The Boyfriend of the Month Club (2 page)

Grace didn’t know which was worse: the fact that Felix had cheated, or that the someone he had cheated with had a rack that must have cost six months’ worth of lap dances. The incident had confirmed, however, that the St. Valentine’s Day Curse was alive and well.

The St. Valentine’s Day Curse was a long-standing joke among Grace and her friends. Its roots went all the way back to third grade at St. Bernadette’s Catholic School when Grace’s first boyfriend, Richard Kasamati, broke up with her on the playground on Valentine’s Day. The uncanny thing was that over the years, no matter how serious a relationship she seemed to be in, Grace always ended up alone on that day. If Grace began dating a guy in March, the relationship might last a whopping eleven months, and yet she would still find herself flying solo by the first week in February.

But joke or not, finding Felix in flagrante delicto with his topless dancer had been no laughing matter. Grace had driven back to her town house, packed up what few things Felix kept there (including his Céline Dion greatest hits CD), and unceremoniously dumped them on his doorstep.

That was nine months ago and she hadn’t seen Felix since. Although she had to admit the sight of Felix in a tux still made her mouth water. It was Grace’s one fatal flaw. She was hopelessly attracted to hopelessly attractive men.

Felix cleared his throat and straightened to his full height, and since Grace was wearing four-inch heels, it put them at the exact same level. Felix wasn’t short, but neither was Grace.

“Grace, you look ...” He paused, taking in the dress, the hair, the makeup. “You look fantastic!”

Felix’s eyes didn’t say fantastic. Felix’s eyes said
hot
.

Grace felt a moment’s vindication, but then her instinct for survival shifted into overdrive. Felix didn’t hand out compliments without an ulterior motive.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the Versailles rip-off gilt-framed mirror behind the reservation desk. Grace had never thought of herself as beautiful. Her older brother, Charlie, had hogged all the beautiful genes. A better word to describe her was
interesting.
She’d inherited her mother’s big brown eyes (a plus) and her father’s Irish complexion (a negative—there wasn’t enough sunscreen in the world to keep her from freckling). Her shoulder-length dark hair, usually an asset, wasn’t cooperating tonight. Her upsweep with the sideswept bangs was supposed to be going for Julianna Margulies in
The Good Wife
. But the humidity outside made her look more like Julianna Margulies in
ER
. She had to admit, though, Sarah was right. Too short or not, the dress did look good on her. Maybe Felix’s compliment was genuine.

“Thanks,” Grace said. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

It suddenly occurred to Grace that she’d never worn anything like Sarah’s little black dress when she was dating Felix. She’d always been more of a jeans and sneakers kind of girl. Maybe if she’d dressed sexier, Felix wouldn’t have been tempted to cheat.

Wrong.

It shouldn’t have mattered if she wore granny panties or tiny silk thongs. Cheating was about the cheater, not the person who had been cheated on. How many times had she consoled Sarah with that same platitude?

“So, how long have you been working here?” she asked Felix.

Was she really making small talk with Felix Barberi?

“I was hired to open the restaurant. I’m the general manager.” He gave her a funny look.

“Congratulations, Felix. That’s great.” She meant it too. Why should she be a shit just because Felix was one?

“There was a big article in the paper when the restaurant opened last month. Lots of corporate types from all over Florida gunning for the job. My picture was on the front page of the local section. You sure you didn’t see it?”

Grace shook her head. What was she supposed to say to that? Polite small talk was one thing. It meant she was an adult and that she’d moved on. But she wasn’t about to throw her arms around Felix and give him a congratulatory hug.

“How’s your job going?” he asked. “Still working at that tourist shop?”

“Florida Charlie’s is a family business. Of course I still work there.”

“I saw a billboard the other day on I-95 claiming you now have the world’s largest alligator tooth on display.”

The alligator tooth display had been her father’s idea. Grace had found it tacky but she wasn’t about to divulge that to Felix. “It’s pretty cool, actually. You should come by and see it sometime.”
Who knows, maybe it belongs to a relative of yours.

