Page 28 of Remnants: Disruption
Knife meet heart.
“I heard you through the door,” I say, giving her what I hope is a sly grin. “I’m happy for you.”
Apparently, whatever guilt she had in hiding the relationship from me keeps her from noticing the baldfaced lie.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you." She bites on her lower lip, and my damned libido does a twirl.
“It’s okay,” I nod, pushing the door open. “How long have you two been together? What’s his name?”
“Almost a year, and Anthony,” she says, hitting the sidewalk the same time I do.
I don’t manage to hide the sharp intake of breath. Or the way my eyes shut tightly, warding off whatever rush of emotion is demanding I cry at this moment. Is it anger? Embarrassment? Shame?
Something of the three mixed to create the utter disbelief that I’ve been pining over a straight woman for years.
And goddamnit, I swear the nearest voice titters in laughter at my predicament.
I turn back to Percy and give her as genuine of a grin as I can.
“That’s sweet.” I nod at the door to the restaurant. The smell of pasta sauce alone is dredging up what bile I have left. “Shall we?”
“Are we okay?” she asks, pulling the door open for me. The gesture hurts, somehow.
I need to get over myself. I need to move on. To pull the dagger out of my heart. Percy had no idea. She likely never even considered I was into her.
She might not even know I’m a lesbian.
No, that’s dumb. She definitely knows. I’ve made comments before, and she’s a damned good detective.
“Of course,” I grin down at her and step into the restaurant.
The place itself is quaint. Tables are scattered almost haphazardly around the room with two to four seats each. It’s busier than I expected for a random Tuesday night. The kitchen is open to the main dining area via the serving window. Wait staff rush from table to table, their attention solely on their customers.
The hostess looks up from her podium and smiles warmly at us.
“Two?” she asks, nodding to Percy and I.
“Yes,” Percy says, taking the lead. I step back behind her, well aware that the patrons who look up are staring at me.
Even Percy’s six-foot, well-built frame looks normal comparatively.
And here I am, just lurking like the fucking grim reaper.
The hostess directs us to a table near the corner of the room. I take the chair facing outward, away from the dancing shadows cast by the moody lighting. Percy frowns for a moment before taking her seat, too.
“Are we celebrating anything special, ladies?” the waitress asks, her perky voice somewhat off-putting, but welcomed, nonetheless.
“No,” Percy says, giving her a smile. “We’ll take the drink menu, though.”
The waitress gives a fairly fake smile and drops the menus at the table before drifting off to another group.
I take the laminated menu, shooting a look at Percy.
“They’re old school,” she says, shrugging. “I like it.”
“You weren’t alive for ’old school,’” I scoff, feeling a little better with the banter.
“Neither were you,” she retorts, eyes returning to her menu.
