Renne
L’Octane is a chic restaurant located near downtown in the affluent part of the city on the other side from where I live. The valet greets Pete as if he knows him, then fits Pete’s sports car right in a parking space near the entrance.
Since Pete’s friend, who is a girl, owns the restaurant, the dark, masculine interior decorated in severe modern gray, marble, and cold blue walls surprises me. It smells like lavender, not food, in here. The waitresses wear little black dresses like mine. I guess I fit right in.
While we wait for our table to clear out, we’re offered cocktails at the bar.
I order a glass of red wine. Usually, I’m a beer drinker, but holding a bottle of beer or even ordering one feels wrong somehow. I fidget with my hair.
A petite blonde wearing a sharp black suit joins us.
“There she is,” Pete says.
They air kiss, and she giggles as if he’s saying something hilarious. I can’t help but notice the way her lips have beenoverfilled several injections ago. It’s because she smiles, but her lips can’t stretch naturally anymore.
Nevertheless, I return her smile.
“Who do we have here?” she asks.
I stick out my hand and introduce myself.
Lizzie shakes my hand and proceeds to ignore me for the next few minutes. Just as well. The wine is excellent, and I’m enjoying the spicy aftertaste.
The pair of doctors chat about surgeries. She’s a physician who runs this restaurant at night. She and Pete seem very friendly. She’s not wearing a ring, and she keeps touching him as she speaks, once in a while glancing at me as if she wants me to notice.
I do notice, but if she thinks I’ll correct her or get possessive and make a scene, she’ll be disappointed. I might not be a lady like her, but I don’t stir up shit in public. I have manners. And also, the free wine can buy my happiness. I order another one.
By the time our table is ready, Pete has ignored me for over half an hour, I’ve had three glasses of wine, and I’m not hungry anymore.
We’re finally seated. Pete texts someone. The waiter flares out the napkin, and I smile up at him, having no clue that I should lean back so he can cover my lap with it until he tells me to do so.
The booth we’re seated in could hold five people, and soon, more people join us. Now our date has turned into a gathering of local doctors. I don’t know them from the hospital where I work. They’re plastic surgeons, and one is an anesthesiologist. They make many jokes about nurses and tell me it’s nothing personal.
It’s like I’m in a dream. Waiters walk by. An array of plates are set on and removed from the table. More drinks. I’m pretty tipsy at this point.
Pete comforts me by sliding his hand between my thighs. “You ready to head out to my place?”
Wine gives me wings. Or balls. I don’t know. Either way, Pete’s about to get an earful of my opinion. I close my legs, but he slides his hand back between them. I move away from him, but he grips my thigh and pulls me back.
“Where are you going?”
“You’re crazy if you think I’ll sleep with you tonight.”
Pete tightens his hold.
“Let me go.”
“Go where? It’s not like you have anything better lined up. You live in the gutters. At least take a shower at my place.”
I look around the table. His friends might not hear everything we’re saying over the music and the chatter from the bar area, but they’ve overheard enough. Even if they haven’t heard a word, I heard him.
“Well, Pete, that’s not entirely true. You forgot that I could have eight and a half inches of pierced Crossbow dick inside me. I think I’ll shower in the manor.”
Pete’s grip on my thigh is relentless. I grab his wrist and try to move it. Under the table, nobody sees what he’s doing. I fucking knew it. I sensed his violence when he tugged my hair, but I ignored it. This is what Dina warned me about.
“We’ll leave together in a minute,” he growls.
“I’m leaving now.”