He’s looking directly at me, so I respond, “Oh, I don’t drink. But I’d love some water with lemon, please.”
I hate it when a server’s smile tightens when I say that. I can almost hear them thinking, “Welp, my tip just got cut in half”—and often, so does their service. But it’s one of the strict rules after a heart transplant—no alcohol or drugs.Ever. I have to be rigorous about what I eat, any medicines I take, anything I could ingest or digest that might affect my heart in any way.
“I will also have a water, but no lemon for me,” Hunter speaks up next, not even glancing away from his menu.
Our server’s gaze moves to Hunter for the first time, and he fumbles his pen, eyes going wide.
“You don’t have to do that for me,” I say quickly, hoping to distract Hunter from Mark’s blatant—and unprofessional—shock. “I’m used to being the only one who doesn’t drink. I can’t, because—”
“It’s not for you,” Hunter cuts me off.
“Oh, okay ... If you’re sure. I really don’t care though—”
“I don’t drink. Ever. It has nothing to do with you.” Hunter’s voice is so cold I recoil, inadvertently brushing my arm against Austin’s. Lou looks up from the menu at her cousin, a shadow crossing her face that looks a lot like sympathy.
“Wow, okay. Fun group.” Austin’s eyebrows lift. “Do you like seafood?” he asks me, and when I nod, he says, “I’ll have a Coke with lime, and can we get sushi nachos, a shrimp cocktail, and some edamame to start also?”
Mark nods and makes some marks on his notepad, his pursed lips softening slightly at the addition of multiple appetizers to our order.
“And I’ll have a strawberry lemonade,” Lou adds. It has always been an unspoken agreement that she doesn’t drink with me since I can’t. I didn’t expect Austin to skip the alcohol, too, though. I’m no stranger to being the only sober person at dinner, but I’m unexpectedly grateful that no one else will be drinking tonight—especially my date, who is supposed to drive me home in hisveryfast car.
“I’ll get this all put in and be right back to take your order,” Mark says, doing a terrible job of surreptitiously sneaking another glance at Hunter’s face.
I will myself not to glare at our server. My pulse quickens, fueled by a rush of anger on Hunter’s behalf. This guy works in the service industry, for crying out loud. I’m sure he’s seenthings much more surprising than a man with some unfortunate scars.
“So, what do you do, Austin?” Hunter turns his back on Mark, facing my date kitty-corner across the table instead.
“You mean besides take pretty girls out to dinner and attempt to woo them with a plethora of seafood and soda?”
I roll my eyes but can’t help but smile when he lifts one eyebrow at me, the corners of his lips quirked.
“Yes, I mean forwork,” Hunter snaps. “Unless you get paid to take women to dinner?”
My smile is gone when I glare at him, but Austin laughs, completely unperturbed by Hunter’s thinly veiled disdain. I feel like a volleyball match is happening within me, where one-half of the court is protectiveness over Hunter and the other side is anger at how rude and annoying he is—which is the side currently winning. How can my mom and Farmor want to hire this guy?
“I work in tech, with a friend of Olivia’s actually. She’s on my team. I’ve been wanting to go out with Liv for a while, ever since I saw the post of the two of them dressed like elves for a Christmas workout last December. I’m so glad Talia finally caved and set us up.” Austin looks at me, a heat in his gaze that is so believable it makes my stomach tighten and cheeks warm.
He issmooth—so good at this thatIalmost believe his story.
There’s a pause, and then Hunter plows on, “Liv’s friend is onyourteam? So that means you’re her team leader?”
“Indeed, I am.” Austin is still looking at me, his gaze so insistent I’m growing more confused about what is real and what is fake here. And then his words sink in.
“Wait! You’re Talia’sboss?”
Austin shrugs, unwrapping his silverware to place his napkin across his lap. “I like to think of it as supreme overlord, but if you prefer more mundane titles, then yes, I’m her boss.”
Oh, crap. If he gets the wrong idea about this date and where things may or may not go, I could screw up Talia’sjob? My fingers itch to pull out my phone and text her, but I resist—barely. I can only pray Austin has very low expectations for tonight and isn’t a grudge holder.
“Hunter and I both work at the same title company,” Lou interjects. “But unfortunately, my uncle is the boss, so I have no power to fire Hunter if he misbehaves.”
“You work for your dad?” Austin’s question to Hunter sounds innocent, but there’s a hidden jab there, I think. Unless I’m imagining the underlying current of tension between the two men.
“No, my dad is a high school teacher in Florida.” Hunter’s voice is flat, almost daring Austin to mock that.
Instead, Austin whistles. “Impressive. That’s got to be one of the hardest jobs on the earth ... if any of his students are as awful as I was in high school.”
Hunter’s eyes narrow, but there’s no insincerity in Austin’s voice this time. I think he means it.
