Realizing her implication, I quickly confirm. “Yes,justfriends.”
She purses her lips. “Okay. But you look different than his usual friends.”
My smile falters, but I force it to remain in place. I shouldn’t care about the women he usually brings here, or the fact that this isn’t a special date just for me. Good grief, would I even want that?
No.No, I wouldn’t.
Max already said this is his favorite place, so the fact that he brought me here means nothing, just like who he’s brought here before means nothing.
Those women have nothing to do with me.
And besides, I’m sure they’re lovely.
She winks at me and leans forward. “All of his other friends have penises.”
“Oh!” I laugh and cover my mouth, then look at Max with wide eyes. “Is that so?”
Ignoring me, Max flashes his unbeatable smile. “You have a table for me, Glo?”
She rolls her eyes. “Put those dimples away.” Looking past us at the crowd, she grabs two menus, then turns and motions for us to follow.
Max slips his hand back into mine, and I’m momentarily stunned by how natural it is to feel this man’s firm hand wrapped with mine. Behind us, the expected grumbles andcomplaints begin, but even as I cringe inwardly, I push my guilt aside and vow to enjoy the evening. It’s not like I go through life with nepo-benefits or celebrity treatment; what’s one night?
The restaurant itself is far larger than I realized, an optical illusion you wouldn’t catch from the looks of the exterior. Gloria leads us through rooms with walls covered in pictures, from old Hollywood black and whites, to modern-day celebrities sitting in the very burgundy leather booths we stride past now. The ceiling is decorated with so much old junk it’s difficult to make out one thing over the next, but among the artifacts are vintage Tiffany-style lamps with colorful glass and soft amber bulbs, baskets, and colorful balls wrapped with twine. A lot of warm wood and old wine barrels decorate the space, and jugs that once housed Chianti hang from the ceiling like ornaments.
The food smells incredible, like what I’d imagine an old Italian kitchen might smell like, and my stomach rumbles again, thankfully not loud enough to be heard over the ruckus of the busy restaurant.
We pass a wall decorated with faux ivy and my stomach flips at the reminder of The Rabbit Hole. I pull my hand free from Max’s and when he looks back at me, I move my purse to the other arm for an excuse to keep my hands busy.
Frowning, I realize it feels like I’m cheating on Dominus, and I worry my lip between my teeth because that’s not… it can’t be. I’m not dating anyone. It’s silly to even think like that, but… I don’t know, this feels somehow wrong…
And yet, it’sMax. Which makes this completely innocent.
I almost snort. Even I don’t believe my own bullshit anymore.
Tune in at eight for other lies we tell ourselves, Susan. Now, back to you in the studio.
“Here we are,” Gloria announces when we reach the back corner of the restaurant. She plops the two menus down on thetable and looks at us both proudly. “Frank Sinatra once ate right there.” She points at the side closest to me, grinning proudly. Focusing on me, she says, “The meal comes with red and white, salad or soup, bread, and your entrée. Drink as much as you want. Why limit yourself?” She places her hands on her hips, looks at us both, then smirks. “Friends.”
With that, she turns on her heels and leaves us.
Feeling Max’s gaze on me, I swivel my head toward him. “What?”
His eyes search mine, and I’m struck by the familiarity in those dark pools. He really is quite handsome—
His gaze falls to my lips and I blink, then give my head a quick shake. “Friends, Mr. Cruz.” Apparently, Gloria isn’t the only one who needs the reminder.
I lower myself into the tight, crescent-shaped booth, then he does the same, settling into the curved seat directly beside me. We’re practically shoulder-to-shoulder. I get the feeling Gloria did this on purpose. Max settles in, and his thigh presses against mine.
Ignoring the little thrill up my spine at the contact, I side-eye him. “Must you manspread so much?”
Max chuckles. “If you mean, as a man, do I want to give my cock and balls room to breathe, then the answer is yes.”
Scoffing, I look at him, but he just stares back at me. “Oh, you’re serious.”
“Maybe I like being this close to you.” When he doesn’t move his leg or say anything else, I look at the two carafes on the table.
Deciding this is going to be a long night, I reach for the red and fill up my wine glass with a little liquid courage. Holding the carafe, I ask Max, “Is red okay?”
