“Olivia Michaels.”

Liv

I’ve taken the book in and out of my bag at least ten times by the time the buzzer rings right at seven. It’s currently hidden in the bottom of my bag, but if he takes more than thirty seconds to get up to my floor, I’m pretty sure it won’t be in there by the time he knocks.

I hear Ally open the door, but I stay in my room a few more minutes to compose myself. Eventually, I hold my breath and force myself out of hiding and make my way into the living room.

Ally is standing in the kitchen pouring a glass of wine while Vinny sits on a stool at the breakfast nook. He turns and stands as I walk into the room, leaving Ally talking to the back of his head.

“Hey.” He stands and watches me walk toward him, a slight smirk on his handsome face. I stop in front of him, suddenly feeling awkward about how I should greet him, but the feeling doesn’t last for long. Vinny hooks his hand around my neck and leans down to kiss me gently on the lips.

Looking up, I find a smile on Ally’s face and her eyebrows arched in question at the greeting I’ve just received. Her glass of wine in hand, halfway up to her mouth, she looks at my face and changes her mind, extending her hand with the glass out to me.

Desperate to calm my nerves, I take the glass and silently thank my best friend with a smile.

“You want a glass of wine, Vince?” Ally reaches into the cabinet where we keep the glasses.

“No, thanks. But don’t let it stop the two of you.” His words and smile said in jest, as I’m already gulping from my glass and Ally is busy pouring another for herself.

Ally and Vinny catch up, lots of talk about his upcoming fight. Most of what he shares, I already knew from interviewing him for my article. I’m surprised when he extends an invite to Ally. “You should come with Liv. I’ll give her a few extra tickets.”

I wonder if Vinny’s aware he just bought my best friend’s unwavering support of my new found relationship with him. She’s a die-hard sports fan, not to mention that she would never turn down an opportunity to ogle men with eight packs wearing only boxers, surrounded by a few thousand manly men hyped up on extra testosterone in anticipation of watching said men beat the crap out of each other.

I finish my glass of wine in record time and interrupt the little love fest the two seem to be sharing. “Who said I was going to your fight?” Arching one eyebrow in question, I turn to address Vinny.

“You don’t want to come?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So what’s the problem then?”

“You seem to be making a lot of decisions for me without consulting me first,” I fold my hands over my chest as I respond.

“And you don’t like the decisions?”

“I didn’t say that…but...”

“But what, Liv?” Vinny shrugs his shoulders. Clearly he’s clueless as to the point I am trying to make here.

“You’re supposed to ask people what they want before you decide things for them.”

Vinny folds his arms over his chest, mimicking my stance. “Seems like a waste of time when you already know what the other person wants.”

My mouth actually drops open. The arrogance of the man is just so unbelievable. “And what if you’re wrong as to what the other person wants?”

Vinny shakes his head and closes the distance between us, wrapping both his arms around my waist. “I have no doubt you’ll let me know if I’m wrong.” The cocky smile on his face disappears only for a second while he plants a chaste kiss on my lips.

I’ve never been to the restaurant Vinny takes me to. It’s small and intimate and would normally be something I’d appreciate, but the staff all seems to know him and I find myself annoyed that it’s clearly a place he frequents with his conquests. I don’t know why it bothers me, it just does. We’re both adults, even I’ve had my fair share of dates and overnight partners. Yet something deep inside me is bothered by knowing he’s been here and done this before…with someone else.

The waitress comes to greet us, and I feel my pulse accelerate when she also greets Vinny, no Vince, by name. She’s cute, although too thin. So much so that I find myself wondering if she has an eating disorder, or perhaps a drug problem, while her and Vinny take a minute to catch up. Careful inspection finds dark circles under her eyes, even though a thick layer of makeup attempts to conceal it.

“So, what can I get you tonight? Beer for you and...” The waif like waitress smiles at me and waits for my response.

“I’ll take a Merlot. Thank you.” I bury my nose in the menu, unable to conceal that I’m bothered by his familiarity with the restaurant, the waitress…the entire dating scene. What girl wants it smacking her in the face as she goes out to dinner with a man she is trying to learn to trust?

“Do you like tilapia?”

“Yes.” I answer, but don’t look up from the menu.

“I’ll order for us then.” Vinny folds his menu and tosses it on the table, as if the discussion we just began already ended.

“I can order for myself.” I’m not successful at hiding that I’m annoyed, even though I really do try.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just figured since I’ve tried most of the things on the menu—”

“Looks like a few that aren’t on it too.” The words come out under my breath, dripping with so much bitterness that even I find the statement catty.

Vinny doesn’t respond immediately. Curious as to his response to my immature statement, I lift my head and find him glaring at me. Neither of us says anything for a minute as we stare into each other’s eyes, playing visual chicken, both too stubborn to look away.

“I come here with Elle and Nico all the time. I know Lily from outpatient rehab, never touched the woman. I’ve never taken a date here.”

I can see in his face he’s telling the truth. Heat seeps up to my face, I’m embarrassed for jumping to conclusions, but even more embarrassed at how I reacted to the conclusion I drew. Like a jealous girlfriend, unsure of herself.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” There’s a slight uptick in the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you’re territorial, because I feel the same way.”

“I’m not—”

Vinny interrupts me before I could deny what he’s accused me of. “You are.”

Exasperated, I let out a sigh and wave my hand. “Whatever.” It earns me a full-fledged, panty dropping, dimple bearing smile.

The tension from earlier in the evening long forgotten, we spend hours catching up.

“So you were valedictorian?”

Surprised he knew I’d received any accolades, I correct him. “Salutatorian. You kept tabs on me?”

“Isn’t that like, number two? And yes.” He arches his eyebrow. Clearly he remembers how competitive I could be.

“Scott Julian beat me by .002.” It’s been years, but the agony of defeat still grates on my nerves. “I got a B+ in gym.” Rolling my eyes at my own admission.

My response earns a chuckle. “You lost number one because of gym.”

“Yep.” I lift my wine to my mouth and drain the glass. It pisses me off, but I can find the humor in it too. Finally. Well, maybe a little anyway.

“That was the only class I ever got an A in.”

“What about English? You did well when I tutored you.”

“Got a B.” He finishes his beer. “Tutor was hot.” He shrugs, a grin on his face. “Distracted me.”

“So it’s my fault you didn’t get an A in a real subject?”

His brows narrow. “Gym is a real subject.”

“Pfsst.” I pooh-pooh his answer. “Gym is not a real subject.”

Eyebrows popping, he finds amusement in my answer. “Bet you Scott Julian agrees with me.”

“Whatever.” I squint, my hand waving away our argument as no big deal, even though it’s one I could clearly argue for hours. One that still sits uneasily with me. “You just like to get a rise out of me,” I accuse.