Ashley
Ew. Ew. Ew.
How come the only dresses I own are the one I wore to Max’s high school graduation, the one I wore to Jax’s sentencing in court, and one I bought off Shein that looks like something that would fit a ten-year-old and not a woman on a fast-track to fifty?
“What a disaster,” I mutter as I rip the graduation dress off the hanger. “This will have to do.”
I peel off my T-shirt and jeans, fully aware I’m in dire need of replacing my undergarments. I’m not going to worry about it too much for this first date, though, because no matter how good looking Matteo is, he’s not getting to second base.
There are enough problems in my life. Jumping right into bed with a stranger isn’t something I need to pile on right now.
The dress is a little looser than from before. Normally I’d be thrilled to have dropped a few pounds, but since it’s stress derived, it makes me feel a little sick to my stomach. It’s hard to believe just a few short years ago, when our son was graduating from high school, I was happy with life.
Zero drama.
Absolutely none.
My phone dings on the night stand and I hurry over to it. I’m agitated that some guy from Norway is right on my tail on Royal Smash. Doesn’t he have a job? How is he getting to play this game all day? I hurry and fly through a couple of matches to put me ahead of him. Then, I find my way back to the mirror to inspect the dress.
“Well,” I say, turning toward Marley, who’s been watching TikTok videos on her phone, “what do you think?”
She peels her eyes from the screen, does a quick sweep over my dress, and scrunches her nose. “You have better stuff than that, Mom.”
I deflate at her words. “No, I really don’t, and I don’t have the time nor the budget to do anything about it.”
Sensing my glum mood, Marley slides off the bed and pads over to me. Her eyebrows furl together the same way mine do as she tugs at the material on the dress.
“I should just cancel,” I mutter with a sigh.
“What?” Marley says with a huff. “No way. You’re finally doing something cool for you. And, from how you went on and on about how fuck-hot Matteo was, I refuse to let you cancel your date.”
I shoot her a disappointed mom stare. “I didn’t say fuck-hot. I said handsome.”
Marley shrugs, smirking at me. “It’s the young person equivalent.”
She walks over to my closet and yanks the pink Shein dress off the hanger. The tag dangles from it, reminding me that six-dollar dresses are my life now. I’d had to sell all the designer ones months and months ago just to get us into this apartment.
“Try this one on,” Marley instructs, thrusting it at me. “And go bra-less.”
I shoot her a horrified look. “What? No way. The material is too thin.”
“That’s what pasties are for. I have some from the HoCo dance last year.”
Marley scurries off and then returns with the flower shaped pasties. I grumble the whole time as I stuff myself into the pink dress. My daughter, though, is insistent and won’t let me quit.
Once I’m dressed, I have to admit, maybe she was right.
“So hot,” Marley says with a huge grin. “Now, while you do your hair and makeup, I’ll Google this guy. What’s Matteo’s last name?”
I cringe, knowing she’s not going to like the answer. “Not sure.”
“What do you mean? You agreed to go on a date with some guy you didn’t think to ask his last name?” Marley gapes at me in horror. “Mother. Are you trying to end up on a true crime podcast episode?”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure her, shoving away the trickle of unease. “Just don’t tell your brother.”
Max has already texted me three times today telling me Jax is trying to get in contact with me. That it’s “important.” Well, Jax can wait. My life has been non-stop stress lately, and all of it leads back to him. Having a date with a fuck-hot man on my day off is much needed.
***
A knock on the door has me squeaking in surprise. Marley frowns at me but I shrug it off. When hurry from the bedroom to the living room and open the door, I’m shocked to see Matteo standing there. In his hand is a bouquet of flowers. They’re unusual. Exquisite. Same soft pink as my dress. I’ve never seen flowers like them.
“Wow, uh, wow. These are gorgeous.” Then, I call out to my daughter, “Hey, kiddo, can you put these flowers in water for me? See you soon!”
I toss the flowers on the coffee table, grab my purse, and hurry out the door before Marley can come ask Matteo a thousand questions. I’m nervous as it is, so I don’t need to start the date out any more awkward than I’m already making it.
Once on the elevator, I glance over at Matteo. He cleans up well. His black suit is fitted and the material stretches over his muscular biceps. His granite eyes roam over my form greedily, as if he really likes what he sees. I’m just glad the fuck-hot guy is focused on me and not the scent of urine that permeates from the elevator carpet. The second I’d spied Matteo, I knew we were from two different worlds.
“You look amazing,” Matteo says, a sexy, crooked grin on his face. “That dress was made for you.”
His compliment makes my cheeks burn hot. There’s just something so intense about this man. It definitely calls to parts of me that have been dormant for some time now.
It’s not until we’re outside and I see a sleek sports car parked out front do I realize I never told him my apartment number. I’d given him the address to pick me up via text, but I planned to meet him downstairs.
Alarm bells ring inside my head, but I ignore them because Matteo opens the door for me like a gentleman. I’d been married to Jax for a long time and we just opened our own doors. Honestly, it was more efficient that way when you had kids running around, and then it became the norm. Having my door opened for me makes me feel special.
After we’re both seated and he fires up the engine, I shoot him a questioning look. “How did you know my apartment number?”
He smirks at me and then winks. “I have my ways, beautiful.”
With that, he tears out of the parking lot like a man on a mission. For a split second, I worry he’s going to kidnap me, but then I tell myself he easily could have done that at the grocery store yesterday if he wanted to.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid.
