The Steakhouse, Part 1

Selena and I pull into our favorite steakhouse off the main road, a few streets from my father's gym. She fought tooth and nail for Mexican, but I think I made it clear I never want to set foot in Maine's only Mexican restaurant again. Ever.

Inside the steakhouse, a lovely red-headed waitress seats us in a large booth by a window that showcases the not-so-beautiful scenery of the semi-dilapidated parking lot we parked in, and a small block of stores that could use an upgrade.

"I am so sick of living in this place," Selena groans, shuddering away from the view.

"Tell me about it." The waitress simpers, opening her tiny notepad. "What can I get you, ladies?"

Selena doesn't bother looking at the menu. This place sells her favorite kind of fries, and she can't get enough of their specialty craft beer.

"I'll have a plate of cheesy fries and a jug of your best beer, please," she says, ordering exactly as I expect her to.

Even so, I still arch an eyebrow at her. "That's it? No vegetables?"

"Not today, Mom."

"You have the taste buds of a child," I tell her, smirking.

"I ordered beer," she points out as if it makes a difference.

"Fine." I laugh and grab a menu from the middle of the table. "You have the taste buds of a drunk child. I, on the other hand, will order like an adult."

Sort of. I ask the waitress for a chicken burger with extra avocado and a side of beer-battered chips. When she's done jotting it down, she retrieves a jug of beer, along with two tall glasses and brings it to our table before waltzing away.

The longer we wait, the more my attention lingers on various waitresses, carrying overloaded plates of greasy food. Saliva puddles under my tongue at the sight. Why didn't I order a side of cheesy fries too? Or garlic bread for an appetizer?

Just to have something in my stomach, I pour us a glass of beer and eye the amber liquid before taking a sip. The yeasty, earthy flavor rolls over my tongue, and I cringe, making a strange sound at the base of my throat. Selena chuckles. I never warmed up to the taste of beer, unlike her.

"It was nice of Mason to give you two days off," she says, leaning forward on her elbows. "He's still an asshole though."

I halfheartedly lift a shoulder. "You bring it on yourself."

Snorting, she pokes at the glassy ice cubes floating around in her drink with her perfectly manicured nail. I press the cup to my lower lip and tip more beer into my mouth.

"I thought he'd be nicer after we slept together. Apparently not."

I gasp inhaling liquid into my lungs, then splutter violently. Beer spills over the rim of the chilled glass and soaks my hand. I set it down and cover my mouth, attracting looks of irritation from other patrons as I hack my lungs up. Repeatedly.

Grimacing, Selena tosses me a bunch of napkins. "Christ, Olivia. Drink much?"

I snatch a napkin and press it to my mouth, continuing to cough into it. After a small eternity, the coughing subsides, leaving my throat raw and burning in its wake.

"What'd you say?" I force out, sounding like a seventy-year-old smoker.

"Christ, Olivia-"

"Before that."

She blinks her big, green eyes at me, batting those perfect, long lashes of hers. "About Mason? Didn't I tell you? I'm sure I did."

My eyes bug out of my head. "You had sex with my boss?"

"Yeah," she simply says-nonchalant, like it's no big deal.

It is a big deal. It's a very big deal.

"When?"

Pursing her full lips, she rubs them together in thought and drags her gaze over my shoulder. "The first time was-"

"The first time?" I interrupt, shooting forward on my elbows, an incredulous bubble of laughter shooting from my mouth. "How many times have you two done it?"

I can't believe this. I can't believe she would-figuratively-shit where I eat. What if something bad happens between them and I get fired for it? Yeah, I want to leave my job, but on my own terms and when I'm ready.

"Five or six times," Selena admits. "The first time was the night of your birthday party last year. I went to the office to surprise you, but Mason said Blade picked you up early." She chuckles. "Boy, was he bitter about that. I teased him a little, like usual, and riled him up-"

"Spare me the details." I flash her my palm. "I don't want to know."

"Suit yourself. He's not a bad lay. You should give him a go and really get Blade out of your system."

I shudder at the thought. Even if Mason wasn't my boss, he's over twenty years my senior-nearly the same age as my father. Selena might like older men, but I draw the line at a six-year gap maximum. I keep that to myself though. I don't want her to feel like I'm judging her because of her preferences.

