew flinched when he heard Peter say babe. I figured I better take Peter and leave before things got even tenser. I took his hand and looked apprehensively at Drew.

“Bye. Have fun at poker.” I pulled the door shut and turned to follow Peter down the hall. Drew took a step to follow and reached for my arm.

“Red, text me when you get home.”

I looked down at his hand, which was still wrapped around my arm, then back up into his face. “Okay.”

“Promise?” There was something strange about his eyes. They were sad and a little angry, but there was something else there I couldn’t figure out, like maybe fear.

“I promise.” I gave him a small smile.

Drew dropped his hand and I followed Peter out to his car. I got in and looked out the window to see Drew standing on the stoop. He didn’t move as we pulled away from the curb. I couldn’t help but watch him as he shrunk away in the mirror. I looked at Peter, hoping I hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

***

Peter pulled up outside this little Italian place. It was nice, if not a little cheesy. It was one open room with brick columns spaced here and there. The whole place smelled of garlic and parmesan cheese and fresh baked bread. The comforting smells seemed to warm the air.

The light was dim. Wine jugs with candles in various stages of melting dripped wax down the sides of the plump bottles on every table. A waiter with an impressive mustache showed us to our table while an accordion player strolled around the room playing “That’s Amore!”

This place was great, but such a cliché. Where a man takes you on your first date says a lot about him and his intentions. If he takes you somewhere he loves, somewhere that is unique, it shows effort, that you mean more to him than just a casual fling. A place like this takes no thought or effort. There are a bunch of these cookie cutter first date restaurants that will work regardless of the women. The fact that we were here spoke volumes about Peter and the kind of man he was. I couldn’t help but giggle. I knew he was full of shit.

“What?” Peter asked, wanting to be in on the joke.

“Nothing.” I dismissively waved my hand. Peter picked up his napkin and set it in his lap.

“Something that makes you smile like that isn’t nothing.” He reached across the table to take my hand. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed, biting my lip in an effort to hold back the guffaw threatening to escape.

“It’s just that—” I giggled, “—this place.” I covered my mouth, trying to hold in the laughter. “I expect Lady and the Tramp to be out back pushing a meatball with their nose.” I couldn’t hold back any more. I burst into laughter.

“Then,” I snorted, “you said that line…”

I trailed off as my laughter became hysterical. Tears leaked from the corner of my eyes. I couldn’t stop. My stomach was aching. I finally got a hold of myself and took a breath. A stupid smile was still stretched across my face until I looked at Peter, who did not look amused. I coughed, the smile slipping from my face.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been feeling well the past few days. I’m not myself.” Ugh, nice save McCabe.

“It’s okay.” He shrugged. “If you want, we can go somewhere else? Maybe some place that doesn’t serve dogs in the alley?” Well, what do you know, he made a joke.

“No, no, this is great.” I smiled. I was determined to enjoy myself despite my reservations about Peter. Who knows? I could be wrong.

The waiter came over and handed Peter the wine list. He said something I didn’t understand and picked a wine with a complicated name, from a place I couldn’t pronounce. The waiter brought the bottle, and I tried desperately not to laugh when he sniffed and swirled and swished and every other pretentious thing you could do with a glass of wine before nodding his approval.

The waiter poured me a glass and left the bottle. I was curious to see what the fuss was about so I took a sip. Peter was saying something about a smoky taste or an oaky finish. It sounded more like describing pulled pork than wine, but it tasted good, so I just nodded.

We placed our orders and the conversation was casual. Nothing riveting, but I was having a nice time. He told me about his time in London and about Christmas in Paris. It all sounded great, but I found myself counting the stripes on his suit jacket to pass the time, tuning in enough just to get the gist of what he was saying.

The waiter brought our food out and it was incredible. I quickly forgot all of my snide comments about the place. I would’ve happily eaten this in the back alley with Lady.

I stuffed myself on pasta ‘til I was too full to move. Peter seemed shocked that I was eating so much. He must only date the salad eaters. You know, the people who go out on dates and order a small garden salad and then go home and gorge themselves on pizza-flavored Pringles and M&M’s. Ooh, note to self, get Pringles and M&M’s.

“I’m interested in seeing what kind of ideas you have for my loft. Maybe you can come by on Saturday, take a look?” Peter asked, wiping the napkin across his lips. “I’ll make us dinner.”

Smooth—using decorating to secure another date and get me alone at his place. I knew what he was doing. He had discovered my weakness and was using it to his advantage. Well played, Mr. Russell, well played. I figured, why not? I was having a nice enough time. Maybe in his own place, he would loosen up a bit.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

The waiter came by with the check and a couple of mints. Peter handed him his credit card. Once he signed, we headed out to the car. He opened the door for me, waited until I pulled my legs in, and closed it behind me before jogging to the driver’s side. Such a gentleman.

Peter walked me to my door and lingered for a bit while I got my keys out and put them in the lock. He was clearly waiting for me to invite him in, but I wasn’t going to.

“Thank you, Peter. I had a lovely time.” I leaned in and kissed his cheek. Then I turned the key and walked through the door, softly closing it behind me.

I kicked off my shoes, grabbed my phone, and shot off a quick text to Drew to let him know I was home, as promised.

As I hit send, there was a soft knock at the door. I pulled it open and Peter stepped inside. “We can do better than that,” he said with a sexy grin.

He pulled me to him, pressing his lips against mine. He brought a hand to the back of my neck, his tongue seeking access to my mouth. He shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it on a barstool as he slowly walked me backwards into the apartment.

I gave in to the kiss. It felt nice. It wasn’t even close to the kiss I had with Drew, but it still felt good and I welcomed the distraction. I needed something to take my mind off Drew. You know what they say. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

Peter was easy. There was no effort with him, no doubt. I didn’t really care how Peter felt about me. I wouldn’t wake up tomorrow wondering if everything was ruined because I kissed him. Fooling around with him was fun and uncomplicated.