Not every man is a walking red flag. I’ve just been burned by Jax. That’s all.
I refuse to let my past prevent me from enjoying the present.
We make small talk on the way to the restaurant downtown. Matteo loves sports cars and has several of them. I tell him about my obsession with flavored coffee creamers and that I even have a “creamer fridge” mini refrigerator next to the big one just for my creamers. Matteo regales me with his recent trip to Scotland and the pubs he tried while there. I offer him an insanely exciting story about how a customer lost her ferret in the grocery store and everyone had to stop what they were doing to find it.
I’m keenly aware that Matteo and I are not cut from the same cloth.
The restaurant is called Stea-Kuh. Signage out front is simple, modern, and sparse. It’s not until we’re seated at a linen-cloth-covered table and I’m staring at a menu with no prices that I realize just how different me and Matteo are. While Jax made lots of money in the past and gave us the cushy lifestyle we were used to, we never once ate at a restaurant with no prices listed. At Texas Roadhouse, what you see is what you get.
Stea-Kuh…not so much.
“Are you okay?” Matteo asks, frowning.
I shift in my seat and shrug. “I’m slightly terrified over how much this meal is going to cost us.”
“Not us,” he says, shaking his head. “Me. And I have the money. Don’t worry about it.”
Naturally, though, I am worried. And when I order something small from the appetizer list, Matteo orders duplicates of everything he’s having. The man isn’t that big, so I know he’s making sure I get enough food. It’s sweet.
“So, tell me about you, Ashley. I know you’re a mom. Tell me about your kids.”
I sit up a little straighter, eager to brag about my children.
My shoulders lose their tension and I shoot him a grateful smile. The man is perceptive, already knowing how to calm me down.
Dinner goes nicely and I find myself giggling. A lot. Matteo is effortlessly funny in a cool, charming way. Also, the endless wine doesn’t hurt either. I’m so relaxed that when his foot brushes against mine under the table, I don’t move it.
After they’ve take away our plates that we equally demolished, and we’ve ordered some type of strawberry dessert delight to share, Matteo’s gaze drifts past me. There’s a flatness in his voice when he asks his next question.
“You said you’ve been divorced six months. How often do you speak to your ex?”
All the hairs on my arms stand on end. There’s a strangeness to his demeanor and it’s unsettling.
“That’s a weird first-date question,” I say back in a cool tone.
His gray eyes cut over to mine and he watches me, expression unreadable. “Is it?”
“A little invasive if we’re being honest.” I shift in my seat, suppressing a tremble. “I’d think you’d want to know about my hobbies or my favorite Netflix shows before asking about my incarcerated ex-husband.”
He hikes up a dark eyebrow. “Incarcerated?”
I bite on my bottom lip, preventing my blabbing mouth from saying anything else.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he says when the waiter brings our dessert. “Tell me about your hobbies.”
There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but I’m still put off by his question. I stress eat the dessert in record time while yapping about diamond art painting, Pokemon puzzles, and my stupid Royal Smash game.
He. Doesn’t. Care.
So why can’t you stop talking?
I stop mid-sentence and blurt out, “What’s your last name, Matteo?”
His head tilts to one side and he studies me. I try not to fidget under his intense gaze. “Moretti. Matteo Moretti.”
The last name triggers something familiar deep in my memory bank. Years ago Jax mentioned a Moretti. He’d been stressed and drunk. Later feigned that he had no idea what I was talking about when I brought it up. I’d chalked it up to drunken nonsense…until now.
“That name means something to you,” Matteo says, words devoid of warmth. “I suppose your husband never told you that he owes my family an obscene amount of money.”
Dinner roils violently in my gut. “Ex-husband.” And what the hell?!
He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it like from before. “Of course.” Then, he leans in close, eyes searing into me as he says, “Though I doubt the distinction between the two will matter much to my father.”
Disgust ripples through me.
This was never a random date with a stranger.
It was planned.
Once again, Jax has dragged me into the nightmare he created.
“I’m leaving,” I say curtly as I stand. “Thanks for the meal, but please don’t contact me again. I’ll Uber home.”
Matteo slips an envelope out of his pocket and pushes it across the table toward me. He nods, as if indicating I should open it. My curiosity is piqued, so I snatch it up. Inside is something that makes my blood turn to ice.
It’s Marley.
Standing outside of her school, yapping with her friends.
This man knows where my kid goes to school. Where we live.
“I didn’t take the photo,” Matteo murmurs, “but I know who did. You’re not the only one who wants answers about Jax and the money he stole. What he went to prison for was a small portion of his crimes. So many left that still need justice and restitution.”
I shove the picture of Marley into my purse and glower at the man. “I know nothing about his money. I told that to a grand jury. You’re wasting your time.”
“I believe you,” Matteo says, nodding slowly. “But my father doesn’t.”
Now you get to decide what happens next…
A. PLAY DUMB AND PROBE. Matteo is clearly dangerous, but maybe I can flirt my way into finding out what Jax really did.
B. CALL JAX. Screw my pride. My ex-husband has some explaining to do, and I’m ready to hear it.
C. MAKE A SCENE. Throw my drink in Matteo's gorgeous face and demand he stay the hell away from my daughter.
What will Ashley do next? ***Newsletter subscribers get to vote each week for where the story goes next. If you're not on my newsletter, you can sign up here: https://authorkwebster.myflodesk.com/newsletter