Instead, I say, "I don't want your sloppy seconds."

And she rolls her eyes at me for the umpteenth time today. "First of all, sloppy seconds aren't a thing. Second of all, screwing Mason isn't what I want to spend lunch talking about anyway."

"What do you want to talk about?" I dare ask.

"I want to know what made you decide you finally had enough of Blade's shit."

I frown. I don't know what to tell her or where to begin. How do I condense six years and a million and one reasons into a single lunchtime?

"I got into my car after he stood me up at the Mexican restaurant and..." I lick my lips in thought. "Six years of bullshit hit me all at once and it was like flicking a switch. I decided I'd had enough."

Selena's pretty, fairy-like features soften, and with a kind smile, she reaches across the table and strokes my forearm. "I'm proud of you. You deserve better."

My lips quirk at the corners, warmth spreading through my chest.

"Cheesy fries?" the waitress asks, sauntering up to our table, pressing her skinny thighs against the edge.

Selena waves and the waitress places her plate down in front of her. She dives greedily into her fries before my plate touches the table.

"So good!" she announces through a mouthful of potato and cheese. "You're missing out."

I simper, plucking a small, crunchy fry off my plate. For a girl so slender, fit, and perfect she sure eats and drinks like crap. I'm quite fit and, most days, I eat right, but my efforts haven't slimmed the curves of my body. No matter how hard I try, the hips want to stay. I don't mind them so much anymore. I hated them throughout high school, but at twenty-three, I'm learning to love every inch of my body.

When I'm halfway through my fries, I take another mouthful of beer. This time, it goes down smooth, and I enjoy the taste. I enjoy the way the bubbles tickle my tongue.

"I can't remember the last time I went out for a drink," I wonder aloud, then immediately regret it when Selena perks up, her eyes flashing with wicked excitement.

She chews quickly, impatiently, then gives up and holds her food in her cheek. "Do you want to go out tonight?"

"Nope," I reply instantly. "No, thank you."

Grunting, she continues to chew her food, but I know she won't drop the subject, not when she has one of those stubborn kinks between her brows.

I hate nightclubs. I hate nightclubs more than I hate doing taxes or getting a pap smear. Clubs make me anxious and being grinded on by a bunch of random, sleazy men while they breathe their gross breath all over me is my worst nightmare.

Finally swallowing her mouthful, Selena tips her head to the side. "Come on, O. Let's go out tonight. We deserve a little girl time."

I bite my burger. The flavors from the chicken and sauce flood into my mouth-tomato, aioli, pick relish-I almost moan.

"I hate clubs and you know it," I say through the mess.

"No one likes clubs. Don't make me go by myself."

I swallow. "Oh, please. You've already started drinking. A hundred dollars says you'll be out cold by four this afternoon."

She cuts her eyes at me. "Okay, I'll make a deal with you." Pausing, she grabs her beer and slams it down in record time, setting the empty glass on the table when she's done. "If I stop drinking now, you have to come out with me tonight. Think of my liver. If you say no, I'm going to have to pound it with the rest of this jug of beer, but if you say yes, I won't touch another drop until tonight."

I arch an eyebrow. "I don't see how your deal benefits me at all."

She pouts, a spattering of salt coats her top lip. "I'll let you wear that diamond chain bralette of mine you love so much."

I straighten my spine. "The rose gold one?"

"The one and only."

Cheater. She knows how much I love that bralette. Sighing, I put a piece of lettuce in my mouth and hold it in my cheek. "Fine, we can go out, but Heaven Nightclub isn't an option."

"Only douchebags and rapists go to Heaven..." Selena pulls a face. "That came out weird."

The door to the steakhouse flies open and the sound of a bell jingles throughout the small restaurant, pulling my attention. Like a snake hypnotized in its basket, Selena's shoulders pull back and slowly twists in her seat to get a better look at the group of rowdy, boisterous men who pour in.

"Yum." I can practically hear her mouth pooling with drool. "Look how tall they are."

"Yeah," I agree, not bothering to follow her line of sight to the pack of men, or to the waitresses that rush past our table, climbing over each to be the one to serve them.

"There are so many hot guys flooding into town for that MMA tournament." She makes a tight noise in her throat. While she's not looking, I steal a cheesy fry from her plate. "God. What I wouldn't give to be their synthetic punching bag for a day...or their spit bucket."

