Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella by Laurelin Paige

Author:Laurelin Paige [Paige, Laurelin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: contemporary, romance, Fixed Trilogy, 1001 Dark Nights, Laurelin Paige
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
Published: 2017-11-21T00:00:00+00:00

* * * *

“It’s a nice place,” I said, for the third time, rubbing my sweaty palm on my skirt underneath the table. I looked around Gaston’s, the restaurant that Nathan had brought me to, and regretted having said yes to this date in the first place. It was too fancy, too formal, too much the kind of place where you were expected to sit and talk about your lives all night long.

That wasn’t the kind of girl I was. I wasn’t made for traditional courting. I wasn’t made for a traditional lifestyle. I never had been. I had no plans for marriage, no desire for children. All the things the denizens of this restaurant had or wanted. What was I even doing here?

Nathan looked at me over his glass of chardonnay and narrowed his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I lied. I’d agreed to this thing to get him out of my hair, to get him out of my office. All I had to do was get through one night and then I could explain that it wasn’t working out and send him on his way. “Everything’s fine.”

Nate scanned the restaurant, his head tilted to one side as he considered. “You know, I brought you here because my friend owns this place, and I thought it would impress you that I could get us in on such short notice. But now that we’re here, it doesn’t really seem like our type of place, does it?”

My body reacted in some strange, inexplicable way when he said “our.” Goosebumps ran down my arms, and I shivered. It had been a long time since I’d been part of an our, and even back when I had been, I’d never really liked it much. The word always felt like fetters, like bondage. Not the good kind of bondage.

But somehow when Nate said it, it didn’t feel like he was trying to trap me into anything. It felt like he was exactly right. This wasn’t “our” type of place.

“Well, it’s just dinner,” I said, trying to be polite. It was easier now that he’d acknowledged having similar feelings.

“All we’ve ordered is the wine,” he said. He caught the eye of our waiter and gestured him over. “We’d like our tab, please.”

“Sir? Is there something wrong?” The waiter seemed distressed at the suggestion that we’d leave even before our meal.

“We just realized we had somewhere else to be,” Nate said, meeting my eyes. “Can you recork the wine for us? We’ll take the bottle.”

A little more than an hour later, we were sipping wine and eating pizza at a bowling alley on my side of town in Greenwich Village.

“I can’t believe you got three strikes in a row,” Nate said admiringly.

“I can’t believe I’m bowling in my work clothes.” I could barely move in my tight skirt, but I’d managed to bowl a good game so far.

“I think it’s hot,” he said around a bite of pizza.

I blushed and looked away, embarrassed by the compliment. “You’ve

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