10. Dex
Chapter 10
On the back of numerous wardrobe changes, I give up second-guessing the right attire for my dinner with Nate and go with a simple off-the-shoulder top and a pair of skinny jeans. My height, or lack thereof, means that slinky dresses and willowy, flowing skirts will never suit me—one of the many consequences of barely scraping five feet tall. I inherited Mom’s diminutive stature, whereas Elva is blessed with Dad’s genes, meaning she’s a good half a foot taller.
I add silver studs to my ears and a dash of perfume to my neck and wrists. After sliding my feet into a pair of four-inch black heels, I frown at my reflection in the mirror. My hair doesn’t look right down, not with this top, so I gather it into a high ponytail. Better.
A knock at my door shocks my pulse into overdrive. Oh, God, he’s here. I take a deep, steadying breath through my nose and, with a final glance at my reflection, go to answer it.
“Ready?” Nate asks with a leisurely eye-sweep that, thankfully, doesn’t end in a disappointed grimace.
I return the favor, hungrily drinking him in. He’s gone casual, too, wearing black jeans and a black shirt left open at the neck, giving me a glimpse of smooth, tanned skin, which I now know tastes as good as chocolate ice cream with a cherry on top. And whipped cream. Oh, and crushed nuts.
“Dex?”
His question, accompanied with a raised eyebrow has me hurriedly nodding. “Yes, ready.”
I snatch up my purse, only just having time to shove the strap over my shoulder before Nate captures my hand in his. The earlier rainstorm has disappeared, although it’s left behind a thickness in the air.
He holds open the car door for me, then strolls around to the driver’s side. I use the few spare seconds to calm my racing heart. Why am I panicking? I spent a night in his bed, and he’s seen, not to mention touched, kissed, and licked every part of my body, and yet the idea of sharing a meal with him has me tied up in knots.
“Where are we going?” Goddamn, I sound breathless.
“To the emergency room if you don’t slow your heart rate, Titch,” he says, his grin brazen.
“Cocky bastard,” I mutter.
He chuckles. “Yeah, so you’ve said once or twice.” Gripping my chin, he angles me to face him, planting a hard kiss on my mouth. “I missed you today, Titch.”
Despite the stress of visiting my mom, and the looming difficult decisions ahead, my heart soars.
“You can say you missed me, too,” he continues. “I know you did.”
I narrow my eyes. “There’s cocky, and then there’s over-confident.”
“Yeah, and you find both versions of me irresistible.”
A smile tugs at my lips, but at the same time, I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
He fires up the engine. “Wow, that’s a big word, Titch, especially for someone of your size.”
I scowl at him. “Isn’t that joke getting old yet?”
He picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Not even close.”
Staying annoyed at Nate is like swimming against a riptide: impossible. And he knows it, too. Those dimples of his stay in place the entire drive to the restaurant, but when he parks in front of a uniformed valet outside one of the best restaurants in town, I groan. This isn’t a jeans and top kind of place—at least for women—but more a cocktail dress purchased from some exclusive boutique on Rodeo Drive kind of place.
I bite the soft skin inside my mouth and side-eye Nate. “Can we go somewhere else?”
He frowns. “Don’t you like Italian food?”
“Oh, it’s not that.” I fiddle with the hem of my top, putting a crease in the material. Terrific. Now I look even scruffier.
“Then, what?”
My chin scrapes my chest. “If I’d known you were planning on bringing me here, I’d have put on a dress or something. I mean, I don’t have any that are very smart, but smarter than jeans and a?—”
He cuts me off, not by interrupting, but by kissing me. And it’s not a peck either. It’s a full-on, heavy-duty kiss that sends lust careening through my stomach, and scrunches my toes inside my shoes.
“You’re fucking adorable.” He draws back, his eyes boring into mine. “And if I have a single complaint about the way you’re dressed, it’s that you’re wearing far too many clothes for my liking.” He shrugs. “As for this place, if they have a problem with you, I’ll have a problem with them.”
He climbs out of the car, and my eyebrows shoot upward. Nate O’Reilly is a full-of-surprises kind of guy, and the more time I spend with him, the more I like him. Not in a “he’s my fantasy fuck” kind of way, but more because he’s just a really great guy.
He rounds the hood and opens my door. After helping me out, he tosses his keys to the valet, not even waiting for a ticket like normal people would. I guess they know who he is so there isn’t the same need with him.
“Mr. O’Reilly.” The ma?tre d’ smiles broadly and holds out his hand. Nate releases me so he can shake it. “How wonderful to see you again.”
“Hey, Charlie. How’re things?”
Charlie taps on a keyboard and then picks up two menus. “I can’t complain. Follow me, please.”
He leads us into the restaurant. I try to keep facing forward, but I still catch the odd stare cast our way.
They’re staring at him, not you.
At least I hope that’s the case. Nate cuts a much more dashing figure than me, so it makes logical sense that he’d be the one to draw the eye. He draws my eye. All the damn time.
