Chapter 9 #2
“But of course,” I add quickly, “if you’d rather have your own dinner without me intruding on your plans, I can go—”
“No.” Slater’s voice cuts through any protest I might have made. Firm. Final. “Stay. We’re ordering more food, and you can eat properly. No more running around.”
“I love the sound of that.”
I settle into the seat, and for the first time all night, I feel like I can actually breathe. Like I’m not constantly two seconds away from my cover being blown.
The server returns, pad in hand, her eyes immediately going to Slater.
He rattles off an order that includes at least six more dishes without even looking at the menu. Clearly a regular.
She writes it down dutifully, but her body language shifts. She leans over the table, past me and closer to Slater, angling herself so her body is facing him fully, shoulders back to emphasize her figure.
“Anything else you want?” she asks, her voice dropping slightly. “We have some really incredible desserts tonight. I could bring you a menu. Maybe we could go over it together?”
Her hand touches his arm, fingers lingering.
Slater doesn’t even glance at her. “We’re good.”
“You sure? There’s this chocolate lava cake that’s absolutely sinful. I could bring you a sample.” She’s not giving up easily.
“Not interested.”
The rejection is so flat, so completely devoid of interest, that I almost feel bad for her. She’s trying so hard, and he’s treating her like she’s part of the furniture.
“Well, if you change your mind…” She trails off, finally stepping back.
Her eyes slide to me then, narrow and assessing. The glare is brief but unmistakable. Who are you, and what are you doing here with them?
She leaves, and I notice Dylan biting back a grin.
Mason is chuckling. “She wasn’t happy to see you sitting with us.”
“Should I be worried?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light even though my heart is racing from that look. “Might need one of you to walk me home for protection.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Jasper says immediately. There’s a muffled thump under the table, and Jasper’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Who the fuck just kicked me?”
Mason is looking entirely too innocent. “You deserved that.”
“Fuck you, man,” Jasper says, but there’s a grin threatening at the corners of his mouth.
Dylan is laughing. “You two are so obvious.”
“We weren’t going to let her walk home alone anyway,” Mason adds. “So Jasper calling dibs is irrelevant.”
“Dibs absolutely count,” Jasper argues.
Their banter is ridiculous and oddly endearing, and I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
“So,” I say, trying to redirect before they start actually wrestling under the table. “Another round of beer for everyone?”
“Sure,” Dylan answers, already signaling the server with a flick of his hand. “But fair warning, if you’re trying to get us drunk, it’s going to be a long night. We’ve got tolerances built up from years of late nights.”
“Challenge accepted.”
The waitress returns with another round of beer, and this time when she sets Slater’s beer down, she actually leans over him, her cleavage very deliberately in his line of sight.
“Here you go,” she says, her voice breathy. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. Anything at all.”
Slater takes his beer. “Thanks. We need one more for Anita as well.” He glances my way, and the girl’s stare deepens when it lands on me.
“Absolutely.” And she rushes back to the bar.
The moment she’s out of earshot, Dylan bursts into laughter. “She’s going to give herself a hernia trying to get your attention.”
“Not my problem,” Slater says, taking a long drink.
“You could at least acknowledge that she exists,” Mason points out.
“Why? I’m not interested. Being polite would just encourage her.”
“He’s got a point,” Jasper says.
I’m watching this exchange with fascination when she returns with my beer, and also with a small plate. “I brought you those chocolate samples anyway,” she says to Slater, setting it down in front of him. “On the house. Just try one. I promise you’ll love it.”
She’s practically begging at this point, and I genuinely feel bad for her.
Slater stares at the plate for a long moment, then looks up at her. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not interested in dessert. But I’m sure my friends will enjoy them.”
The rejection is gentle but crystal clear.
She flushes red, grabs the plate, and retreats quickly.
Once she’s gone, I can’t help myself. “That was almost painful to watch.”
“She’ll survive,” Slater says.
“You could have been nicer about it,” Mason says.
“I was perfectly nice. I didn’t lead her on. That’s the nicest thing you can do.”
Dylan is grinning at me now. “So, Anita. Since we just watched Slater spectacularly fail at human interaction, maybe you can educate us. What’s your best pickup line? Or better yet, what’s the best pickup line that’s ever worked on you?”
“All right,” I say, taking a sip of my beer.
“The best one that ever worked on me was actually really simple. This guy said, ‘I’m not a photographer, but I can picture us together.’ And it worked because he was sweet about it.
