Shameless (The Therapist #2), стр. 33
“So, I know this is a little forward,” he says, spiking my excitement. “But, what are the chances I can get your number? I was kind of wondering if maybe we could have dinner sometime.”
“You absolutely can have my number, and I would love dinner,” I reply, my voice raising an octave. I write my number down on the back of one of our business cards and hand it to him.
“Thanks. I’ll give you a call soon,” he says.
“Before you call, you should probably tell me your name.”
We both laugh together. “Oh, right. It’s Scott. Scott Banner,” he says, giving us one last jaw-dropping smile before picking up Coco and heading towards the door. “I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk soon.”
“Looking forward to it,” I answer as he walks out.
“Well, look at you,” Missy says as she comes over to give me a hug like I just won the lottery.
“Yes, look at you,” my mother adds, but her voice is less excited. “Looking to replace Brandon so soon?”
“What? No, of course not,” I answer truthfully. I’m not interested in replacing Brandon with another committed relationship. This isn't about that at all.
“No?”
“No. I pretty much just want to sleep with him,” I say, making sure to add a giggle on the end to throw my mother off the scent of my truth.
“Oh, Tessa,” Judy replies, basically clutching her invisible pearls. “I encourage you dating again, but I certainly don't encourage being promiscuous. That's very unladylike.”
Missy and I laugh together, because if only my mother knew just how unladylike I’ve already been, and how I have no plans to stop.
Chapter Twenty-Two
~ Tessa ~
Scott gave himself a check mark in the “good” column when he called me the day after we met at the animal clinic. I was actually sitting at my desk in the back when my cell rang, and the second I spoke his name, Missy came running from the front to listen in. She smiled like a proud mother as she listened to me giggle and accept Scott’s invitation to have dinner at his place. I thought it was a little fast to want to have dinner at his house on the first date, but Missy thought it was sweet that Scott wanted to cook for me right from the jump. When I got to his apartment in Smyrna, I realized why he wanted to cook.
“Steak and Stilton bruschetta,” Scott announces once the meal is done and he presents it to me like a gameshow host. While he was cooking, I wasn’t allowed to see what he was doing. He wanted to surprise me, and when I finally see the meal, I really am surprised.
“Oh wow, that looks great,” I tell him as I lean forward and look at each layer of the little steak sandwiches he prepared. Scott has stacked sliced sirloin steak on top of ciabatta bread, and combined it with watercress, Dijon mustard, Stilton, and a few seasonings. It looks fantastic.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Scott replies, smiling proudly.
“You’re welcome. I’m impressed. It’s not every day you meet somebody who can throw together something like this. I assume you're a cook?”
“You assume correctly. I’m a sous-chef here in Smyrna. Been doing it for years. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will. Let’s get to it.”
Scott brings our plates over to the table in his living room and sets them down next to the glasses of red wine that he’d placed there earlier.
Scott’s place is nice, albeit a little small for a sous-chef making sous-chef money. Seeing as how he lives alone, I suppose it’s fitting. The living room and dining room are so close together it’s hard to see where each begins and ends, and the kitchen is right behind the dining area. All the appliances are top of the line, however, and the kitchen floor is black and gray tile with a dark gray grout. I can't see the bedrooms from here, but I’d imagine they’re small and fancy as well. The dining room table is round and made of thick, dark wood. It seems to be made for two, and when we sit we’re close together.
The first few minutes are quiet. The fact that we’re perfect strangers makes things a little awkward, but as the food is eaten and the wine is consumed, we learn to navigate through how foreign we are to each other.
“So, how long have you worked at Milton Animal Clinic?” Scott asks to kick off the evening’s conversation.
“Since I was a teenager,” I answer. “It was my first job and I’m still there. My parents own it, and I’m their accountant.”
“Oh, okay. I get that. What’s it like working with your parents?” Scott asks as he chomps down on a piece of steak.
“It’s like being confined to hell every waking minute I’m there,” I reply in all seriousness. Scott laughs, but I sip my wine, because it’s only funny to people who don’t have to experience it.
“I bet it is,” Scott says, still chuckling to himself. “I couldn’t imagine working with anyone in my family. It’s hard enough working with people who aren’t blood. Adding family into business tends to get ugly. But, if it’s that bad, why not work somewhere else?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s because I’ve always worked there, even before I finished my degree. Never really gave it a second thought. Maybe you're right, though. It’s not like I don’t have other options.”
“That’s right,” Scott agrees. “You can be an accountant anywhere. Plenty of businesses need good bookkeepers and such, and I bet those places don’t come with the added headache of working with your parents. I mean, we don’t know each other or anything, but I guess it’s just something to think about.”
“And I