“Is this table satisfactory, Mr. O’Reilly?”
Nate glances around and then points at a booth a few feet away. “We’ll take that one.”
Charlie follows his gaze while I shrink in on myself, horrified. I rarely go to restaurants, but I never, ever question the table I’m given. Charlie, though, seems unperturbed. He nods, then briskly changes course. Nate lets me sit down first, and instead of sitting opposite, he slides along the bench next to me.
“Thanks, Charlie,” he says, taking the menus. “Do you want some champagne, Titch?”
I shake my head. “I don’t like champagne. Tastes like vinegar.”
Nate laughs while Charlie’s eyes widen in shock at my blunt response. Well, too bad. I’m not putting on airs and graces for anyone.
“Wine instead?” Nate asks.
I nod.
“Some still water and a bottle of Montrachet it is, Charlie.”
While Nate buries his head in the menu, I take the opportunity to look around. This is what Dad would have called a fancy-pants place, all marble, granite, and expensive lighting. If only he could see me now. And wait until I tell Elva. My sister will probably turn green with envy.
But when I check out the menu for myself, an uncomfortable feeling steals over me. The price of a single steak would almost pay for a day of my mother’s care. It’s obscenely over-the-top, especially as steak costs less than ten bucks a pound at the store where I work. My stomach growls at the smells coming from the kitchen and nearby tables, but I can’t, in all good conscience, stuff my face with overpriced food in a pretentious restaurant that only exists because the rich and famous want to feel special.
Then I turn the menu over, and my stomach flips in a really nasty way. How much? For a bottle of wine? Oh no, no, no.
“What’ll you have?” Nate asks, oblivious to my dismay. “The filet is good, obviously, but the sea bass isn’t bad either if you prefer fish.” When I don’t say a word, he frowns. “I haven’t tried the vegetarian menu, but I’m sure it’s perfectly edible. And there’s always pasta.”
“I want to go, please,” I say, my voice small and quiet.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Nate says. “We only just got here.”
How do I begin to explain my feelings to him without spilling the entire details of my sorry-ass life? However attracted Nate is to me, he’ll run a mile if I allow him a peek of my reality. I can’t stay here, eating this disgustingly overpriced food and drink, and pretend it’s okay. It isn’t okay. Not by a long shot.
Play it cool, Dex.
“The prices are ridiculous,” I say. “Why don’t I cook us a meal back at my place?”
Nate scratches his cheek, confusion scoring his handsome face. “Stop worrying. It’s on me.”
“It’s not about who’s paying,” I mutter. “That bottle of wine would pay a family’s food bill for a month. A single bottle of wine. I’m sorry, Nate, but I can’t do it.”
“Jesus.” He grimaces. “Chill the fuck out, Titch. I never took you for one of those principled types.”
Irritation prickles my skin. “Why do you say principled as though it’s a curse word? I appreciate the value of money, Nate, because, unlike you, I don’t fucking have enough of it.”
I clap a hand over my mouth, the horror at how much I’ve revealed widening my eyes. Nate, in response, narrows his.
“What do you mean?”
I inwardly curse. You’re an idiot, Dex. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Please, let’s just go.” I shove his arm, but I may as well have been trying to move a marble statue.
“Is this why you’re working a second job?”
Lying isn’t my style, so I say nothing, instead worrying my lip with my teeth and staring into middle distance somewhere over his shoulder.
Nate grazes the back of his hand over my cheek, the caress so warm, so tender, that the urge to spill every worry, every panicked moment that keeps me up at night is so strong, I have to clamp my jaw shut. Nate isn’t my boyfriend. He isn’t even a friend. He’s just a guy I’ve panted over for months. A guy I’ve spent a hot, sweaty night in bed with, followed by this fuck-up of a so-called date.
One thing is for sure: there won’t be a second one.
“Talk to me.”
I close my eyes for a moment, but they fly open when Nate puts his mouth on mine. It isn’t an urgent, passionate kiss like the one he gave me in the car. It’s a gentle kiss meant to coax and reassure.
When he draws back, my smile is tinged with an apology. “I bet you didn’t expect tonight to turn into an impromptu episode of Dr. Phil.” I force a chuckle, determined to put him off the scent. “Forget it. I’m an idiot. Let’s order.”
Nate’s hand slices through the air. “We’re not ready,” he snaps.
I frown, then realize he’s talking to the approaching server. The man spins on his heel and heads back the way he came from, the move so smooth that being dismissed in such a manner must happen to him a lot.
Nate stares at me without saying a word, his eyes roving over my face, although I don’t have a clue what he’s hoping to find. Answers, maybe. Well, too bad. He won’t get them from me.
After a few seconds, he sighs, scooches down the bench, stands, and holds out his hand.
“Come with me, Titch.”
“Where to?”
His lips twist to the side. “Get your ass moving and you’ll find out.”