dibs Read Free

spotted several. One in a suit—but he was already sitting with a woman. Another in a sport coat and tie with a group of guys.
    The maître d motioned for me to step forward.
    “May I help you, Madam?”
    My entire body stiffened. Madam was code for old.
    I forced a smile. “I’m meeting a gentleman. I cannot recall his last name. First name, Marshall?” I asked.
    Recognition registered on his face. “Mr. Overby. Please come this way.”
    I followed him—nerves getting the better of me. I could be meeting Mr. Right…finally. For the first time this evening, excitement crept into my body, but when I spotted him I thought to myself, wow, Vanilla Ice has a son. I didn’t like the original. This wasn’t going to be good.
    “Madam. Mr. Overby,” the maître d said.
    “Sa-Man-Tha!” Marshall rapped my name like it was three separate words, his head jetting a different way with each syllable. He pointed to the seat across from him. As he sat, the gold nugget attached to the gaudy gold chain circling his neck, thumped his chest.
    His skin was nearly orange from the fake baking this guy had done. My alabaster skin clashed horribly as he took my hand and brushed his lips over the back. Then he stared…seductively… at me as he slowly sat in his chair. I kid you not, I waited for ‘Ice ice baby’ to come out of this dude’s mouth.
    Nearly every guy in this place sported a suit, sport coat, or collared shirt, but not my guy. No, my date wore a bro tank. A damn bro tank! He leaned back in the chair, his gaze still fixed on me.
    “Your profile says you’re an artist,” I finally forced myself to speak.
    His face contorted into a painful looking grimace. “Bro, you haven’t heard of me?”
    I’m quite sure my face contorted as well. Bro? “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I didn’t want him to know I had forgotten his last name. Marshall Overby didn’t ring any bells.
    “Emin-O, bro. I just signed with Jammin’ J Records.”
    Feeling polite, I nodded like I’d heard of him. “Ah! That’s awesome. Is that like Eminem?”
    “His name is Marshall Mathers so the M and M thing worked for him. I had to go with the M and O.”
    I grinned simply to hide my eye roll. This guy was a dumbass. I was 0 for 3.
    “Do you like Eminem?” he asked.
    “Not really,” I lied. I freaking loved Eminem. I could rap any one of his songs better than he could. It was Emin-O that I didn’t like.
    “What may I get you to drink?” A waiter in a tux stepped up to the table.
    “Bring us a bottle of your best champagne,” Emin-O quickly said.
    I hated champagne. “I’ll take a glass of water as well,” I added, smiling at the waiter.
    “So, what does it feel like to be the most attractive woman in this room?”
    At first I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, but he stared at me waiting for my response.
    “Umm. Thank you...I…”
    “Better yet,” he interrupted. “What does it feel like to be with the most attractive man in the room?” He flexed his arm and kissed his bicep. “How’d that baseball get in there?” he laughed, pointing to his flexed muscle.
    I released a breath, thankful I had my own car, thankful I had two legs so I could get up and walk away from this guy, and even more thankful that Becca was well enough for me to yell at when I left here. Cancer or no cancer…her ass was mine. She may not have set up this date, but she made me get on this damn dating website.
    He abruptly sat forward, his eyes widening in a frightening way. “Day-um gurl, there is something wrong with my eyes, I can’t take them off you.”
    Beneath the table, I felt his leg rub against mine.
    “You like that?” he asked with an arched brow that had two lines shaved in it.
    “Not particularly,” I said with a smile.
    “I shaved my legs today, they should be smooth.” He said it as if that was why I didn’t especially care for the affection.
    “You shaved your legs?” I asked, clarifying.
    He inched upright in his