Nick gaped at him for a moment longer, dark eyes blinking rapidly and throat working to catch up. “Excuse me. I think there’s been a mistake.”
Oliver was so busy cataloguing Nick’s features he didn’t see the momentary tensing that would have alerted him before Nick stood. He was halfway around the table and headed toward the door before Oliver could react, and then the only thing left to do was to reach out and snag Nick’s wrist. The momentum pulled him half out of his chair again.
“Hey, wait.”
Nick spun, and the glare was back, speaking of the many horrible deaths Oliver could die, none of which Nick would mourn and many of which he would facilitate.
“Let go of me.” His voice was low, mean. His skin was warm, his pulse beating hard under Oliver’s hand.
Oliver released his wrist immediately. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m as surprised as you are.”
Nick huffed out a dark laugh, and his breath brushed over Oliver’s cheek. “That’s what you’re sorry for?”
They were inches apart, just like at the market, and while Oliver’s heart thundered and his head struggled to keep up and plan his next move, he kept getting distracted by Nick’s closeness. Nick was a little shorter, but broad and built under his wrinkled button-down. In a fight, Oliver stood no chance.
Or in bed.
Fuck.
Thoughts like that were not going to help.
“Let me buy you dinner. As an apology.”
Nick tilted his head to one side, exposing the thick cord of muscle running up his neck. Another twinge of attraction and regret twitched in Oliver’s chest. Under normal circumstances, with any other guy that looked like Nick, Oliver would have been so pleased to find out this was his date. He’d not only be planning the best way to get to know him, but also probably the fastest way to get him into bed tonight. Too bad he’d blown his chance before he’d even known he had one.
“Please?” he said hopefully.
Nick sighed and settled back in his chair. “Sorry. I’m overreacting. The car—I was in the wrong spot. That was my fault. But you surprised me just now by being—well—you. Sorry.”
Oliver arched an eyebrow. “So I’m forgiven? For the towing thing?”
“We’ll see.” Nick gave him a crooked smile, and Oliver perked up. Somewhere under the grumpy exterior, this guy had a sense of humor. Oliver just had to find it.
He glanced quickly around the restaurant, but their standoff had gone largely unnoticed. The place was busy, but not packed, and the few unoccupied tables around them were a buffer while they got themselves sorted.
A server came and asked if they’d like drinks. Oliver half expected Nick to be a Bud Light kind of guy, but he ordered a glass of red wine. Oliver knew the label he asked for and liked it.
“Make it a bottle,” he told the server. He hadn’t had a drink since Christmas, but his adrenaline was up, and they could probably both use a glass to calm their nerves.
“That’s not necessary,” Nick said.
“I told you.” Oliver gave him his best confident smile. “I’m buying.”
Nick’s frown deepened. “It’s not about that.”
The server hovered nervously.
Oliver turned his smile up to her. “A bottle, please.”
The server bobbed an acknowledgment and fled before Nick could protest.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” Nick said when she was gone.
“It’s only a bottle of wine.” Oliver shook his napkin onto his lap. “Might help us avoid bloodshed.”
A muscle twitched in Nick’s cheek, like he’d been about to smile and caught himself. Oliver took it as the only encouragement he’d get to continue his peace campaign. “So why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
Nick coughed and plucked at the buttons of his chambray shirt. He’d rolled the sleeves up, exposing solid forearms with dark hair.
