“I wouldn’t date your fucking sister if I did,” I snap, and she blanches.
We both stare at one another.
“I mean, if you wanted to, you could.”Her cheeks burn.
“Stop it.”
Gemma’s eyes dip.
I lean forward on my arms, and she looks back.“A date is something you do when you’re intending to marry a woman.I don’t date, Gemma.And I certainly won’t be dating your sister or any relative of yours.Are we clear?”
Her eyes flare, and I know I’ve hit a sore spot.
“Actually, Drew, a date is something you do when you enjoy the company of a man or woman.It doesn’t have to lead to marriage.”
I let out a huff.
Then something occurs to me.It has been a year since her husband died, and I know Gemma is not the kind of woman who is going to sit on the shelf, so to speak.She must be thinking about it now that I’ve popped her faux cherry.
We both know it won’t be me.
This needs to end.
I don’t fucking like where this is going.
“Do you plan to marry again?”I demand, more firmly than I should.
Gemma laughs.
Laughs!
“Oh. Wow.Ah, well, I don’t mean to be awkward, but you’re the first man I’ve slept with...since.”
“I knew.”I don’t take my eyes off her, waiting for her to say more.
“Really?”
I nod.
“God, was I terrible?Out of practice.”Gemma cringes.“Both times?God, how embarrassing?”
Christ.
My arm stretches out along the table.“Sex is a dual act, Gemma.I think we both know it wasn’t terrible.”
She blushes.“No.”
What she doesn’t do is answer my question and tell me she’s not in the market for a husband.Which means the answer is yes.
The server arrives.“Two of the steaks and a green salad.”
“Yes, sir.”
When he walks away, I notice Gemma shaking her head.“What?”
“You keep ordering for me.”She lifts her water.“What if I wanted a chicken salad?”
“You don’t like chicken salad.You never order them, and I can tell you’re hungry because you keep looking at other people’s meals,” I tell her.“You’ll like the steak.”
