“So, is this a date?” I wrap a slice of prosciutto around the breadstick and take a bite.
“I guess so, yeah.” He swishes the wine in his glass, looking at me intently.
“We should do date things, then. Like asking each other questions.” I half-joke. This being a date should bring me discomfort, but I want to learn more about him.
“Why, of course. Tell me about your family.”
I walked right into that one. “Oh, we’re not close. Just one cousin, but she’s also my best friend. Kind of two for one?” He raises his eyebrows, so I continue, “My dad died when I was little… Cancer. I’ve been no contact with my mom ever since her boyfriend made a move on me when I was nineteen and she blamed me for it.” The word salad spills out of me before I can stop it. I haven’t shared that much about myself in years. Nerves constrict my throat as I await his reaction. I shove the rest of the prosciutto into my mouth to stop myself from saying more.
His fingers wrap tightly around the stem of his wineglass, hard enough I’m afraid he’ll snap it. “Are they still together?” he grits out.
“Probably,” I shrug, washing the food down with some wine. “Like I said, we don’t keep in touch. You?”
His glass is hallway up to his mouth when surprise crosses his face. Did he expect I wouldn’t be asking him the same thing? He takes his time before answering, “My parents are both dead.” My breath catches. “I have a brother, though.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about your parents. Was it recent?”
“My father’s death was recent, yes. My mother died a long time ago.”
“Are you close to your brother?”
“Yes.” He mulls over his words, as if contemplating what to share. “We’re currently in a fight, but I’d say we’re pretty close.” Every word he says is carefully picked.
It’s obvious there’s more to the story, more lying underneath, but talking about our pasts is hardly a game I’d like to play. So I choose the safe route. “Is he older or younger than you?”
“He’s three years younger,” he says with a certain older sibling smugness.
“It was a pointless question, to be honest,” I tease.
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
“You have ‘older brother’ written all over you.”
His eyes widen.
I circle a finger in his face. “You’re fiercely protective, super tidy, and you have control issues.”
His tongue darts out. “Do I?”
“Yes. Massive control issues.” I emphasize the wordmassive,making him smirk. “You know, the best poker players out there aren’t reading the cards; they’re reading people.”
“Oh, I know. I noticed it the first night we met.”
“I hardly belong in that category.”
“My control issues and I respectfully disagree.” The server takes our empty plates away, bringing the next course.
“This is fresh herb and beef orecchiette. Enjoy,” he tells us before leaving the balcony.
I pick my fork up, but Leon clears his throat, so I glance back at him. “As I was saying… I think you’re grossly underselling your skills. I may not be a generational poker talent, but I own eight casinos, so I’m pretty good at spotting one.” He lets the rest hang in the air, and a knot forms in my throat.
I swallow it down, along with any emotion building inside of me. “It’s just a silly thing I do,” I lie through my teeth, but support isn’t something I’m used to.
Robbie hated my poker skills. He hated me being better at it than him. It crushed his stupid little man ego, and he’d make me pay for it. I can’t even remember the number of times I’ve had to let him win, even though I was sure I had the winning hand.
Leon plays against me night after night, apparently enjoying getting his ass kicked. The look he sports is adoration, not agitation. The thought starts a small spark in my belly, one that quickly spreads to heat my insides. Once again, I use wine to cool myself down.
The conversation, thankfully, turns playful for the rest of the meal. We finish all four courses, though my dress barelyhandles the dessert. The food was extraordinary, but I feel like I’m a minute away from bursting out of my outfit.