Felix came in close. So close she could smell the starch radiating from his crisp white shirt and the expensive Acqua Di Gio cologne he always wore. A vision of writhing naked body parts (his and hers) made Grace’s pulse race. Then she remembered more writhing naked body parts (his and
not
hers) and her pulse raced again—this time in anger. She hated to admit it, but a part of her was still reeling from Felix’s infidelity. She thought she’d moved on, but seeing him again was like pulling the Band-Aid off an old cut only to find that you’d accidentally ripped the scab off too.

“Grace,” he said in a low, intimate voice. “It’s me, remember? You don’t have to put on an act. I know how much you hate working for your father.” He placed his hand on her bare elbow. “Baby, you’re better than that. You have to break free. Be all you can be.”

Career advice from Felix Barberi? This was too much. She’d like to break free all right. Free enough to clobber him over the head.

Patience,
Grace thought, trying to squelch
Mal Genio
—which more or less meant “Bad-Tempered One” in Spanish. Her brother had christened her with the nickname at age five when Grace had kicked him in the shin after he’d told her there was no Santa Claus. The temperamental alter ego had proven convenient over the years. Whenever Grace did something she didn’t want to own up to, she’d say, “
Mal Genio
did it!” It didn’t get her out of any punishments, but psychologically it made her feel better to know she had an inner demon that she couldn’t completely control.

She regretted that she’d confided her job woes to Felix, but she couldn’t let Felix mess with her head. Not before her big date with Brandon. She stepped back to reclaim some of her personal space.

“Felix, I never said I hated working for my father.”

The heavy scent of butter and garlic and freshly baked bread floated through the air. It smelled even better than Felix and his Acqua Di Gio. Grace felt herself sway. Five-pound weight gain or not, she should have eaten today.

“I wish I’d known you were stopping by,” Felix continued. “I’m filling in for Pierre, the maître d’, so I really can’t take a break right now. But maybe in another thirty minutes?”

Stopping by? Did Felix think she’d come here to see
him
?

“I’m meeting a date,” Grace said. “Maybe you’ve heard of him? Brandon Farrell? He’s been named Daytona Beach’s most eligible bachelor two years in a row by
Central Florida Magazine
. He’s my new boyfriend.”

Felix raised a brow.

Okay, so maybe that was a little over the top. Since this was their first date, technically Brandon wasn’t her boyfriend. Not yet anyway. But the petty side of her liked rubbing it in Felix’s face.
See? I’ve moved on
.
With a mature man who knows what he wants!

“Of course I know Brandon Farrell. He’s a regular customer,” Felix said. “He also happens to not be here tonight.”

Brandon was running late too? “That’s Saturday night traffic for you,” she said, laughing nervously. “Can you just go ahead and seat me? I’ll wait for him at the table.”

“Sorry but we’re completely booked and there’s no reservation.” Although there was no one around to hear them, he lowered his voice. “When Farrell wants a table he calls ahead and we always accommodate him, regardless of how busy we are. I’ve been manning the phones all night and I can guarantee you he hasn’t called.” He gave her the same consoling look he’d given her earlier when he’d brought up the alligator tooth display.

“There . . . There must be some sort of mixup.”

“Grace, you don’t have to make up a story to come see me. The truth is I’ve been thinking about you too.”

“Felix, I really
do
have a date with Brandon Farrell.”

“Then why don’t you call and find out what’s holding him up?” Felix challenged. “Like I said before, Farrell’s an excellent customer. If he tells me to seat you, there won’t be a problem.”

Only there
was
a problem because Grace didn’t have Brandon’s phone number. She’d been so giddy when he’d asked her out last Thursday night after Zumba class that she hadn’t thought to get it. Come to think of it, he didn’t have her number either, but there was no way she’d tell that to Felix. She tugged on the dress again and tried not to fall off the unfamiliar four-inch heels. Working in sneakers all day put a girl at a distinct disadvantage in the heel department.

“Um, funny thing, Felix. I don’t know Brandon’s number by heart. It’s programmed in my cell but I accidentally left it at home.” Not the truth, but not exactly a lie either. In her haste to get out the door, she really had forgotten her cell phone.

