His Games, Her Rules

“Hey, honey bunch. I don’t think I will be able to come home tonight. Be safe and don’t miss me too much. Kisses.” I sit on the bench outside St. Jose as I listen to Monique’s voicemail that she’d left on my phone when I was working.

I roll my eyes at the voice note she’d left and smile. Monique had told me she’d met a guy at the gym a few weeks ago. She thought the guy was hot, she showed me his picture and I felt like he was okay. Maybe a Casanova, I didn’t tell her that actually. He was too good-looking for his own sake. I think he’d ask her out last week and she gladly accepted.

It’s not in my shoes to tell her Mr. Hot and Gorgeous is not the one, she’s going to have to find out sooner. I assured myself that. Monique believes in love, in fact, she’d always wanted to find the right guy, the perfect one for her. But the men she’s been dating are the opposite of what she wants for herself.

There was a time I told her to take a break from relationships and their drama, she’d told me she wasn’t in any serious relationship with anyone so there was no harm done.

Today is Friday, one week after that confrontation between me and Mr. Dominique Gray and surprisingly, I haven’t seen him, which I’m glad about. I haven’t even thought about him, well, until now.

I can still hear his voice in my head and the words he whispered. “And if I want to fuck you like you’re so confident about, I don’t think you have it in you to resist. Well, not for long actually.”

I don’t know who he thinks he is, but he sure sounded confident. Like nobody, especially a woman, has ever said no to him before. He’s probably used to getting what he wants and taking it. Well, he’s going to have to learn the hard way that not every woman wants a piece of him.

He might be drop-dead gorgeous and hot as hell, but I’m sure as shit I don’t want anything to do with him, his drama, or even his shadow. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but who gives a fuck?

I stalk my twin sister on Instagram, making sure not to double-tap. Although it’s a fake Instagram account, I still can’t risk it. My family is capable of anything, including detecting it’s me the minute I double-tap on a picture with a fake account.

My twin and I are nothing alike. We’re not identical, Fraternal actually, but she’s got the looks, the beauty, the charm, everything. One look at her, and you won’t have a choice but to fall for her. She would do anything to please my parents and she always tried to prove to them that she was better than me. On the other hand, I didn’t care. I always went about my business whenever I was given one. My job was to do as told and do it efficiently without fucking shit up. My parents hate mistakes and excuses, especially my mother.

One thing I love about my parents is that they don’t give a fuck about favoritism. Every child is equal in their eyes, including my older brother. No one is better than the other and they don’t fail to remind us. Since my twin sister lived a life of competition, we’re the least close even though we’re twins. We talk, like strangers, of course, and whenever we try to hang out, we end up fighting. So it’s pointless on my end trying to create a healthy relationship between us.

From the pictures and videos my sister posted, she’s having a fun time in Spain, sunbathing naked and hooking up with beautiful Latino men. Probably still under my parents’ control and in their shackles.

“Waiting for someone?” A voice asks as I look up, locking the screen of my phone.

I clear my throat when I lock eyes with Doctor Sanders from the driver’s seat of his Mercedes Benz.

“Not really. Just waiting for my Uber…” I look at the time displayed on the screen of my phone. “He’s late.”

My car broke down yesterday. It was towed to the mechanic but I haven’t had the time to drop by to check if they’ve started working on it.

“Why don’t you hop in and I’ll give you a ride.” Doctor Sanders flashes me a small smile.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure my Uber will turn up soon enough.”

Doctor Sanders laughs and smiles at me. “It’s just a ride, Robyn. It’s the least I can do for your hard work lately at the hospital. Also, it’s kinda late. Please let me drop you off.”

I look around, taking note of the lack of cars in the parking lot, as I shift my gaze back to Doctor Sanders who’s still watching. It’s not that late. It’s just 9:15 pm actually and I can still wait a little longer for my Uber. But who am I kidding? This asshole is 30 minutes late already and I’m hungry and exhausted.

I sigh and stand up, throwing my phone inside my purse as I walk toward Doctor Sanders’ car. I open the passenger’s door and step inside, shutting it behind me. I turn to greet him and the smell that greets me is his expensive and masculine cologne and his vibrant green eyes.

“Thanks for offering to give me a ride,” I say, looking away to fasten my seatbelt as I take a breath.

“It’s nothing.” He assures me with a small smile as he drives out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“Where do you live?”

“Jackson Street. It’s not that far from St. Jose.”

“Alright.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence as I look out the window. Doctor Sanders and I haven’t had a proper conversation since that night at the party. We’ve both been busy handling patients and with him offering medical care to them. Tonight, he’s dressed in a well-ironed dress shirt with the sleeves pulled up to reveal his masculine arms, and as he drives, he constantly messes with his hair which only makes him more attractive.

“Would you like to grab a bite? I’m hungry. I haven’t had anything to eat since this afternoon. Work’s been a little hectic.”

“Um…”

“I assure you it’s not a date.”

I smile, chuckling even as I watch him.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing. It’s just funny when you assured me it wasn’t a date. I didn’t think it was a date when you offered for us to grab a bite.”

“Oh. I don’t want you to see me as a, um, what do I call it?” He sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Sure, I would love to grab a bite. I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten anything either.”

“Great. I know this great place. I’ll take you there.”

“Alright.”

