Chat Love Read online

  © 2012 Justine Faeth

  All rights reserved. This eBook is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Chat Love

  The Small Press

  16250 Knoll Trail Drive, Suite 205

  Dallas, Texas75248

  www.BBSmallPress.com

  (972) 381-0009

  A New Era in Publishing™

  eISBN: 978-1-612548-15-9

  For more information or to contact the author, please email her at: [email protected]

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all the people looking for love.

  And to my mom, who has always given me unconditional love.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 1

  My hands are shaking. I am breathing loud and hard, trying to calm myself. I look out of the cab window and see that I have a few more minutes until I arrive at the restaurant. I open my Chanel purse—the purse that I use for every first date—and reach for my makeup mirror. I check to see that my makeup and hair look fine. I put the mirror back and grab a mint, then close my eyes and lean my head against the cab seat, trying to relax. I’m pulled back to reality by the cab driver’s voice, telling me that we have reached our destination. I take out some cash, pay him, and step out of the cab into the cold January weather.

  I look down at the ground, trying to avoid stepping in snow and ruining my booties. I stuff my gloved hands into my coat pockets and walk to the restaurant, pulling my coat closer to me and trying to shield myself from the cold. I finally reach the entrance and feel my nerves getting the better of me; my stomach is turning and, despite the cold weather, I feel sweat form on my hairline. Before I open the doors, I turn around and look at the Manhattan sky in an attempt to calm myself.

  I take a deep breath and open the doors; a gush of loud voices hits me. Inside I see the bar is filled with the regular Friday night crowd: couples, tourists, older men, and some drunken college kids who seem out of place at such an expensive restaurant. I see a couple of men check me out and my confidence lifts. I walk farther into the bar, searching for a man who looks as if he’s waiting for a blind date.

  The restaurant is a cozy Italian place that I have been to a few times before. The bar is decorated with wood furnishings, and the sidewalk doors are closed because of the season, making the bar appear even smaller and tighter than usual.

  I scan the bar, the area surrounding the bar, and the hostess stand with no luck. I decide to wait at the overflowing bar, get myself a glass of white wine, and relax.

  Before I can take another step, I feel a hand on my shoulder as a deep voice asks, “Excuse me, Lucia Fabbo?”

  I take a deep breath and turn around to face my date. I am looking at a man with gorgeous green eyes. “Richard Greenfield?”

  He gives me a glowing smile and nods his head. We stare awkwardly at one other, unsure of what to say or do next. Finally Richard steps closer to me and gives me a hug, while I go to give him a kiss on the cheek. Instead, he moves his face and I end up kissing his right ear. We both pull away from each other, laughing.

  “Glad this isn’t weird,” he says.

  I laugh at his statement and bite my lip. “I’m sorry; I’ve never done this before.”

  He gives me another glowing smile, “You have never been on a date before?”

  “No, I’ve never been on a blind date before.” I peel a strand of hair from my face and stick it behind my ear.

  Richard looks down at the ground and then back at me with a shy grin, “Me neither.”

  After a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, Richard asks me if I want a drink at the bar or just to grab a table for dinner. Looking at the packed bar, I decide that I’d rather sit down and eat.

  After Richard gives the hostess his name, we check our coats and wait for a few minutes, making small talk about the restaurant. Finally, after our useless conversation, we are led to our seats. My hands are still shaking and I feel a bit lightheaded. So far, Richard seems perfect, but I am just waiting for some flaw of his to show and ruin any positive thoughts I might have.

  Peach-colored walls displaying paintings and photos surround the dining room. While walking to our table, I can’t help but fuss with my outfit—a long-sleeved, purple A-line dress with a black belt encircling my waist. We are seated in a peach, cushioned banquette, forcing us to sit next to each other rather than face-to-face. We both sit as far away as we can, trying to conceal our discomfort. The waiter comes over to ask if we want to order any drinks, and we immediately answer yes in unison. We look at each other and laugh as I order a glass of chardonnay, and he a Pinot Noir. After we place our drink orders, we go back to being quiet again, silently studying our menus.

  I hear Richard cough and I look up to see him staring at me. “Do you know what you want to order?”

  “The salmon. You?”

  “The filet mignon.” He leans in closer to me. “You OK? You seem nervous.”

  I feel my face heat up with embarrassment as I nod my head. Conveniently, our waiter arrives with our drinks. I pick mine up and take a huge swallow. We order, and as soon as the waiter leaves, we are left with our uncomfortable silence once again.

  I steal glances at Richard and am pleasantly surprised at how good-looking he is. He has soft, dark hair, stunning green eyes, a pointy nose, sun-kissed skin, full, soft lips, a chiseled jaw, and a body that appears to be in good shape. He’s tall—over six feet at least—and wears a black suit with a white, collared shirt. I smile when I notice that the first two buttons have been left open, revealing his soft skin.

  “You know, Danni was right about you.”

  I look at him inquiringly, and he gives me another shy smile.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I bite my bottom lip again and offer my thanks.

