Page 39 of Shark’s Pride

“We had a wonderful date night, thank you for asking. And it had a very happy ending.” He smirked while the waitress dropped off our drinks.

I groaned and sucked down a lot of mine in one gulp. “Guess I walked into that one.”

“Surely thinking you’d be escaping my actual question.”

I waved a hand toward the attentive blond waitress. “I think we’re ready to order.”

“I’ll have the smoked salmon flatbread, and a kale and quinoa salad.”

I joined the girl to impale him with a new gape. “You’re having what?”

“The bacon mac ‘n’ cheese is really good today.” But the waitress’s suggestion didn’t go anywhere.

“Clean fuel is better for the engine,” Sean stated.

“Oh, Christ,” I muttered.

He bounced up both brows. “That’s what you’re ordering?”

“No, I think I will have the chicken alfredo.”

His darker scowl, clarifying that we’d really descended from Celtic warriors, had the waitress hurrying off to put in our order. Just as well.

“Okay, bruiser,” I finally drawled. “Just what the hell is up with you right now?”

Sean took his time sipping on his Guinness. He squinted over the rim of his glass, briefly noting the score of the Dodger game, but that had him grimacing too. “You stealing my lines now?”

“Puh-lease,” I scoffed. “Like there’s anything to steal.”

I dropped my gaze. Instant mistake. The reaction, practically sewn into my DNA, was a surefire tell for anyone who knew me. And Sean definitely knew me.

My mind roared at me, forcing me to accept the inevitability of this moment.

It’s time. You can’t shove this off anymore, Abbigail.

Rio had respected my right to keep the “Shark Shocker” in the information closet until I could choose the right moment. But there was no time to wait for that anymore. I was out of moments.

Get out the key. Unlock the diary. Tell him the secret.

“What would you say…if I told you Sebastian Shark asked me out on a date?”

I forced myself to look at him and was relieved by the waitress’s quick return to our table with our food.

Sean took a quick bite of salad and finished chewing before issuing an answer as chill as the low tide on the sand outside. “That depends, I guess.”

“On…what?” Shoveling in some pasta at least gave me something constructive to do. Best of all, the mouthful of garlic and alfredo sauce was heaven.

“On whether you’re asking because you’re hoping he’ll ask or because he’s already asked and you’re in a tizzy about what to say.”

I managed a grimace around the pasta. “Is there an option C?”

Sean swirled a kale-laden fork. “Does there need to be?”

Now, not even my food could be a mask for my apprehension. Still, I faced the admission in full. It wasn’t as hard as I thought, which gave me courage to carefully tuck my fork along the side of my plate.

“We’ve already been out,” I finally declared. “Several times, actually. And—”

Sean cut me short by jabbing his free hand up between us. “Well, fuck. When you say you need an option C, you’re serious.”