Chapter 14 #2
“In the back of my mind, I was worried this would be awkward,” I admit.
“Why?”
“Because this just kind of happened. It’s not like you asked me out after we met in a bar. You dared me to date you in a spur-of-the-moment segment on my podcast with thousands of people listening. It’s not like you could back out.”
“I can do anything that I want to,” he says. “But I want to be here, with you. How often does a guy like me get to date a girl like you?”
Who is he kidding? Guys like him—beautiful, delicious athletes with charm and money—date whoever they want.
They’re usually supermodels and Social influencers with perfect bodies and curated homes, though.
Not ordinary girls with cellulite, buttons strewn across her living room floor, and a Matilda that she doesn’t know what to do with.
“Men like you date women like me all the time,” I say, grinning.
“Impossible.” He leans forward, his eyes twinkling beneath the lights. “Because there aren’t too many girls out there like you.”
“Now you’re just telling me what you think I want to hear.”
He laughs. “Hardly. I think you want to hear something that you can use as a springboard to jump ship. Isn’t that your modus operandi?”
“It’s not like I set out to do that. I just refuse to stay in situations that waste my time. That’s smart. That’s resource management.”
He rolls his eyes. “Maybe, but the resource you’re managing isn’t your time. It’s your emotions. You pick guys who treat you like shit or have some other fatal flaw so that you have an out.”
“Not true. I just have a type that’s unfortunate for me. At least I’m smart enough to acknowledge that and not marry one of them and be miserable for the rest of my life.”
Jackie carries a tray to our table and places tiny plates between us.
The presentation is as incredible as the restaurant itself.
Each dish looks as though a chef crafted it especially for us.
Once we’re set with silverware, she tops off my sangria and sets Drake up with another beer, then Jackie leaves us to it.
My stomach rumbles from the delicious aroma of the food.
“This looks and smells divine,” I say, trying to decide which plate to tuck into first. “Look at the beets. That color is magical.”
“Try one of these.” He lifts a bacon-wrapped stuffed date with a little toothpick. “This is my favorite thing on the menu.”
I start to reach for it but quickly assess that there’s no way for me to take it from him with my fingers. A grin twitches against my lips as I lean forward. “This isn’t what I thought you’d be putting in my mouth tonight.”
His eyes blaze—the usual oceanic blues shifting into a raging storm as he inserts the date between my lips.
“Oh,” I moan, my lashes fluttering closed. The savoriness of the bacon mixed with the bite of blue cheese harmonized with the buttery mouthfeel of the date. “I could eat these for the rest of my life.”
“They’re good, huh?”
I sigh, licking my lips and opening my eyes. “You should never use good to describe what I just tasted. It’s incredible.”
We make our way through our dishes, sharing with each other and trading notes. Drake prefers things with a richness, while I gravitate to the spicier options. It’s fun noting where our tastes crossover. When Jackie returns, we’re quick to order another round of things to try.
The restaurant quiets, nearly half of it empty, and the sky through the windows is dark. A slow, sweet buzz hums through me with every sip of my sangria, and Drake’s easy, just-right smile from across the table heats my core.
So far, tonight has been fabulous. Drake has surprised me in so many ways.
He’s an interesting person and much deeper and more thoughtful than I expected.
Surprisingly humble for being such a “thing” in the sports world.
As I look back on the past few hours, it stands out to me how he asks questions and seems to not just know the answer but to know the why behind them.
No one ever does that. And on the rare occasion someone does, it isn’t sincere.
But Drake? His intentions truly feel genuine.
I can’t think of a dinner date that I’ve enjoyed more. Not one comes to mind—not even close. That thought makes me smile.
“I’ve had a great time tonight,” I say, wrapping my hands around my glass. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I’m glad you are enjoying it as much as I hoped that you would.”
“What made you think I’d like it?” I ask, curious what linked me with Hess in his mind.
He sighs, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I don’t know. You’re both beautiful, for one. That’s the most obvious thing.”
“You know,” I say, grinning, “you’re pretty quick to shower me with compliments for a guy who I’ve worked with for months.”
“I’ve thought about saying them for months. Now I can.”
“Oh, really?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. That can’t be a huge surprise, and it’s part of the fun of this whole thing.
I have a window to say everything I want before I have to go back to being your coworker.
I mean, you and I would never be together under normal circumstances.
I want to fall in love and have a family.
” He pulls his brows together. “I’m not sure what you want. ”
I understand what he’s saying, and he’s not wrong. If it weren’t for this dating dare, we wouldn’t be together. I’ve said it a hundred times. Still, hearing him say it so matter-of-factly has a little sting to it that I have a hard time shaking off.
“What do you want, Gianna?”
I roll my head in a slow circle, trying to work out some of the tension that has just settled in my shoulders. It’s a fair question, especially for a getting-to-know-you first date. It’s just a question that I don’t like to think about.
“Do you mean after we leave here or …” I joke, hoping he takes the bait. But, of course, he doesn’t.
“I was thinking more broadly.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “It’s not something I sit around and ponder.”
His brows pull together. “You don’t?”
“Should I? Are there pondering sessions that I didn’t know about? Do we bring our own drinks and sit around a campfire and plot the next ten years?”
He takes a long slug of his beer, watching me over the bottle.
I’ve clearly piqued his curiosity, and my follow-up question didn’t help.
People think about their future all the time.
It was Astrid’s favorite hobby until she met Gray, and I’d bet that Audrey thinks about it at least ten times a day—maybe more.
But when I think about the future and wonder what it will look like for me, I get an overwhelming urge to paint something.
Still, it is a fair question. I’m not obligated to answer it, but I should. I should at least try.
“No one has really asked me this before.” I sigh. “I mean, my friends do. But they’re both at places in their lives where they need to focus on themselves. They’re not too worried about me in the foreseeable future. They know I’ll be fine.”
“But is fine good enough?”
I shrug. “What do you mean?”
“Are you content with being fine? Don’t you want to be happy? Comfortable? Fulfilled?”
“Who said I’m not happy?” I ask.
Frustration dusts his forehead.
“Listen,” I say. “I’m happy right where I am. My goal in life was to buy my own home, and I recently did. I’m fulfilled. I’m comfortable. I have the best job ever, a new boyfriend, and Matilda.”
“Matilda?”
“It’s a long story,” I say as Jackie places another round of plates between us.
“What I’m trying to say is that I understand why people want a five-year plan, and for people like you and Astrid, it works.
For people like me, all I see are things written in permanent marker, and that feels so … permanent.”
He chuckles, but I can tell he doesn’t quite understand. “Thanks, Jackie.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll be back in a bit. Enjoy.”
“What are you trying first?” I ask, surveying the spread. “The stuffed piquillo peppers are so pretty.”
“The empanada is calling my name.”
I smirk. “Do you like things that call your name? I’m taking notes.”
“And I’m trying to show you a new way of dating.” He watches my lips wrap around the pepper. “You’re making it hard—literally and figuratively.”
I lick a bit of tomato sauce from my lips. He shakes his head as he looks away.
“Why do you care so much, anyway?” I ask.
He sets his empanada down and studies me as if maybe he’s not sure either. Finally, he sighs, seemingly content with his deduction.
“Maybe I just want you to see that not all men are … unsafe. Self-serving, maybe,” he says.
“Or it’s possible that I dislike you carrying an eject button in your back pocket like a lifeline, and I want you to see how it feels to be safe in a relationship.
Just in case you put together a five-year plan at some point and change your mind about things. ”
We exchange a look, then a smile, and then something else transmits between us—an energy that I can’t quite name.
Even if I could, I’m not sure that I want to. Because some things are better left unread.