The house phone rang. Felix put a finger in the air to signal he wasn’t done with their conversation. “Chez Louis.” Was it Grace’s imagination, or did Felix suddenly have a French accent? “Yes, of course,” Felix said into the receiver. He glanced at her, his hazel eyes wide with amazement. “She’s right here.”

“Is it Brandon?”

Felix nodded and handed her the phone.

Grace squelched the urge to say “I told you so.”

“Grace, listen, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make it,” Brandon said. “I had a rugby game scheduled for four. I thought we’d be done by six but the game went into overtime and we just finished. I didn’t realize until now that I don’t have your number.”

Grace didn’t know which was worse. Her disappointment over the broken date or the embarrassment of being stood up with Felix as a witness.

“It’s okay,” she said, trying to sound mature about the whole thing. “Maybe we can do it some other time.”

“
Damn
, you’re being too nice about this.”

Grace wasn’t about to argue with that.

“I really want to see you tonight. The thing is . . . I’m heading over to this bar across from the field. I scored the winning try and the guys want to buy me drinks. I wish like hell I could get out of it, but they won’t take no for an answer. I know it’s not Chez Louis, but . . . maybe you could meet me there instead?”

Grace knew the bar he was talking about. She’d never been inside the Wobbly Duck but she’d driven by a few times. From the outside it looked like it was falling apart. Probably not the best venue for her shrinking black dress and her four-inch heels. But the alternative was to go back to her place and spend the night alone,
or worse
, go back to the store for her book club meeting and have to face Sarah and Penny and Ellen and tell them she’d been stood up. On the other hand, if she went to the bar, she could show Brandon what a terrific sport she could be. Fifty years from now, at their golden wedding anniversary celebration, it would be one of those cute “first date” stories to tell their party guests during the toast.

“I know the place,” Grace said. “Sure, I’ll meet you there for a drink.”

“Really?” he said with such boyish enthusiasm that Grace couldn’t help but be convinced she was doing the right thing. The Wobbly Duck might not be Chez Louis, but she was still technically going out on a date with Brandon.

They said their good-byes and she handed the phone back to Felix.

Grace put on a fake smile. “Silly me! I got everything totally confused. We’re meeting somewhere different.”

“Grace, I know the . . . incident last February must have been a blow to your ego, but you shouldn’t let it drag down your self-esteem. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I’d done that to you.”

Grace felt her face go hot. Of all the conceited . . .

“Good news, Felix. You can go on breathing, because my self-esteem is just fine, thank you. Now, where’s your bathroom?” She needed to check out the hem situation. And touch up her lipstick. And empty her bladder. She certainly didn’t want to do any of that in the bathroom at the Wobbly Duck. She wasn’t even sure the place had running water.

He sighed and pointed down a hallway to her left. “Remember, Grace. I’m here whenever you need me.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Just a quick touch-up and she’d be on her way to meet Brandon. After tonight the Felixes of the world would be behind her forever.

She took the first empty stall and pulled the tiny shrink-wrapped tampon from her black clutch purse. Trying to balance herself midair (Abuela had always warned her against the evils of actually letting any part of her anatomy touch a toilet seat she hadn’t personally cleaned herself), she tried to work the shrink wrap off the tampon by wiggling it between her fingers, but the outer wrap didn’t budge. Grace blew out a frustrated breath and tried again, this time working the plastic more vigorously. Nothing happened.

Obviously, she was dealing with a defective product.

She fished around the bottom of her clutch to produce a lipstick, her driver’s license, a credit card, dental floss, car keys, and two pieces of unwrapped bubble gum.
Ew, gross.
She tossed the bubble gum and upended her purse, but no more tampons. She had no choice. She’d have to open this one.

She tried to use the edge of her car key to rip into the plastic but that only ended with her jabbing herself in the palm of her hand. She could always use her nails, of course, but she’d gotten a manicure for tonight’s date and she didn’t want to chip her color. Bringing the end of the tampon up to her mouth she gnawed on the plastic with her teeth. After a minute of struggling, the plastic finally gave way.

Thank God!

Still, someone in the feminine hygiene department of Procter & Gamble was going to be the recipient of a very serious e-mail come Monday morning.