“I’m not his date,” I practically yell.
The waiter’s lips quirk up. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Yes, Cecil, you shouldn’t assume certain things,” Grayson says, his voice laced with humor and sarcasm.
Cecil, a tall man with gray hair and glasses, larger than the ones Grayson wears during class, laughs. “You are right, sir.” He looks down at me. “I should’ve known that you weren’t his date, given Mr. Hayes’s usual company.” Grayson glares at his friend, who isn’t shy at all about said history. “He’s never brought a date before.”
A nervous laugh slips out, and I quickly cover my mouth as I try to calm down. I have no idea what that was. This whole night has me acting strange.
“I’ll have my usual plate, and she’ll have the same,” Grayson grits out, and I shoot him a glare. I’m not a fan of people ordering for me, but I guess that’s what I get for not looking at the menu.
“Very well. And to drink?”
“A glass of the…” Grayson trails off, takes the drink menu from where it stands, and hands it to me. I keep my hands where they’ve been the whole time, on my lap. “Here.” He waves it. “You picked a great wine at Simone’s.”
Tilting my head, I snatch the menu from him and accept the challenge, knowing he won’t let it go.
“What are we having to eat?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I roll my eyes. “Give me something, Grayson.”
“Order something you like.”
“But I’m not drinking it.”
“I trust you.”
Looking at Grayson over the menu, I see him leaning back on his side of the booth, relaxed and waiting patiently. His glasses are off, and his hair is slicked back except for a single light brown curl. His gray-blue dress shirt remains perfectly crisp, and the dim lights from above reflect in his blue-green eyes, making them appear bluer than usual. It’s kind of amazing how much his clothing can influence the color of his eyes.
“Fine.” Anything to distract me for a moment. Glancing through the reds—because I’m a red wine gal—I find one that I’ve tried before and can go with a wide variety of foods. I close the menu so forcefully that the small gust of wind it creates moves some strands of my hair. “He’ll have a glass of Luce Toscana 2020, please, Cecil.”
“Very well, Ms.…”
“You can call me Emma,” I tell him. “And I’ll have a cosmopolitan, and keep them coming.”
He chuckles as I hand him the menu. “Will do, Ms. Emma.”
After he leaves, I decide to let my hair down from its low ponytail and fluff it up. I squirm as I feel him watching me.
“What?”
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Do you not like Merlot?”
“I do. I think it’s a great choice.”
Grayson keeps eyeing me suspiciously. “Then what is it?”
“You got a cocktail,” he states.
Seriously? This is aboutmydrink?
I hold a finger up. “I have the right to be tipsy after all of this.”
He nods. “Fair enough.” Grayson places his hands on the table, where his button-down sleeves stay halfway up his forearms. I look away, feeling my face heat at the thing I find so sexy… “To answer your previous questions, which are off the record, by the way, this is a speakeasy.” Yeah, I thought as much. “My friend showed it to me a couple of years ago when I came to visit, and I’ve been coming at least once a week ever since I moved back. I brought you here because it’s private, nice, personal, and far from the university, where we are constantly careful of everything we say and do.”
