The second woman smiles wider. “That must be fun.” Then, like an afterthought, she nods toward Savannah. “Is she your sister?”
Something hot and immediate flares in my chest.
I don’t answer right away. I look at Savannah instead. The way her jaw sets. The way she goes still, waiting to see what I’ll do.
“No,” I say, turning back to them. My voice is flat now. “She’s not.”
“Oh,” the first woman says, eyebrows lifting like she’s surprised. “Well, you never know.”
I set my fork down. Slowly.
“We’re on a date,” I say. “So you should probably move along.”
There’s a pause. A beat where they clearly didn’t expect that.
“We were just being friendly,” the second woman says, smile tightening.
“Not with me,” I reply. “Not like this.”
She huffs a laugh. “Relax.”
Then she reaches into her purse anyway, pulls out a pen, and scribbles something on a napkin. She slides it toward me, ignoring Savannah completely.
“Just in case,” she says. “If you ever want to ride without the… audience.”
That’s it.
I push the napkin back across the table without touching it. “I’m not interested.”
Her smile drops. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” I say, irritation sharp now. “You asked if the beautiful woman I’m on a date with was my sister, then tried to give me your number. That’s your cue to leave.”
The first woman scoffs. “No need to be an asshole.”
“There is,” I say, holding her gaze, “when you pretend she’s not sitting right here.”
Silence stretches. Savannah exhales slowly beside me.
The second woman mutters something under her breath, snatches the napkin back, and they finally turn away, heels clicking hard as they go.
I turn my attention back to Savannah, who’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. “What?” I ask.
She lifts a brow. “You didn’t hesitate.”
My brows pull together, why would I? “Nope.”
“And you saiddate.”
I don’t hesitate or soften it. “Yeah. I did.”
Her mouth curves, slow and amused, like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious. “Are you sure about that?”
I lean back against the booth, meeting her gaze head-on, letting her see exactly where I stand. “I don’t throw words around,” I say. “If I call it a date, that’s what it is.” Then, quieter. Steadier. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Firecracker.”
Before she can say anything back, the waitress appears at our table, plates balanced on her arm.
“Alright,” she says, setting one down in front of Savannah. “Ribs for you.”