  “I have to ask, though: Why do you need your friend to set you up on a blind date?”

  I run my fingers through my hair, smiling at the fact that I often ask myself the same question. For a year now, I’ve been going on these dates with people I meet at bars or clubs, and nothing ever progresses beyond the third date. I know there is nothing wrong with me; I am twenty-seven years old, working for a new and popular talk show, attractive, with plenty to offer a man— and yet I am still single. All I want is someone of quality, and I still haven’t found anyone yet.

  I want to say, “I have never been on a blind date before, and I was practically forced into coming.” My friend Danni swears up and down that Richard Greenfield will be my husband.

  Instead, I answer, “I don’t know. It’s hard to meet someone, and I’m done trying to meet anyone at a bar or club.” I take another long sip of my wine, beginning to feel a little more relaxed. “What about you?”

  He chuckles. “I’m very busy with work and don’t have time to meet someone. Plus Danni would not shut up about you, going on about how perfect you are, how I would instantly fall in love with you, how you own almost eve
ry piece of lingerie from Victoria’s Secret…”

  I almost spit out my drink while he starts laughing. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had said something like that. He shakes his head. “OK, I might have taken a few creative liberties with the last part. But the way Danni was describing you, I had to meet you.”

  With some of the awkwardness gone, the conversation grows easier and I find myself having a good time. By our third glass of wine I catch myself thinking, Richard Greenfield is perfect. After all, he is thirty-two, gorgeous, smart, charming, successful, and has a great sense of humor. His family owns a successful construction company in the city that works on just about every building; I have seen his business signs on every street. He is certainly a catch.

  Once we finish our entrees the conversation shifts from easy-going, laugh-out-loud jokes to deeper questions about our past relationships. Richard talks about how his company previously prevented him from being able to have a relationship, but how now, due to the company’s growth and success, he has more time for a girlfriend. He is surprisingly open and honest about his past—at least as far as I can tell—even accepting the blame for his failed relationships. I choose to be vague. I don’t like talking about my past relationships because it makes me feel like a failure. I have been successful in every area of my life except romance. I am from a big Italian family with a married sister and many married female cousins. Almost all of them also have children, leaving me the lone single woman. Most of the women in my family were married and popping out kids before they even turned twenty-five, and my being twenty-seven and single leads them to look at me as an old career-woman. My younger sister, Gabriella, is twenty-four and trying for a baby as we speak, with her high-school sweetheart and recent husband. My parents couldn’t be any more proud.

  We decide to order the cheesecake to share for dessert. It might be his smile—although it’s probably the wine—but something causes me to start daydreaming of a life together with Richard. A slow-motion montage begins to play in my mind: Richard and I, spending our Sundays walking through Central Park hand-in-hand, throwing dinner parties for our friends, and taking weekend trips to the Hamptons; Richard surprising me with romantic gestures, and sweeping me away to make love in the shower; Richard meeting my father and him telling me that he is proud of me, followed by our destination wedding, with me clad in the Vera Wang dress that I have wanted since I was a little girl.

  Our cheesecake comes and I can barely focus on eating it. Every time Richard lifts a forkful to his soft lips, I fight an overwhelming urge to lean over and kiss him. I feel his legs brush against mine, and it makes me giddy. Despite my long year of numerous pathetic dates, I’ve not met someone, until now, that could make my heart flutter. But now I feel butterflies flying around in my stomach, trying to escape. For the first time in a long time, I feel that unmistakable rush of excitement: I am falling for Richard Greenfield.

  Dessert lasts twice as long as it should, because Richard and I find every opportunity to flirt with and touch one another. He feeds me forkfuls of cheesecake, and I in turn purposely brush my leg against his. He moves my hair from my face, and I touch his thigh with my hand whenever he makes me laugh. The tension is building between us, threatening to explode at any moment.

  After Richard pays for the check, we walk out of the restaurant arm in arm. As we continue down the street, I move closer to him and he puts his arm around my shoulders, taking the opportunity to get closer while shielding me from the cold.

  He casually asks, “Where do you live? I can drop you off.”

  I know that if I say yes, I will ask him to come up to my apartment. As thrilling as that sounds, I don’t want to start a relationship off with sex again. Fighting my urges, I answer, “I’d better get a cab.”

  His face leans in closer to mine and I can feel his warm breath on my skin. “Are you sure I can’t drive you home? I don’t mind, Lucia.”

  I lean into him, my forehead touching his nose. I take a deep breath and try to focus. “No, it’s OK. Thank you for offering, though.”

  Richard lifts my chin up gently with one finger and leans in closer. As our lips touch I feel my desire for him growing, and I lift up onto my tiptoes to kiss him harder. His lips are soft, and his kiss intoxicating. He pulls away after a minute, leaving me breathless.

  “I don’t like the idea of you taking a cab this late.”