He didn’t expect anything, didn’t push. Just said it with this shy smile and then asked if he could buy me coffee. ”
They’re all nodding like they’re taking mental notes.
“Good to know,” Mason says thoughtfully.
“Your turn,” I say. “What are your pickup lines? I need to know if any of you have game.”
Dylan grins. “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”
I groan. “That’s awful.”
“It works!”
“On who? Desperate tourists?” Mason teases.
“Hey, don’t knock success. You go next,” Dylan prompts him.
Mason leans back. “I don’t really do pickup lines. Don’t need them.”
I can’t even deny it because the man might as well have walked off a magazine cover. “Come on,” I press. “Everyone has one buried somewhere.”
He sighs. “Fine. Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”
I burst out laughing. “That’s even worse than Dylan’s!”
“I told you I don’t do them!” Mason shrugs, and he’s adorable.
Jasper is watching with a grin. “If I showed you my family tree, would you want to be on it?”
“Oh my God.” I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. “These are all terrible. Where do you even find these?”
“The internet is a dark place,” Dylan says solemnly.
“Your turn, Slater,” I say, still grinning.
Slater has been quiet through all of this, and now everyone is looking at him expectantly. He doesn’t respond, just stares at me with those steel-gray eyes.
The silence stretches. Then he clears his throat. “You’re so beautiful you made me forget my pickup line.”
My entire body reacts before my brain catches up. A jolt shoots straight through me. Heat floods my cheeks, my neck, everywhere. It’s not just the words; it’s the way he says them. That voice. That tone. Something deep and familiar slides into place like a key turning in a lock.
I grip the edge of the table to steady myself, blinking fast as the edges of the room go a little fuzzy. My pulse pounds in places it has no business waking up at a dinner table.
I grab the menu and flap it like a fan, hoping no one notices.
Spoiler alert: They do.
“Careful, Slater,” Dylan says, grinning. “You’re weaponizing the voice again.”
“Poor Anita looks like she’s about to spontaneously combust,” Mason adds, raising his water glass in a mock toast.
Jasper smirks. “That narrator voice should be illegal in public. Use it responsibly, man.”
Slater doesn’t react. Just keeps watching me with that steady, unreadable gaze. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says smoothly, but I swear he’s fighting a smile.
I clear my throat and try to recover. “Well… congrats. You’ve officially melted my brain.”
Dylan leans over, stage-whispering, “Welcome to Mistberry Cove. Hope you packed fireproof underwear.”
Jasper tips his beer toward me. “So I’m guessing you’ve listened to some of Slater’s narrated work, huh?”
My brain screams, All of it, and how many times I swooned over his narration, how many times I climaxed… but I keep my expression neutral, shrugging with what I hope is a very meh level of enthusiasm. “A few books. Here and there. Background noise while I do laundry.”
Slater’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, clearly not buying it. “Interesting.”
“Sure.” I sip my drink slowly. “Folding socks has never sounded so… dramatic.”
That earns a low chuckle from Mason. “You’re the first person I’ve ever heard downplay that voice.”
Dylan grins. “Seriously, you should see the emails Slater gets. Women begging him to read their grocery lists. Proposing marriage. One lady said she”—he coughs, barely holding in a laugh—“gets off just hearing him say the word Thursday.”
My cheeks flush, but I lift a brow and try to play it cool. “Well, Thursday is a sexy day. Right between wild regret and questionable decisions.”
That gets all of them. Jasper chokes on his drink. Mason actually snorts. Dylan lets out a sharp “Damn” and slaps the table.
“I mean,” I say lightly, “his voice does what it’s supposed to do.”
Dylan’s grin turns feral. “Oh? And what’s that exactly?”
Jasper leans back in his chair, arms crossing slowly, eyes never leaving my face. “Careful. That sounded like praise.”
Mason’s gaze flicks to Slater, then back to me. “You’re not denying that you aren’t affected by his voice.”
I shrug again, pretending I’m not acutely aware of Slater watching me like he’s listening instead of looking. “Some people have voices that stick. Doesn’t mean anything.”
Slater finally speaks. “Stick how?”
There it is. Quiet. Curious. Dangerous.
My mouth opens before my brain approves. “Like you hear it once and it lives rent-free in your head.” I wince internally, then barrel forward. “Certain lines, especially.”
Dylan laughs. “Oh, this just got interesting.”
Jasper tilts his head. “Go on.”
I should stop. I absolutely should. Instead, I meet Slater’s eyes and quote, softly but clearly, “ ‘Slow down. Let me feel you breathe first.’ ”