In less than 15 minutes, Doctor Sanders is pulling up at a small, but fancy restaurant in an equally fancy neighborhood. I look out the window, trying to see if it’s familiar but it’s obvious I haven’t been here before.

Doctor Sanders turns off the car as he turns to look at me. “You ready?”

“Mmm-mm.” I nod.

He flashes me a small smile and steps out of his car and I do the same, slamming the car door shut behind me. The air is cold as I tuck my hair behind my ear as I follow him into the restaurant. A man approaches us by the door, asking us if we have a reservation, and Doctor Sanders tells him no. Doctor Sanders introduces himself and the man nods with familiarity in his eyes as he takes us to the corner of the restaurant by the window and tells us our waiter will be here soon. Doctor Sanders offers to pull out my seat for me and I wave him off.

As I sit down, with my purse on the floor next to my feet, I take my time to admire this place. This isn’t just an ordinary restaurant. It’s fancy and it’s like it’s made for people in the upper class of society.

“How did you do that?” I ask.

“Do what?”

“Get us a table on such short notice.”

“The owner is a friend.” Doctor Sanders shrugs a shoulder as he glances around the restaurant.

“Wow. I didn’t see that coming.”

“It’s nothing really.”

“I mean I didn’t think we would be coming here. A fancy restaurant in a high-end neighborhood. I was expecting a cafe or even a Deli.”

“Oh.” He mutters. “Is this too much?”

“A little bit.”

“Do you want us to leave?”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“Oh, no. We are already here, let’s put that to good use, Doctor Sanders.”

“Please call me Richard outside of work. The whole doctor thing is just a little weird outside of work.”

I smile. “Okay.”

He nods. “Thanks.”

“What are you having?” Richard asks and picks up the menu in front of him. I pick up the second menu and glance through it. Lots of different options to pick from.

“I’ll go with the prawn spaghetti,” I say, closing the menu and setting it down.

“Great choice.” He says, placing his menu on the table as he looks at me. “You know I’ve been wondering, why the name Robyn?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, but I don’t get a response because we are interrupted.

“Hello, good evening. Welcome to Palate Paradise. Ready to order?” Our waiter is a blonde male with a cheery smile.

“Yeah. I’ll get a lasagna and the lady will get a prawn spaghetti. Also, add two glasses of wine, please.”

The waiter nods as he pens everything down and leaves. Richard turns to look at me, leaning back in his seat as he stares at me.

“Is there anything wrong with Robyn?”

“Of course not,” he smiles. “All I mean is that you don’t look like a Robyn though. It’s a beautiful name, of course, unique actually.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, my parents thought the name suited me. My father would have gladly gone with an Italian name like Allegra, obviously, since he’s Italian, but my mom wanted a more German name for me. And that was how Robyn came to be.” That’s half the truth though.

“Your dad is Italian, huh?”

“Yeah. Fully bred Italian. My mom’s American. They grew up in this country. Illinois actually.” I say. Richard smiles and nods.

“Ever been to Italy?” He asks.

“Yeah. When I was like twelve. My father decided to take the family during Christmas. It was nice. What about you?”

“No, I’ve not been to Italy, but I would love to someday.”

“Oh, I don’t mean Italy. I mean, have you ever traveled out of the country?” I ask.

“Oh. Yeah. I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed that I’m not American, by my accent. My parents came to this country when I was literally a baby. It took them eighteen years before they decided to take me to visit my home country. It was not like the United States, obviously, it was different. I loved it. Ever since then, we’ve visited during the festive season. I’ve been to South Africa once, work took me there. Then I’ve also been to two other countries.” He casually shrugs a shoulder.

This is the first time we’re having a long conversation that doesn’t concern work and it actually feels good, maybe because I’ve been lying all through. Well, not every word that I spat out was an outright lie. My father is actually Italian, born and raised. My mom is white, fully American and she once lived in Illinois. And my name is actually Robyn, even though this good doctor thinks I don’t look like a girl named Robyn. So, not everything was a complete lie. I may have omitted some private stuff that is best to be left private.

“Here is your food, madam and sir.” The waiter says as he places the food on the table. Another waiter is by his side, with two glasses of red wine on a platter as he drops them on our table.

“Will that be all, sir?” The blonde waiter asks.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The blonde waiter nods as he leaves with the second waiter. I grab a fork, wiping it with a serviette before I start to eat.

“You said the owner is a friend. A close friend?” I ask, putting a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth as I chew.

“He’s married to my sister,” Richard answers, with a fork in his hand as he starts to eat.

“Oh. You have a sister?”

“I do. What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

I think about his question for a second, wondering if I should lie. “Yeah. I have a twin sister.”

“Wow. Identical?”

“Nah. We’re nothing alike.”

“I’m guessing you’re the prettier one then,” Richard says, staring at me from under his eyelashes as he smirks at me.

I bite the bottom of my lip, clearing my throat as I reach for my glass of wine to take a sip. As I sip from my glass, Richard watches me for a second before he clears his throat and reaches for his glass of wine, raising it toward me for a toast as he takes several sips.

I place my wine on the table and continue to eat. We continue to eat in silence until Richard speaks up again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you not dating anyone?”

Okay… that was unexpected.

I stop eating, grabbing a napkin to wipe my lips. I gently dab the cloth against my lips as I drop it on the table. I open my mouth to answer Doctor Sanders’ question but a familiar sight at the end of this luxurious and fancy restaurant puts my response on hold.

Oh, for fuck’s sake!