Chapter 14 Cal
CAL
“Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” Blake says, his fingers nervously playing with the condensation on the glass of his beer.
“Sure.” I swallow hard, wishing I’d put on something nicer to go to the Iron Cask. I’m not underdressed by any means, but Blake looks like a sexy board member and I had to hunt for pants without paint stains on them. “We can’t be fake dating without going on an actual date, right?”
Blake gives me a nervous smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, our arrangement so much more real sitting in this restaurant than in my house.
I’ve been here plenty of times but never on a date—fake or otherwise.
It’s a popular hangout in Blackstone Falls, the mix of dark, rustic elements with a modern flair giving it high-end sports bar vibes.
It’s very on brand for being owned by Colt Harrington, the shortstop of the Illinois Blues.
“Yeah, sorry.” Blake clears his throat. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. I’ve already made a few posts about us but this…”—his eyes hold mine with a myriad of emotions I can’t decipher—“it feels real, and I hate that I’m asking you to be a part of the lie.”
Ugh. Why does he have to be so sweet? “I think there are worse things I could be doing than having dinner with a hot guy who is currently obligated to like me.” I wink and he smirks, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You do that,” I tease as the waiter comes to take our order, lingering long enough to get the details he needs before hurrying off again. “What’s something you like?” I prompt as soon as we’re alone. “I want something obscure. Random. I want you to think about it.”
Mouth twitching, he lifts his glass and takes a sip, his tongue peeking out to lick the beer from his lips. “I like bow ties.”
“Bow ties? Wearing them or on someone else?”
“Both, I guess, but specifically on the person I’m with—and not the premade ones either. I want to know they tied it just for me.”
A flash of desire rushes over me, my cock hardening beneath the table at the visual and the way Blake’s eyes have darkened as he stares at me.
Wow.
He looks incredible, his confidence back and on full display as he rests his forearm on the table.
“I can’t remember the last time I wore a tie—not even for Case and Hannah’s wedding.”
He smiles but it’s soft and knowing like he could have guessed as much. “What about you? What’s something you like?”
“I like graphic novels,” I manage, my tone relatively even, though the gravelly way he said like is still floating around my head. “I like to see how the artist sees the story.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever read a graphic novel,” Blake admits.
“You seem more like the biography type.” I widen my eyes, emphasizing my point and he chuffs out a laugh as he shakes his head, the movement causing a whiff of his cologne to make its way across the table.
Delicious and so damn tempting.
“I’ve read a biography or two in my lifetime although I can’t say they’re a favorite. I mostly like thrillers but I’m sure that’s not any better.” He lifts an eyebrow and I mime zipping my lips and throwing away the key. “Why did you want to be an art teacher?”
“I love giving a way for kids to communicate even if they don’t have the words. There’s a raw honesty that happens in the right space, and I try desperately to provide that. No matter their abilities, art is for everyone.”
“That’s incredible.” His voice is filled with awe as he reaches across the table to place his hand over mine. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been that passionate about anything.”
“What about the gala? And if not the gala then the cause?” When he tries to pull his hand away, I hold it before turning it over and lacing my fingers with his.
“Maybe. My uh…my uncle lost his battle with lymphoma when I was a teenager. He always let me stay up late and snuck me extra snacks—usually a chocolate bar—at every stuffy formal event.” His lips curve up on one side.
“He’d probably find it amusing that I’m raising money at one of those stuffy formal events in his honor. ”
“Maybe,” I concede, “you could always sneak one of those snacks in and eat it during the gala.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Here you go,” the waiter says, placing our dishes in front of us, breaking the spell and bringing us back to reality, and I kind of hate it when he tries to pull his hand away.
“Hold on,” I tell him, wrestling my phone from my pocket and positioning the device over the table to capture our joined hands and plates. “What do you think?”
Adam’s apple bobbing, Blake smiles. “I think it’s perfect.”
It is perfect.
And even though I shouldn’t, I want to pretend that tonight isn’t fake.
Just for tonight.