Chapter Twenty-Three
I think… I was letting her in. Is what that felt like? To talk to someone and have them actually get it? I mean I was as honest as I could be and she didn’t freak out, call me crazy, try to kiss me, shout my name, though I wouldn’t be against the shouting, she just… listened. I liked it. —Gabe H.
Gabe
“Where are we?” Saylor asked, getting out of the car. It was one of the rare days that I’d actually driven my car.
A car that even Wes hadn’t sat in before.
I usually let Lisa drive it around when she needed it, but for some reason, it was one of those days and I’d decided to use it instead of my bike.
Saylor hadn’t said much when I told her to get in.
Though I had to admit a bit of pride when her innocent eyes took in my BMW coupe.
“Anthony’s,” I answered. “My favorite restaurant. I said fish, didn’t I?”
Saylor froze. “But, Gabe, my clothes. I’m not exactly dressed for—”
“You look perfect.” I shrugged. “Besides, who cares?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Do we really need to rehash that conversation?”
“I was pissed.” I looked away, shame washing over me. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
“How do you get so many girls?” Saylor asked.
I stumbled a bit. “Sorry, what?”
“No.” She smiled. “I’m dead serious. You are seriously the worst smooth talker I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
“False.” I snickered. “I could charm the dress off a nun — I just choose not to when I’m around you.”
Her face fell.
“Shit.” I wiped my face with my hands. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”
Yeah, or she was going to impale me on the sharp side of the swordfish decorating the wall.
“With you…” I said, sighing. “I can just be me.”
“A non-smooth talking jackass with shifty eyes?” she asked dryly.
I winced. “Ouch. You beat all your dates beyond recognition, or is it just me?”
“Just you.” Her smile was wide. God, I’d forgotten about that mouth of hers. And officially looking at anything but her mouth.
My eyes lowered to her chin. Perfect. There was nothing attractive about chins. Except they were attached to mouths and, well, hell, right back where I started.
“Can I help you?” The hostess asked.
“Two for dinner.” I didn’t take my eyes off Saylor. I should have. But I didn’t want to, and it was a day of not wanting to do the things I’d been doing for four freaking years.
So I continued staring.
I was probably going to get slapped soon but whatever.
The hostess handed us menus and filled our water glasses.
Saylor took one look at her menu, slammed it closed, and paled. “Gabe, we don’t need to eat here. The fish… it’s like, really expensive and you’re a college student and—”
“It’s fine.” I fought the urge to laugh out loud. I couldn’t spend all my money even if I wanted to. “Trust me.”
Her eyes narrowed. She crooked her finger for me to lean in.
“Do you sell drugs?”
“Holy shit!” I burst out laughing. “No! What the hell? Why would you think I sold drugs?”
She winced. “Mood swings, nice car, money, er, yeah, I’m just going to disappear under the table now.”
“I would love—” I accentuated the word love. “—to see what trouble you could get into under the table.”
“Ah-ha!” She pointed her fork at me.
I shoved it to the side.
“There you go again!”
“Go? I’m right here.”
“No.” She set the fork down and picked up her knife. To be safe I leaned back. “You do this all the time.”
“And by all the time you mean like in the last few times you’ve met me?”
“Don’t be an ass,” she muttered.
“You say ass funny, like you’re embarrassed you’re saying it.”
“Ass.” This time it was loud, unapologetic, hot as hell. “Better?”
“Yeah,” I croaked, felt it too.
“And don’t try to get me off topic. You do that too.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” I lifted my napkin to my forehead and patted. I was officially sweating. It was like we were on Law and Order and I was on the bad side of the metal desk. Sitting in a metal chair. Balls to the metal. Wincing.
“One minute you’re charming anything with a pulse, the next minute you look so angry you want to set me on fire, and then all of a sudden it’s like you snap out of it.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I’m mentally unstable.”
Saylor pointed the knife towards me, an unapologetic look on her face.
“Hell, put the knife down, I was kidding.”
Our waiter arrived. “Would you two like to hear the specials?”
“Fish.” I watched Saylor’s expression with interest. She had a facial expression for everything. It was…distracting. “What’s the fish of the day?”
“We have a lovely salmon that’s—”
“Good.” I handed over the menus. “Two of those, and can you bring some bread and sparkling water?”
“Sure. Salads?”
“Caesar,” Saylor and I said in unison
The waiter gave me a firm smile then, thankfully, left us in peace.
“He’s so going to spit in our food,” Saylor groaned.
“I’ve come to this restaurant for four years straight.”
“Er…” Saylor nodded slowly. “Awesome. Good for you. Are you saying this is your booth? Or that you’re on a first name basis with the staff?”
“Nobody. Not even Wes, orders a Caesar salad.”
“So that was a test?” She squinted her cute little eyebrows together. Why did everything about her tempt me?
I laughed. “Um no, but after the Caesar salad you’re going to be breathing fire for days. It’s basically the only way to make sure you don’t get kissed. Wes calls the salad the kiss of death.”
“That’s not funny,” she grumbled.
“Thank you!” I slammed the table with my hand. “I say no to death jokes. Bastard.”
At that she grinned. “Well, all death jokes aside, I’m not worried about the kiss-of-death salad.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Sure.” She took a long sip of water and paused to answer, “Because I’m in no danger of getting kissed tonight.”
Waving a flag in front of a bull. That was what she as doing, and she had no freaking idea that she’d just opened the gate. “Oh yeah? Says who?”
“Me.” Saylor laughed. “You got the salad too, buddy. No way am I getting near that mouth of yours.”
Her laugh was infectious. I joined with her, then clinked my water glass against hers. “To the kiss of death and fish.”
She grinned. “To fish.”