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17 A little tumble

Date = 7 November

Place = San Francisco (Scoma’s Restaurant)

POV - Damion

“Are you gonna order a third dessert? Or are we leaving?” She has a point. We’ve been here since four. That’s what the message said … Scoma’s. Pick you up at 4.

Now it’s nearly six and there’s no sign of her or the douchebag.

“Can you tell me again why we are here exactly?” I stare into her teasing face. If she wasn’t one of my most favorite people on this earth, I would probably have strangled her by now.

Why are we here? That’s a very good question. One I don’t exactly have an answer for — except … stupidity. Maybe jealousy. Or possessiveness. None of them are very good answers.

Then my heart does a double-take triple-somersault with a fucking headstand, leaving me gulping for air.

She walks in with that stuck-up puppy trainer, in the shortest, sexiest, milk-pink dress that curves tight against her perfect body. And the little zipper holding in her cleavage makes me pay fucking attention.

“What type of dick-tea
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