Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,27

I said. “Give. Me. The. Phone. Now!”

Reluctantly, I pulled the phone from my bag, hoping to delete the photo before he could see.

Unfortunately, he grabbed it out of my hands before I could manage to flip it open. And when he did his own flipping, of course he saw his own mug staring back at him.

He pressed “delete” and threw the phone back at me. It landed with a loud clatter when it hit my bread plate and several diners turned their heads in interest.

“You’re psycho,” he said. “Completely and utterly psycho. Who does that?” He rose from the table. “No wonder you need a fucking service to find a date! You’re pathetic!”

Before I could protest, he stormed out of the restaurant, leaving me to face the stares from the other patrons. “She took a picture of him,” whispered an elderly woman at the next table. “On a first date?”

“Those camera phones should be illegal. I heard once that some people take them into locker rooms and then post naked photos on the Internet.”

I had never been so humiliated in all my life. I wanted to stand up and scream and inform the whole restaurant that I wasn’t a camera phone pervert, that I just needed a picture to prove to my engaged coworker with whom I’d had sex that I wasn’t a loser with no life. But unfortunately, as willing as I was to make that speech, I didn’t think it would change any diner’s opinion of me. In fact, it might sway the few holdouts in the opposite direction.

Now what did I do? We’d already ordered dinner. Did I sit in my seat, suck up my pride and eat my meal? Would I have to pay for his? Did I even have enough cash on me for that? My credit cards were maxed and I hadn’t deposited my paycheck yet. I’d come prepared to pay for my own meal, if it’d come to that, but not someone else’s. What if they made me wash dishes? Let’s see, I had sixteen dollars probably left on my MasterCard. Maybe seven fifty on my Visa. If I combined those two cards with the cash I had …

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Why did I always end up crying? It was my body’s first reaction to upset, anger, fury, whatever. So embarrassing. Especially when it happened in public places. I angrily swiped at my eyes with my arm.

“Maddy?”

I looked up at the voice addressing me. Into the eyes of an angel. Jamie stood at my table. How did he find me yet again? It was like we were two soul mates, destined to keep running into each other.

“Jamie!” I cried, overjoyed to see him. I didn’t care if he had a fiancée. I didn’t care if our relationship stayed platonic forever. At that moment I simply needed a friend. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Are you on your date?” he asked, his eyes sparkling. “Do I get to meet the famous blond-haired, blue-eyed Czech surfer in the flesh?”

Shit. I was hoping he’d forget about that.

“He, uh, had to leave early.” I grimaced. “I did have a picture, but …”

I waited for him to tease me, but he didn’t.

“Didn’t go as planned, huh?” he asked sympathetically. “Not exactly.” I sighed. “But he ordered before he took off, so if you’re in the mood for a chicken fiesta burrito, you’re in luck.”

A ray of hope peeked through my dark evening clouds. This would be great. Jamie and I could have a nice meal. We could become friends. Other diners would see that I wasn’t a loser who got walked out on by her date.

Jamie smiled. “I would but …”

“Jamie! Our table’s over here. Did you get lost?” A tall, anorexic-looking blonde came up behind Jamie and slipped her arm around his waist. Protectively.

Oh. Jamie wasn’t alone.

Of course he’s not alone, a jeering voice in my head taunted. Who eats at a restaurant alone? Well, except for you, you loser. I suddenly realized this was the second time in a week Jamie caught me drinking by myself.

“Uh, Maddy. I’d like you to meet Jennifer. My fiancée.” Jamie said, succeeding to unintentionally rub salt on my wounds. “Jennifer, this is Maddy. My new coworker at News Nine.” He introduced us so casually, as if I weren’t the other woman. The one who, just days ago, he’d accidentally had sex with.

“Nice to meet you, Jennifer,” I said in my best new-coworker voice.