“Speaking of fans, I had no idea how much you liked the Kings.” He leans closer. “I’m flattered.”
My teeth feel like they’re going to crack as I clamp my jaw tighter. “I love football.”
“Well, you’re in luck because I got you something.”
He brought me a gift? That’s almost thoughtful.
The waitress returns as Decker reaches into a pocket concealed in his jacket. He pauses the motion, rattling off a fewappetizers for us to share. I’m surprised when he chooses all the ones I’ve been eyeing.
When she leaves, he scoops out his gift. But it isn’t so much a gift as it is a permanent marker. I deflate as he grabs his drink napkin and scrawls his name across it before sliding it my way.
“Thought you might want that.” He winks.
I stare at it, unflinching.
“For the philanthropy thing. I thought you might want it for that.”
I snatch it from him when he waves it in my face. “You want me to give someone your napkin?”
He shrugs. “It’s signed.”
I roll my eyes.
“You can keep it for yourself if you want,” he says.
I let out a long breath. He’s just as insufferable as I remember. Did Antonia and my mom truly think this was going to work? Regardless of what they think, I can’t do this to myself. Iwon’tdo this to myself.
“Thanks, but I think I’m good.” I push from the table, grabbing my handbag and stepping away, but something catches my hand. When I turn around I find Decker at the other end of it, his eyes softer, his face settled into something less cocky than it was five seconds ago.
“Wait. I’m sorry, I—” He lets me shake free and runs his hand over his hair. “Here.” He grabs up the napkin, flipping it over and placing my champagne flute on it. “Let’s just pretend I didn’t offer you my autograph. Sit down. Stay. Please?”
I glance back at Gustav, who is waiting for his cue to escort me out, but my mind flashes back to my mom and Antonia—to the entire reason I’m meeting with this big oaf—and I find myself sitting again. “Fine. My publicist will kill me if I don’t at least see this date through, anyway.”
“Date?” He perks up.
I shake my head. “Meeting. Whatever it is.”
I push a swath of hair behind my ear, unable to meet his eyes. Did I really call this thing adate?
“I mean, we could consider it a date.” He clears his throat, and when my eyes meet his, he backpedals. “If you want to. We don’t have to. I was just thinking that Jason might leave me alone about my personal life for a bit if I told him we had a promising date.”
“I feel that.” I slam down another flute, placing it back on the overturned napkin. “Do you ever get sick of people meddling with your life?”
His brow knits. “I mean, Jason’s pretty nosy, but I don’t know if I’d call itmeddling.”
I watch the last few drops of champagne run down the sides of my glass like tears, my veins already buzzing as the alcohol fills my empty stomach. “I think my publicist—well, her and my manager both—wanted this to be a date.”
“Would that be so bad?”
I throw my head back in a too-loud laugh. “Since you’re a fan, I think you already know the answer.”
He arches a brow, leaning in. “I don’t mean to burst your little bubble, but I’ve heard maybe three songs of yours.”
Is it weird to find that endearing? It feels nice, like a fresh start. I lean in too, lowering my voice. “Good. Because let me tell you, all of my songs are written about guys whose beginning and end started just like this.” I tap a finger hard on the table. “Organized for one opportunity or another. Only made the mistake of completely falling for one of them.”
Decker’s eyes trail to where my pink nail digs into the soft wood.
Our waitress brings the appetizers, and he orders another bottle of champagne for us.
