I shoot him a look. “I sounded like a dying pig.”
“Well, I’ve never found a dying pig attractive before, but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.” He looks at me seriously now. “But if you ever want to try again, Flo, I’d be more than happy to sit in the passenger seat while you drive, and if you do freak out, I’ll be in the car with you. I helped teach Gracie to drive, and God, she was awful.”
A chuckle pours from my throat. “I’ll make sure to tell Gracie that next time I see her.”
Evan scratches the back of his head, eyes softening.
“Well, thank you for coming to get me.” I’ve already finished my green tea, the burning liquid sitting heavy in my stomach, and once I see Evan hasn’t even touched his—he hates it—I take his from his hand and sip at it, keeping eye contact.
“I’m going to need you to stop looking at me like that, Flo.”
“Why? What are you going to do about it if I don’t stop?”
His eyes drop to my lips, and my core aches.
“Take averycold shower before I go and get your car.”
“Leave the car for the evening, Evan. It’ll be fine. I’ll head down to get it tomorrow. I’d feel better if you weren’t out in the dark.”
“Worried about me?”
“Always,” I answer honestly. “And I’ll take you up on that driving thing. If I start freaking out, you can just distract me with those big thighs of yours.”
Evan gives an exaggerated eye-roll, a low laugh rumbling his chest. “If that’s what it takes.” Then the amusement drains from his face. “Proud of you, trouble.”
“Thank you, Evan.” My heart skips a beat.
God, is this man trying to kill me?
“This is weird, right?” Cam asks from his seat at the fancy restaurant table, loosening his tie, and beside him, Poppy and Bennett nod. Everyone at the table appears confused, and I shrug along with them.
But I know what this is about.
Mae had told me she was expecting Nathan to propose soon, but now she's suddenly calling us up to organise a fancy dinner just to catch up? Sounds romantically fishy tome, but I’m not going to say anything. It’s Mae’s surprise to share.
Evan sits beside me. Coach Darrell and Hazel are looking after Leo for the evening, as Evan had looked at the menu and realised they had absolutely nothing the kid would like.
Would it kill a gourmet restaurant to stock chicken fingers?
This entire place gleams. Polished marble floors reflect the soft glow emitted from the sparkling chandeliers above, dimmed just enough to add a romantic aura in the air. Vibrant white tablecloths are stretched over each table, causing the shining cutlery to twinkle as it lies against them, with too many different-sized knives, forks, and spoons to count.
There’s not a speck of dirt inside this restaurant, and the soft sound of live jazz music hums through the air. My fingers toy with the thick, embroidered napkin resting over my knee, placed there by the attentive waiter, and suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of my posture.
I’ve ordered a glass of wine—the name I couldn’t pronounce—and I sip on it tentatively, just as a tall, suited man walks up to the table, and everyone but Poppy looks up at him in confusion. “Am I late?”
“Mason!” she squeals, engulfing him in a hug, and I don’t fail to notice the way Bennett shifts in his seat uncomfortably, tension pulsing along his jaw.
A waiter immediately pulls up a seat for ‘Mason’ and, without thanking him, he sits down, one hand glued to Poppy’s thigh.
“Guys, this is Mason,” the excitable blonde says, and we all wave, besides Bennett, who dips his head in stiff acknowledgement, but can’t seem to tear his gaze away from how Mason’s hand swarms Poppy’s upper leg. “We met online.”
“Poppy, I didn’t know you were dating anyone.” Cam blinks, but leans over the table and holds his hand out to shake Mason’s. Evan does the same, and then Bennett, whose eyes slim when Mason squeezes his hand a little too hard.
“We’ve been together a month now,” Mason says as Poppy begins to talk, and he grabs the waiter's attention to order a bourbon. Rudely, might I add, and when the waiter returns with the drink, Mason plucks it from him without even a glance.
My mouth opens to ask him if he was born with a condition that causes him to break out in a rash if he uses manners, but after feeling a hand land on my thigh, I stop myself. Evan isn’t looking at me, and he remains completely casual, but I know he can tell I’m close to calling this guy out for his behaviour, and I guess he’s trying to distract me with his large, manly hands.
I guess it’s working.
