Playing Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 3) by Lisa B. Kamps

Author:Lisa B. Kamps [Kamps, Lisa B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BimHaven Press
Published: 2018-07-24T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

She stood him up.

Caleb couldn't believe it. She had really stood him up. He reached for the glass of wine that had been sitting in front of him, untouched, for the past thirty minutes. It was warm now but he didn't care, just tossed it back, swallowed it with a wince, then slammed the glass onto the table. Would the restaurant let him take the bottle to go? Probably not, even though he was paying for it.

A whole damn bottle wasted except for that one glass. And he didn't even fucking like wine.

Shannon had stood him up.

What the fuck?

He glanced at his phone, staring at the blank screen, willing it to beep or ring or vibrate. Something. But it didn't move, didn't make a single noise, no matter how long he stared at it. It had been silent for the last thirty minutes, ever since Shannon had sent him that quick text saying she was running a few minutes late.

A few minutes? It had been more than a few minutes. A hell of a lot more, considering they were supposed to meet an hour ago.

And what the fuck was he doing, sitting here by himself? The wait staff had been watching him, no doubt whispering among themselves. Probably laughing. What kind of asshole hung out at a restaurant for an hour, waiting for a date that wasn't going to show?

The pathetic kind, that's what kind.

Which didn't say much for him, since he was still sitting here. Still waiting.

Fuck.

He clenched his jaw and looked around, searching for his waiter. The man was nowhere in sight. Of course not, now that Caleb was ready to leave. Wasn't that the way it usually worked? The man had appeared at his side every five minutes, asking if he was ready to order no matter how many times Caleb had told him he was waiting for his date. He didn't miss the doubt in the man's eyes, or the pity—which only pissed him off. He'd finally told the guy that he'd wave him down when he was ready.

Caleb was ready now, so where the hell was the damn waiter?

He swore under his breath and pushed away from the table, ready to hunt the man down. Or maybe he should just throw some bills on the table—enough to cover the damn bottle of wine and an outrageous tip—and get the hell out of here.

And fuck. She stood him up. He still couldn't fucking believe it.

He grabbed the suit jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged into it, not bothering to straighten his collar or sleeves. Why the hell should he, when he was just going to take it off as soon as he got home?

Of all the—he bit back another curse and pushed the chair in. Carefully, even though he'd rather slam it against the table hard enough to send the fancy place settings crashing to the polished terracotta floor.

Doing that would accomplish exactly nothing. It wouldn't even make him feel better because he'd end up having to pay for it.

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