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“We haven’t even had dinner yet, and you’re thanking me?” he muses, laughing. “Maybe if the night goes well, you’ll let me take you on a second date.”
Dread fills me, knowing we can’t.
We only have tonight.
I twist the napkin on my lap, guilt bubbling inside me.
How can I do this to him?
How can I sit here and pretend everything is okay when it’s far from it?
How can I not just blurt out that I’m pregnant with his baby?
Looking down at the table, I squeeze the napkin in my hand. “Paul, there’s something—”
“You’re done with him. And if I find out that you two have anything to do with each other, your little five minutes of fame will be released for the entire world to see… Oh, and with a simple hack, I’ll make it appear like Paul released it in a jealous rage. Ruining any chance of a career in the NBA. Heck, it’ll probably even ruin his life. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for doing that to him, right?”
I drop the napkin, placing my hands on the table before me.
“What is it?” His fingers lightly grip my chin, angling my face toward him.
I hold his eyes, praying he won’t see what lies beneath my beating heart. The truth. “It just feels like a night I’ll never forget.”
His hand drops to the table, intertwining our fingers. “Me too.”
His eyes sparkle with things I can’t give him, like hope. Hope for the two of us. A ripple of sadness surrounds me, knowing I can’t give him what he wants. I can’t give myself to him because I won’t risk Greyson destroying his career.
A young waiter approaches, clearing his throat. “Good evening, and welcome to Il Fiore. May I start you off with a drink or appetizer?”
I hesitate before saying, “Water for me, please.”
Paul squeezes my hand. “We’ll also have a bottle of your finest red tonight. And an order of the bruschetta, crab cakes, stuffed mushrooms, the lobster mac and cheese bites, and…” He looks at me. “Am I missing anything?”
I shake my head with wide eyes.
“We’ll start with that then. Thank you.”
Start?
The waiter lowers his chin before walking away.
“Paul, I…umm…” There’s no way I can afford to split this bill with him. I don’t even want to know what a bottle of the “finest red” costs. Pulling my hand away, I whisper so no one nearby can hear, “I can’t afford this.”
My cheeks heat from embarrassment.
Paul frowns, reaching for my hand again, which I let him take.
“And why would that matter?”
“Well, because when the bill comes, I don’t think—”
“This is a date, Sarah. A date that I asked you on. That means I take care of the bill. Besides, to be completely honest with you, I’m fucking starving, and those items were the only things under the appetizer section that I recognized. It was a safe bet.” He laughs, and I feel my shoulders relax from his words.
“Okay.” I nod, biting my bottom lip, suddenly feeling self-conscious, knowing Paul has money and I don’t.
The waiter brings a bottle of wine, pours each of us a glass, and then leaves the bottle on the table for us. Paul lifts his glass toward me.
Shit.
