“How do you know?” I lazed into my seat, curious to hear Torre’s explanation.
“Well…I mean, I’m assuming. He sounds like that type.”
“That’s pretty harsh. Is it possible he’s telling the truth?”
“Look,” Torre said, and despite the visceral hatred he spewed against me, I was entranced by him. “Good food is good food. Period. There’s quality to be found, whether we’re talking filet mignon or hot dogs. Martinelli needs to come off his gilded throne and walk among the common people. Eat a hot dog. Get his face sticky from gnawing a great rack of ribs.”
“Well, never let it be said thatIdon’t love a good piece of meat.” I smiled into his eyes and watched a blush steal over Torre’s face. I enjoyed pushing his buttons, getting a rise out of him.
“I wasn’t talking about you. And you’ve got to be kidding. You have the humor of a twelve-year-old.”
“Okay, I loveyourmeat. Is that better?”
He rolled his eyes and muttered something unintelligible even as a smile teased his lips.
The waitress placed our appetizer, the plate of steamed artichokes with a lemon-butter sauce, between us.
“Tell me about your meeting. Did it go well? What was it about?”
We reached for the same artichoke together, and our fingers brushed. Self-conscious now, he put his empty hands into his lap, but his eyes brightened with excitement, and I caught his enthusiasm too. What I didn’t understand was why.
“It was something that came out of the blue. I know this might sound foolish, but I’d rather not go into any details ’cause I don’t want to jinx it. Frankly, I still have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.”
“I’d hate for all that beautiful skin to get bruised by indiscriminate pinching.” Without thinking, I reached across the table to take Torre’s face in the palm of my hand and caressed his cheek. “I volunteer to take over as chief pincher. I promise to examine every inch of you to make sure you’re not hurt.”
The flame from the flickering candle on the table couldn’t match the fire in Torre’s hot gaze. Fuck the meal. I was ready to call it a night and drag him back to my apartment.
“You’re crazy,” he whispered, but I counted it as a win that he didn’t pull away from me.
“Am I?” I picked off an artichoke leaf, dunked it in the sauce, and brought it to his lips.
Crazy about and for him, aren’t you?
The devil was getting more insistent, and I wondered if I was ready to break my rule and if I could persuade Torre to come home with me.
He opened his mouth, and I fed him the food, almost releasing an audible groan when his lips closed around my finger.
“Frisco?”
“Mmm—what? Nate?” I jerked my hand away from Torre’s luscious mouth to gaze into the smirking face of Presley’s boyfriend. A man stood behind him, whom I recognized as Nate’s older brother, but I didn’t recall his name.
“In the flesh. How’ve you been? Press mentioned he hasn’t heard from you in a while.” His gaze flickered over to Torre, who sat quietly in his seat. “Now I can see why.”
“Don’t be an ass. You don’t know anything. Nate Sherman, this is Torre Rossi. Torre, Nate is Presley’s boyfriend.”
“Fiancé, but I guess you have an aversion to that word. Nice to meet you, Torre. My brother and I were finishing up dinner. Ethan, you remember Frisco.” I held his gaze and shook my head slightly, hoping both would remember not to mention my job.
“Sure, good to see you again.”
“Where’s Press tonight?” I made a mental note to call him tomorrow.
“He’s doing a private showing for some client who wants to buy out his collection of antique silver.”
I whistled. “Good for him. That’ll bring in a pretty penny. Presley owns an antiques store up on Amsterdam—Dawson’s Antiques.” I explained to Torre, who obviously had no idea what the hell we were talking about.
“Oh, I’m clueless to that stuff. Most of my furniture’s hand-me-downs from my parents, and I’ve had it since college.”
“Where’d you go to school?” Nate asked, and for some reason I bristled, knowing full well Torre didn’t go to an Ivy League university like Nate and feeling strangely protective of him.
