“What doesn’t matter?” Nicholas demands.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me,” Nicholas demands, unsure why he needs to know so bad.
“You aren’t the first man to leave mid-date. I just thought we’d at least get to the parameters of the contract before you left.” Andrew wipes his mouth with his napkin, gulping down water far faster than earlier. There’s a slight tremble in his hands, and Nicholas has the sudden urge to punch whoever ditched Andrew before and made him feel bad.
“I’m just tired from this week's games,” Nicholas tries.
“You don’t need to lie to me. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” Andrew says, pulling out his wallet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Nicholas snaps.
“Uh, getting ready to split the check.”
“You’re not fucking paying for dinner, and we’re not done.”
“You just said?—”
“Ignore what I just said, I’m not fucking tired anymore,” Nicholas says, stabbing his steak so hard the fork clatters loudly against the plate. “Eat your dinner and then we’ll go over this fucking contract stuff. Then you can tell me if you changed your mind.”
“Me?” Andrew says, clearly confused.
“Yeah, you.” Nicholas clenches his jaw. He sure as fuck doesn’t deserve Andrew’s help, or a man like Andrew, not even for a fake boyfriend, but he’s also not going to be the one to walk away. “I’m a pain in the ass. You might not be able to handle me.”
“I can handle you just fine,” Andrew counters, hesitantly picking up his chopsticks. “You’re moody though, and loud.”
“I know.”
“You do look very pretty tonight.”
“The fuck?”
“I said you look very pretty tonight,“ Andrew repeats.
“I heard you the first time, but who the fuck calls a man pretty?” Nicholas questions. He leaves off the ‘especially a man like me’. Sure he’d been told he had a bit of a pretty boy face as a teenager, but he’s grown into his body in a way that makes his features too hard to be pretty and his tattoos too harsh to be remotely close to it.
“I do,” Andrew replies, seemingly regaining his confidence. It’s annoying but also kind of sexy.
“I’m not fucking pretty,” Nicholas grumbles.
“Whatever you say, Nicki.”
“That’s right, whatIsay.”
Andrew’s mouth quirks up in the corner like he’s trying not to smile. “Sure.”
“I am in charge right now,” Nicholas argues.
“I saidsure.”
“You said it with a tone.”
“That’s just my voice.”
“No, you had a tone.”
“Would you prefer it if I didn’t talk?”