  I open my mouth to retort, but his lips find mine again, taking away any witty comeback I might have come up with. After another minute of kissing, he finally pulls back and lets my lungs have air. He gives me a crooked grin, watching me catch my breath. Finally my brain starts working again, and I answer him. “Richard, I live in the city, I’ve done it before.”

  He quickly gives me a short peck. “I promise I’m a safe driver.” He kisses me again and I pull back after a few seconds, trying to control my desire and get my head thinking clearly—because right now all I can think of is him taking me back to my apartment and having my way with him.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I fib, trying more to convince myself than Richard.

  He ignores my attempts at remaining reasonable and kisses me harder, pulling me closer. We move backward and bump into a car, setting off the alarm. I pull away from him quickly to see people staring at us as they walk by.

  Richard reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a set of car keys, pushing a button to silence the alarm. He flashes another grin. “Why not ride with me? My car is right here.”

  I look behind him and see a black Mercedes-Benz. The car’s finish winks in the evening glow of the city. In my mind is a battle, with a little devil whispering, His car is right here and it would only make sense for him to drive you home. Save some money; consider your safety. Meanwhile, a small angel is urging, You know that if he drives you home you’ll just end up sleeping with him, and we all know how that worked out with Kellan. I emerge from my thoughts and pull myself out of Richard’s embrace.

  “If you take me home, I won’t be able to control myself and I don’t think that’s how we should start things.”

  I turn on my heel and rush to the curb, thankful to find an available cab before I can change my mind. I hail it down and turn back around to see Richard—obviously disappointed—standing just inches away. I open my mouth to apologize but he covers it with his, kissing me deeply.

  “I understand, and I respect your choices. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I smile as he gives me one final peck. He opens the door for me and I settle into the cab, wishing him a good night as the driver begins to pull away. Through the window I watch Richard get into his car and pull out into the street.

  I immediately pull my cell phone out of my purse and call Danni to share the good news. After a few rings she finally picks up, sounding anxious.

  “Make it quick,” she says. I’m watching a Grey’s Anatomy marathon on Lifetime.”

  “OK,” I say, chuckling. “I just finished my date with Richard and it was perfect, Danni. We went to dinner and had the most amazing conversation; it was better than any first date I’ve ever been on. Then he walked me to a cab, and we made out before I left.”

  I hear her squeal, followed by a loud bang, which I assume is from her kicking the remote onto the floor as she jumps up and down on her bed.

  In typical Danni style she replies, “What did I tell you? I should do this for a living, like on that show Millionaire Matchmaker.”

  I hear her stop jumping, beginning to calm down. “I do believe you owe me some thanks. I want to hear you say, ‘Thank you, Danni. You are the best and I owe you my life.’”

  “Danni …”

  “Come on,” she urges. “Say it.”

  I exhale loudly, playfully trying to sound frustrated and unimpressed, “Thank you, Danni. You are the best and I owe you my life. There, are you happy?”

  “Almost; I also want your firstborn daughter to be named after me.”

  I laugh at her excitement.
For weeks Danni has been trying to set me up with Richard but I’ve admittedly been reluctant for several reasons. Firstly, I hadn’t ever been on a blind date until tonight, and secondly, he knew Danni. Most of the men Danni knows are acquaintances from two sources: either she has slept with them or they’ve wanted to sleep with her.

  Danni Renna has been my best friend since childhood; we lived on Long Island and went to school together. Over the years, we have shared many secrets, meals, and drinks; we’ve also shared many pints of ice cream in times of crisis. I consider her a sister, especially because she understands the pressure my family is putting on me regarding marriage and children. Luckily, we both happen to be Italian. When Danni was twenty-one, she married her college boyfriend but was divorced within a year. Since then, she’s been more focused on finding a man for me than remarrying.

  “Was he a good kisser?”

  I touch my lips and feel tingles throughout my body. “One of my top five.”

  “Impressive; it’s not easy to make that list. I knew Richie had it in him. So why are you talking to me instead of lying in bed with him?”

  I sigh. After her divorce, Danni stopped believing in love and marriage and went through what many would view as a crisis. Essentially, she’d been having sex with whomever she wanted to. Although I was initially a bit concerned, I’m now glad to see her contented with her new lifestyle. Danni is gorgeous, with long, blonde hair, crystal-blue eyes, pale skin, and a model’s body. She looks more like a Swedish beauty than an Italian from Long Island.

  I answer reluctantly, already anticipating her reply. “I’m not sleeping with him tonight because I don’t want our relationship to be based only on sex.”

  I hear Danni huff; she’s clearly not happy with my answer. “Why not?”

  “You remember what happened with Kellan. When I had sex with him on our first date, the relationship became all about sex.” That was one of the things I regretted most about my past, the way my relationship with Kellan had started—and ended. Kellan was very good-looking and charming; he could practically talk the panties off of any woman. Within minutes, he had hooked me with his deep voice, ability to speak French, and flirtatious nature. Ironically, our relationship consisted of little dialogue after that point; it was all about sex. For a while, I thought I loved him. After we stopped seeing each other, however, I realized that I didn’t know enough about him to love him.