The waiter cast me a sympathetic look.
I smiled sweetly. Well, it wasn’t like I was paying – and if I wasn’t interesting enough to warrant Patrick engaging even his most basic conversation skills, I would simply have to make my own fun.
‘One of everything, please,’ I said lightly to the waiter, whose eyes glittered.
‘But – but,mademoiselle, each of them costs at least –’
‘You’re right,’ I interrupted, grinning as I remembered Section 56. ‘Better make it two of everything.’
That caught Patrick’s attention. ‘What the hell?’
‘Like I told you: I like wine, I like to dine,’ I said as smoothly as I could manage without giggling. ‘And here is dessert.’
Patrick was staring in mingled shock and horror at the stream of plates and bowls being placed down before us. Another pair of waiters was carefully moving another table next to ours … to fit the sheer number of desserts. ‘I thought you were joking. Surely you were jok–’
‘Two of everything,’ my original waiter announced with the merest hint of a wink. ‘As themademoiselleordered.’
Patrick’s gaze sharpened for perhaps the first time since we’d sat down. ‘Fuck off.’
‘There was a sweetness lacking in the conversation, and I have made up for it,’ I said, perhaps a little tartly.Oh look, a lemon tart!
I picked up my spoon and started to attack a crème brûlée. Dear God, this trash date was suddenly truly worth it. ‘You aren’t going to try any of this? Come on, it’s not like we’re paying. Section fifty-six.’
Ice cream, parfait, three kinds of tart, two types of custardy thing, a cake that looked decadent and a peachy thing that looked criminal –
Patrick didn’t move an inch. ‘Section fifty-six?’
My eyes rolled to the back of my head as sharp raspberry burst on my tongue.Mmm, that is good cake.‘Section fifty-six – These Exiles foots the bill.’
For some reason, Patrick had gone still. ‘I beg your fucking pardon?’
‘OK, fine, that’s not the exact wording,’ I acknowledged. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s the record label that pays for dates, not you. The point is, I don’t pay for any of this.’
And this was delicious. Maybe we could have all our dates here?
Nope, I thought, as I remembered the industry events clause. Fine, but everything else?
When I glanced up, there was dull disappointment in his eyes. ‘Well, that makes sense,’ he said quietly. ‘Good to know you’re just out for what you can get.’
‘Erm, hello? Are you going to try this cake?’ I pushed it towards him, almost knocking it over, the bowl was so fragile. ‘Whoops! But seriously. You don’t get this sort of food on tour, right?’
It had been tempting: to ask him all the questions that had ever rushed through my mind when listening to These Exiles. They were a great band, one of the best. The lyrics were just incredible – telling my story without me having to crack my own heart open.
And I was on a date with the guy who wrote them.
If only he’d stop scowling. ‘Tour food is shite.’
‘Then eat!Eat and be merry.That’s Shakespeare, isn’t it?’ I shrugged. ‘Anything you don’t eat I’ll be taking back for my housemates, so now’s your chance. Oooh, is that a sundae?’
It had to be – a tall glass bowl with one of those special long spoons beside it. Raspberry cake abandoned, I reached out for it.
Damn.
Apparently Patrick’d had the same idea. He’d reached out for the long spoon at the same time, his fingertips brushing mine as we both went for the handle.
Heat, heat and need. That was all I could taste now, the merest touch somehow enough to set all my nerve endings alight.
I looked up, my lips parting, and saw a reflection of that same want in Patrick’s face. The memory of our first meeting at Maria’s flashed through my mind as his gaze twitched down to my lips, and I couldn’t help myself. I licked them, the taste of raspberry blooming in my mouth. A soft moan escaped me.
