Ernesto watched Jose's retreating back, wishing he could take back the easy "That'll be great" that had left his lips just moments ago.
Jose.
The name was half-remembered. He’d known, of course, that this was Julie’s husband. The moment the "wrong address" excuse had tumbled out of his mouth, he’d felt like an i***t.
Now, though, the invitation had a peculiar twist he hadn't anticipated. Dinner. With Jose. And, presumably, with Julie. A wave of something he couldn't quite name—excitement? apprehension? a mix of both?—washed over him.
He lifted the phone back to his ear, trying to call Antonio, but the douchebag of a son was ignoring his calls. He could feel it in his bones; Antonio was intentionally ignoring him. He could practically see his face as he watched his phone ring idly, tota
