“Mmhmm,” she murmurs, her grin widening like she’s holding something back.
My curiosity edges into something more dangerous, but I follow the scent. My instincts tell me to slow down, redirect, change the subject—anything to keep me grounded. But I’m hard headed and don’t take to being told what to do, not even when it’s my own common sense.
I shift, this time leaning forward, more intrigued than ever.
6
Darby
Greg shifts closer, forearms settling near his glass, shoulders angling, and his attention set directly on me. The booth contracts, feeling smaller as the rest of the room slips out of focus.
“What about you?” His voice drops to a low, husky pitch.
My body reacts before my brain catches up. My pulse ticks an extra beat, my toes curl in my boots, and I shift my weight, unnerved by the crease between his brows.
“What about me?” I echo, stalling for a few seconds of time to gather my bearings.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he says, eyes concentrating on mine.
“Fire away.” Then, because apparently I enjoy tempting fate, I lift my chin with all the confidence I can muster and add, “Ask anything you want. I’m an open book.”
And fate sure has a funny sense of humor. Our server steps in to clear plates from the table and launches into a description of their seasonal dessert.
“Our chef has prepared a special Valentine’s dessert this evening,” she says, stacking the last plate.
And I’m already cringing. It’s all I can do to let her finish.
“It’s a warm flourless chocolate torte topped with macerated strawberries and vanilla mascarpone cream. We drizzle it with raspberry coulis and finish with candied citrus peel and shaved dark chocolate. Comes out on a shared plate with two forks.”
If she hadn’t billed it as a Valentine’s dessert, I’d consider it. But not under the circumstances. I catch myself wrinkling my nose. She notices and quickly moves on to the next item.
“If that doesn’t interest you, we have a molten chocolate lava cake with rose-infused syrup, fresh whipped cream, and strawberry hearts dusted with powdered sugar. Very romantic.”
She grins, her eyes flitting between the two of us. I force a smile and shake my head. Greg’s eyes flick to me before sliding back to the server.
“I’ll grab the check, then,” she says, already backing away.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Greg leans over the table. “What is it with you and Valentine’s Day?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Warmth creeps into my chest, and my voice comes out high-pitched and defensive.
A glint of something flashes in his eyes. We both know I’m lying, but will he be a gentleman and drop it?
“That wasn’t convincing,” he says. He glances down at his hands and toys with the paper straw wrapper the server missed.
“If I hadn’t overheard some of the conversation between you and your friends in class, I might believe you. But that nose crinkling thing you did there…”
He glances at me with a wicked grin so wide I can see his eye teeth. He slides his fingers across the table. When he draws them back, he’s left the straw wrapper behind—the paper twisted into a tight rope and shaped into a heart.
“... that’s your tell.”
I roll my eyes and pick up the damn thing.
“Fine. I’m the first one to raise my hand and say, feed me chocolate and call me pretty, but V-day.” My lips tighten and shake my head. “Cannot do. It’s purely transactional.”
Judging by the way his eyes sharpen instead of drifting away, that answer just opened a door I hadn’t intended to walk through yet.
My friends flash through my head. Kari and Grey cooking dinner together, Lola curled against Logan on the sofa, Gabby and Justice dancing in the firelight on Friday nights. Everyone’s paired off living their magical lives while I bounce from flirtation to first date to meaningless sex and call it freedom.