I grimace, screwing my face up tight. Selena's my best friend. I love her to death, and I'd do anything for her, but what goes through her head? Is it always booze, boys, and, well, buckets?

"You're so gross, you know that?"

"Oh, one of them is covered in tattoos," she utters, grinning with devilish excitement over her shoulder at me. "Dibs."

"He's all yours."

Straightening herself in her seat, she pushes her plate to the side. "Okay. You're starting to worry me."

"Because I'm not objectifying a bunch of guys across a restaurant and calling dibs?"

She balks, offended. "What about the hot employee at Bed, Bath, and Beyond last week? You called dibs, then followed him down three aisles before I dragged you away."

Damn it. "I knew you were going to bring that up. I had a moment of weakness. Sue me."

"I'm asking you to look, not blow them." Pinching a fry from her plate, she bites the tip. "Humor me at the very least."

I exhale. Fine. I drag my attention to the men. Three of them have their back to me, blocking the face of the other two with their big, impossibly broad shoulders. Their tees cling to their bodies, showcasing every ridge and bump of their back muscles. It's impressive, sure. It even makes me hot under the collar but come on. I bet they all have egos larger than life. My thoughts fall to my morning with Seth. He touched me with all the confidence in the world, like he's done it a million times before. He didn't seem worried in the slightest that I'd reject him. He's an arrogant pig. I bet they're all arrogant pigs.

"Aren't they hot?" she whispers and kicks my shin.

Ouch! I hiss, clenching my teeth together. "So hot."

"I wonder if they'd meet up with us later?"

My eyes go wide. "Absolutely not."

Tilting her head back, Selena lets out a loud laugh and a dreadful heat spreads under my skin, burning my cheeks. I open my mouth to tell her to shut up, only to clamp it shut when one of the men from the group peers around another to look at us. I sink lower in my seat.

"Are they looking?" she asks, her eyes flashing.

"No," I lie. "Now will you quit embarrassing yourself?"

Frowning, Selena sinks into thought and it puts me on edge. I know that look-the pursed lips and furrowed brow. I groan. We've been best friends for as long as I remember. I don't need to be a mind reader to know what she's thinking.

"You're not going-"

"I'm going over there," she cuts in, swinging her legs out of the booth.

"No." I shoot forward, snagging her by the elbow, forcing her to stay seated. "There are five of them. What're you going to do with five men?"

She lifts her slender shoulders, shrugging. "Make friends? Who knows, if they're in town for the fights, maybe I can get us tickets to the next bout."

Sometimes, it's like she doesn't know me at all. I loathe contact sports, mixed martial arts especially. I release her, flicking my hand in her direction. "Have fun with that."

Pushing herself out of the booth, Selena fluffs her long, blonde locks and smooths her hands down the length of her pretty, pink dress. "How do I look?"

I pull a face. As if she doesn't know she's breathtakingly stunning with her natural beauty and healthy, glowing skin. She could approach those men in a burlap sack with dirt on her face and they'd still pant after her like dogs in heat. She's perfect. She always has been.

"Go get 'em."

Selena beams at me then saunters toward the group. I watch for a moment, intrigued by the way she immediately catches the eye of one of them. Lucky for her, it's the one she called dibs on. Tattoos cover his hands and arms, swallowing him up to his neck. His handsome, perfectly structured face, however, is untouched by the menacing black ink. The stranger rakes his dark stare all over Selena, in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

It's intimate. Too intimate.

I wonder what it'd feel like having a man look at you like you're a juicy piece of steak he wants to devour. Hot, I bet. Swallowing hard, I mind my own business and eat my lunch. Not long after, girly giggles pull my gaze back to the group. They've made room for her to sit down.

She's in her element. Good for her.

Selena looks at me and I wrinkle my nose up, pulling a face. Smiling impishly, she points a long, slender index finger in my direction. My body goes rigid, my skin igniting, as a panic floods me. I shake my head, desperately, and my heart slams into my ribs a million miles a minute. The man on the edge of the booth, the one in a blue hoodie with his back to me, slings his arm over the back of the seat. I hold my breath as he twists his body, then sets his dark, familiar eyes on me. I hold my breath.

It's Seth-fucking-Marc.