Page 15 of Tito

He arched one of his perfectly sculped eyebrows. “Might?”

“I don’t want to scare him off.”

“Guys love women who are assertive.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” He dragged his eyes up and down my frame. “You’re assertive. Act like it.”

I gave him a look.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked.

I gestured toward the register. “Over there, where it belongs.”

“Let’s send him a message.”

I chuckled. “The two of us?”

“This could be fun.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m guessing he’s a closet freak.”

Raymond claimed to be able to understand someone’s deepest secrets after spending nothing more than a few moments in their presence. It did him little good in sorting through the throngs of men who were attracted to him, though.

If ex-boyfriends were white rice, Raymond could feed a starving third world country with the men who lay in his wake.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, my tone sounding more hopeful than I expected.

“Because. Anyone that demanding about a hat is going to be controlling. Controlling men are freaks. He’s a freak, Believe me.”

Side by side, we maneuvered through the various displays of the season’s beachy offerings. Once at the register, I retrieved my phone. As I scrolled through my text messages, Raymond snatched the device from my hand.

“What did you name him?” Upon finding the text he gave me a confused look. “Titt-oh frowny-face?”

“Tee-toe,” I said.

“That doesn’t make it any better.” His face contorted. “What an awful name.”

Raymond was an open book. He did little to hide his opinions, which was often to his detriment. He spoke before he gave much thought to the potential repercussions of doing so.

“I think he said his name was Taddeo,” I said. “He goes by Tito.”

His eyes widened. “Taddeo? Oh. I like that. I bet he’s Italian.”

“I dunno.” I reached for my phone, only to have him quickly retract his hands in denial. I glared. “Don’t send him anything.”

Holding the phone against his chest, he tapped the index finger of his free hand against his lip. “Let’s think about this.”

“Let’s think about it together.”

“Tito,” he said. “Just wondering what I should wear. Panties are undoubtedly out of the question. Is a dress or jeans more appropriate? I could rock either, just say the word.”

I sighed. “No.”

He scowled. “Tito. I haven’t heard from you. I assume you’ve lost my number. This is Reggie, the cute girl from the mall. Shall I dress up or dress down for Saturday night?”

“No. That sounds desperate. And a little pretentious.”

While scrolling through my text messages, he paced the floor. “Tito. Your brown eyes have been on my mind since the moment you walked out of here. Now that I’ve mentioned yours, what would you describe as my best feature? Hair? I knew it. How shall I wear it on Saturday? Up? Down?”