Whatever it’s called, it’s scary. I don’t mind that you work as an instructor and a personal trainer—’
‘Thanks.’
Detecting sarcasm, he sent me a swift frown. ‘It’s the fighting that’s embarrassing.’
‘You mean sparring? Competitions? Why is it embarrassing?’
‘Let’s say, for the sake of argument, we carry on seeing each other. Eventually I’m going to want to introduce you to my mother. What would I say? This is Rosie Miller—just ignore the fact that she’s limping. She has the best scissor kick on the circuit.’
‘I’m proud of my scissor kick. I work hard on my scissor kick.’
‘For the record, the last girl I dated liked baking and book club.’
Baking and book club?
I stared at him, wondering whether to kill him now or wait until after dessert.
It was chocolate brownie, my favourite, so I decided to wait. I wasn’t hungry, but no woman ate chocolate because she was hungry.
‘Given that you’re breaking up with me, let me give you some feedback here.’ I leaned forward and pushed my arms against my sides to gain his attention—it was the only way I could produce any cleavage. ‘Firstly, I am not interested in any relationship that culminates in meeting a guy’s mother. Secondly, your manhood should not be threatened by who you date.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’ His desperation was coloured by a hint of sulk. ‘We both know that if we were attacked, you’d be the one defending me, not the other way round. How is that supposed to make me feel?’
‘Er...relieved?’ I heard the man at the next table cough and I turned my head sharply but he was leaning toward his companion, attentive. I wondered if he was telling her she should join a book group.
‘It makes me feel humiliated!’ Brian hissed. ‘All I’m saying is that it would be nice if you at least pretended to be a little vulnerable. Once in a while you could act like a girl.’
It was the lowest of blows.
He was telling me I wasn’t feminine.
I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes and blinked furiously.
Why did I even care? It wasn’t as if I thought Brian was my happily-ever-after. But happy to the end of dessert would have been nice.
And I had no intention of changing who I was to make him happy. My mother had done that and it had led to misery for all of us. I was determined to find someone who liked me the way I was.
Could the evening get any worse?
I sat there trying to catch my breath and then the man at the table finally turned his head and my evening was suddenly a whole lot worse, because it wasn’t some stranger who sat there. It wasn’t some nameless, faceless hot guy who a woman could fantasize about but never see again.
It was Hunter Black. Hunter, the first guy I’d ever dated. The first guy I’d slept with. The man who had taught me that a broken heart was more painful than a broken bone.
My nemesis.
His dark gaze burned into mine and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
Shit, shit.
I’d really believed I wouldn’t feel anything if I saw him again. I’d told myself that if he ever reappeared in my life, I probably wouldn’t even notice him. I’d walk right past, thinking he looked liked someone I used to know.
I hadn’t expected this gut-wrenching reaction. I felt as if I’d been hit by a truck and left in the gutter like roadkill.
Looking away, I stood up, scrabbled for my purse and knocked over my wine.
Brian cursed and tried to save his jacket and tie from the flood. ‘Rosie, what are you doing?’
I was running. Running like hell. ‘You’re breaking up with me. I don’t see the point in hanging around to watch the whole movie when I already know the ending.’ I opened my purse and dropped a couple of notes on the table and, yes, a lot of other crap, too—I was probably the first person to try and pay a bill in old train tickets. ‘As I threaten your manhood, I’ll assume you don’t want me to walk you home.’
Exercising supreme dignity and awesome balance, I strode out of the restaurant as fast as I could on those heels. My legs turned to liquid—not vodka, sadly—my heart was hammering and my palms were clammy.
Don’t let him follow me. Please don’t let him follow me.
And I wasn’t talking about Brian.
I kept telling myself Hunter was with a woman, that he wouldn’t just walk out on her, but that logic didn’t reassure me.
How could it, when he’d once walked out on me?
Hunter did what suited him. If he wanted to walk, he’d walk. And if he wanted to follow me, he’d follow me.
I couldn’t calm the feeling of panic or the wild need to put as much distance between myself and him as possible.
I heard voices behind me and I was so desperate to get away I almost stepped into the road.
A horn blared.
I looked frantically over my shoulder and saw the group of men who had been drinking at the bar appear at the door of the restaurant. Apart from wondering why they’d left when they’d appeared to be having a good time, I barely spared them a glance. I was too busy looking for Hunter, still terrified that he was going to follow me, although why I thought that, I had no idea. I hadn’t seen him for five years and he’d not sent me as much as a text, so he was hardly likely to be rushing to exchange news and phone numbers.
Relieved there was no sign of him, I dived down the alleyway that ran down the side of the bar and connected with the main road. Far ahead I could see lights as cars whizzed past, but here in the narrow street it was dark and quiet.
I walked quickly, heart pounding. What was he doing here? Was he back in London permanently? Did he live close by?
The questions ran through my head and all I could think about was getting out of there.
Hayley was at home. We’d open a bottle of wine and watch the latest episode of Girls.
Scrunched-up newspaper brushed against my ankles and I picked my way through the mess, wondering why people had to be so gross in their habits. A cat crossed my path, eyes glinting in the darkness, and I was trying to remember if that was lucky or unlucky when I heard footsteps behind me.
They came at me without warning. Surrounded me.
And I knew, cat or no cat, my luck had run out.
I turned, thinking it
