“You’re charismatic,” I admit. “Even when you’re being a jerk.”
He chokes on a laugh. “Thanks. I think.”
Our server stops at our table, refilling Thorne’s water, giving him a smile that says she’d do anything he asks. And I hate the spark of annoyance that gathers in my chest. “Need anything else?” she asks him.
“Could you also fill Ivy’s water?” he replies. She nods, keeping her lust-struck gaze on him. “That’s all. Thank you.”
When she leaves, I can’t help sniping, “She likes your charm.”
His grin widens. “Jealous?” He takes a bite of his burger.
“No,” I say too quickly.
His teasing grin fades, his brow creasing slightly as his gaze turns inward, more serious. “She’s enamored with my last name and what it represents. Or my reputation.”
I play dumb and repeat, “Your reputation?”
“Sebastian is the good guy. Lillianna is the fun-loving wanderer. I am black-hearted Blackstone. Some women see me as a challenge.” He shrugs. “They learn.”
“What do they learn?”
“They can’t fix me,” he says flatly, but I swear there’s pain under his words.
“You’re broken?”
“We are all broken.” He turns his glass in his hand. “Some do the breaking. Some fix the broken in themselves or others.”
“Which do you do?”
“Break. And I’m really good at it.” His ice blue eyes capture me, and I can’t look away. “It’d do you good to remember that.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I tear my gaze from his and take a huge sip of milkshake. Which promptly gives me a brain freeze. “Oww.” I rub at the sharp pain over my eye. “Shit.”
“Too much of your sex shake at once?” he jokes.
I bark out a laugh. “Ugh. That is a terrible name for a milkshake.”
He shakes his head, the heaviness around his eyes evaporates, replaced with humor. “I’m going to suggest milkshakes to the chef at the Blackstone restaurant. Add them to the dessert menu. It’ll be made with vanilla, bourbon, and orgasms.”
“If you can figure out how to bottle and sell orgasms, please let me know. I’ll be first in line to buy a case.”
“Oh, Ivy. I can give orgasms anytime you want.” The promise in his gaze warms me everywhere. Get a hold of yourself, he’s just goofing around.
“What do I need you for?” I tease, holding up my milkshake, “I have my sex shake.”
He sighs dramatically. “How can I compete?”
Picking up his burger, he takes another bite. I do the same, and we dig into our food. After he finishes his last onion ring, he says, “Tell me about your father.”
“What about him?”
“You mentioned he raised you alone after your mother left.”
“After the divorce, we moved to New York to be closer to his siblings and my grandparents.”
“Was he bitter?”
I consider this. “Yes, but he never let that bitterness touch how he raised me. He doesn’t have many kind words for my mom, but he learned to French braid hair from YouTube tutorials because I hated ponytails. He never missed a school event. He taught me to change tires and debate philosophy.”
