“And pretend you’re my boyfriend.”
She didn’t look pleased.
I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair. “Apologies if I’m not up to your usual standard. It seemed the best response. I can take being a trophy boyfriend for a night.”
The slight twitch of a smile started and I realised how rarely I saw her smile. Simone was the boss, chef, restaurant owner. She was talented and inventive and fucking awesome at what she did, but I had rarely seen her relax or smile or even laugh.
Suddenly, all I wanted to do was hear her laughter.
“Have you ever actually been a trophy boyfriend? I can’t see you as having ever being a kept man.”
There was a compliment in there somewhere.
“I’m not sure I have the assets for a trophy boyfriend. Male escort, possibly…” I gave her a wink and a dirty grin and then I heard the tinkle of a laugh.
She shook her head. “Men are so obsessed with the size of their dicks.”
I shrugged. “I don’t need to be. The women who have known me have been obsessed on my behalf.” I made sure than my tone was self-deprecating so she knew I wasn’t being a complete tool.
“I think I’ve forgotten what a dick looks like. At least one in real life. Dick pics don’t count.”
I frowned. Simone was stunning. During the day, while she was working, she’d have her hair back and out of the way, her face was bare of make-up. I’d have been a liar if I’d said I hadn’t noticed her clear skin or the way her eyes darkened. When she was dressed up for an event, she was just as gorgeous. For whatever reason, I’d figured she had a man on the side, someone to warm her bed and take the edge off a stressful day. “I didn’t put you as being single.”
She raised her brows. “You think I’d be this uptight if I was getting some?”
Her expression made me laugh. “You’ve worked with men for too long. And I’m not answering that. Why are you single?”
Her hair fell out of the ponytail she had it in as she shook her head. “At this moment in time, I’m not single: I’m dating my head chef. In fact, you could be doing me a favour if it gives Nick a hint that his penis pictures aren’t welcome.”
“Sure. I can be a decent boyfriend. And he sends you dick pics?” This was true about the decent boyfriend. Not that I was a saint; I’d managed one night stands, relationships and dating despite being the main parent, but I’d been pretty okay when things had been semi-serious. My relationship with Rebecca had disintegrated mainly because of her work. She was an academic, dedicated to her research and she went where she was needed. Lolly was three when Rebecca decided that she needed to be based in Canada for nine months and although she was mortified about leaving our daughter, neither of us were mortified that we wouldn’t see each other. So we’d called time and stayed friends. I was pretty sure she’d had fuck-buddies, but nothing serious. My ex had no interest in anything apart from Lauren that would take her away from the mind-blowing research that she did and that was fine. But I’d done my best.
“He sends you dick pics?” I wasn’t sure who actually did that unless they were in some sort of relationship.
“Occasionally. The first time he said he’d sent it to the wrong person. The second time I accidentally Facebook messaged it to his mother.”
I decided not to ask anymore.
“If you’re wondering why I’m single, why are you?” She kicked me under the table. I could’ve interpreted it as her playing footsie, but her expression suggested it was less affectionate and more sadistic.
“Time. And I’ve not met anyone for a bit. I can live without having a girlfriend though. And it’s the usual chef problem of unsociable hours.”
“And you have Lauren.”
I was half-surprised she’d remembered. “I do. She’s hugely into dance so if I’m not working I’m usually watching her in a show somewhere or taking her to rehearsals. It’s a big thing for her.”
Simone’s gaze softened, as if she was no longer seeing what was around us.
“I danced.”
“What?” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“No, seriously. I was mental about it. Ballet mainly. Then I got boobs. Plus, my dad wasn’t supportive of it. I’d have loved to have gone to dance school. I took up ballroom dancing but when I started out in my dad’s kitchen I had to give it up because I was an unreliable partner.”
I reached across the table and took hold of her hand, squeezing her thin fingers. She froze, before holding back. Her eyes were wide and dark; fearful. A little like a doe.
“We should go dancing one night after work.”
She shook her head. “You dance?”
