Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
AUGUST
I ris recommended a French restaurant. Address is on the Upper East Side and her friends have been raving about this place. Supposedly even our parents went there and loved it. Considering I don’t necessarily crave French food and was reluctant to make the reservation, Iris sent me a bunch of photos of the place and I liked the vibe.
The bar was massive, with floor-to-ceiling backlit shelves that were crowded with an endless array of liquor bottles. I knew if all else failed, I could get fucking drunk and that would make the evening easier to deal with. Not that I was filled with doubt. From the moment I set eyes on Sinclair in the dress that’s see-through yet somehow not, I can’t stop looking at her. My fingers tingle with the need to touch her and I’ve been sporting a semi since we climbed into the helicopter together.
Needless to say, I won’t need liquor to get through the night. If anything, I should refrain. What if I get too buzzed and try to touch her inappropriately in public? She’d probably slap me and I’d probably deserve it.
“It’s beautiful in here,” Sin whispers to me once we’re seated at our table. She’s looking around the restaurant with wide, all- seeing eyes, the glow from the lit candle sitting in the middle of our table lighting up her face, making her somehow even prettier than she already is.
It pains me to watch her for too long. I start thinking—romantic thoughts. How I want to whisk her away and lock her up in a massive house for the rest of our lives so no one else can see just how achingly beautiful she is.
I push the unhinged thought out of my brain because it’s pointless. I can’t lock her away and keep her to myself. No matter how much I want to.
“My sister recommended it,” I tell her, deciding to be truthful. I’m tired of lying to her. She always finds out anyway and luckily, she hasn’t told me to go to hell yet so I must be doing something right.
“Iris?” When I nod, she smiles. “I remember her. She was always so much fun.”
“That’s one way to describe her,” I say wryly.
“How is she? Is she still with Brooks?”
“Yes. They have a child.”
“Oh my God, really?” Her enthusiasm at the mention of the beast is shocking. “How old? Girl or boy?”
“Girl. And I don’t know how old she is. She can’t walk yet.”
“Aww! Oh, I’m sure she’s adorable. What’s her name?”
“Astrid. It’s a family name. Some great aunt from long ago,” I explain.
“I love it,” Sinclair breathes and I believe her. She sounds sincere and I’m slightly baffled. Why would she care? Though I suppose people are different than me and care about things that I think are trivial. Not that my sister or my niece don’t matter to me, they do, but why would they matter to Sin?
We make small talk while the server pours us each a glass of water, the two of us going quiet when she recites the nightly specials. Once I order a bourbon and Sin says she’ll stick with water, the server leaves us alone. To make idle conversation while surrounded by many others doing the same thing.
This is why I was never interested in going on a date with someone. Making mundane conversation and pretending to be interested in what the other person is saying sounds dreadful. I take a drink of my water, keeping my gaze fixed on Sin. She smooths the front of her dress down again before pushing the hair off her shoulder, exposing the elegant length of her neck. My body responds as per usual and I know the physical chemistry between us hasn’t waned whatsoever. As a matter of fact, it feels even more intense than the last time I saw her. Is that because it’s been far too long since I’ve had my hands on her body?
“I didn’t realize you were such close friends with Cyrus Thornhill. His family owns the university, right?” Sin’s voice breaks through my thoughts, bringing me back to the present.
“He’s my best friend, and yes. His great-great-great grandfather founded it.” My gaze narrows as I contemplate her. “How do you know we’re friends?”
“Oh. Tim told me.” She waves a dismissive hand, her cheeks turning pink while my vision turns red.
Fucking Tim. Such an idiot. Why is she still talking to him again?
“Are you and Tim—close?” I say the last word with utter disgust. If she says yes, I might flip the table and storm out of here.
But only if I can take her with me and fuck her in the back seat of the car.
“Oh no.” She laughs, the sound uncomfortable. “I mean, he wishes we were. And he’s nice but…”
She goes silent and I clutch my fisted hands in my lap, desperate to bang them on the table like a heathen. “But what?” I finally ask.
“I’m not interested in him like that. He’s just a friend.” She shrugs one shoulder, the light catching on the sequins that cover her dress, making it sparkle.
One would think a dress covered in sequins would be flashy and obvious but not these sequins, and not this dress. Prada designs are subtle. Understated. I appreciate the elegant cut, and the hint of sexiness with the semi-sheer fabric. My gaze drops to the front of her dress and I wish I could see her nipples through it. I swear I almost can, but not quite.
I will have those nipples in my mouth at some point this evening. I lick my lips in anticipation.
“What are you thinking about?” Sin asks me and I freeze, feeling caught.
Clearing my throat, I adjust the front of my pants, thankful for the table hiding my erection. “You don’t want to know.”
“I definitely want to know.” She’s smiling, her eyes sparkling like they did the night I asked her on this godforsaken date. Do we really have to go through with this ritual when all we want to do is fuck each other’s brains out? Seems like such a waste of time.
“I was thinking about how I can almost make out your nipples beneath the dress.” I grab my glass of water, bringing it close to my lips. “And how I want to have those nipples in my mouth later.”
Her face turns about thirty shades of pink at my words and she dips her head, her eyelids lowering. Ah, so modest when I know she’s a filthy girl who gets dripping wet every time I play with her ass.
“I don’t know if that’s proper after-dinner behavior during our first official date,” she murmurs.
Is she fucking for real right now? “Are you saying you’ve turned into a chaste little angel who refuses to play in the back seat of the car on the way home?”
Her lids lift, her gaze locking with mine. “We’re not taking the helicopter back? ”
I shake my head. I had specific plans for the long car ride home and now she’s making me reconsider everything. “Unfortunately, no.”
The server reappears with my drink, setting it in front of me. “Would you care to order any appetizers?”
I’m about to say no, but Sin responds first.
“I’d love to try the truffle frites.” She’s leaning across the table, speaking to me. Asking for permission I suppose, which—not gonna lie—I love.
“We’ll take the truffle frites,” I tell the server.
“And the fried artichokes,” Sin whispers.
“Those too.” The server smiles at me and I scowl at her back.
“I’ll get those orders in,” the server says before she scurries away.
“You were mean to her,” Sin accuses.
I lean against the red leather booth seat, wondering if Sin would notice if I slowly but surely start sliding closer to her. “How?”
“You scowled.”
“I scowl at everyone. Including you.”
“She probably thinks you’re mean.”
“I am mean.” Why bother hiding it? “She’s fine. I’ll never see her again after tonight.”
“You really just don’t give a damn, do you?” Sinclair sounds shocked. Amazed by my behavior.
“I don’t. Why should I? Who is she to me? No one important.” I shrug.
“But she’s a human being. She matters to someone. You should at the very least treat her with respect,” Sin points out.
I take a huge swallow of my bourbon, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. I might need to get drunk after all, if my date is going to come at me every chance she gets. “I’ll consider what you’re saying. ”
Sinclair beams. “Perfect.”
“Only if you’ll sit closer to me,” I tack on.
Her smile falls the slightest bit. “Why do you want me to sit closer to you?”
Why wouldn’t I, is the question. I want to feel her thigh pressed into mine. Smell her skin and her hair. Watch her breathe, for Christ’s sake. Is there any harm in that?
Most likely. I sound like a lunatic in my thoughts and I might, in fact, be crazy, but only because of her.
“It’ll be easier when we share the frites.” I smile at her, trying not to scowl or grimace or whatever other facial expression I do that makes me look, as she said, mean.
The table isn’t so large that I wouldn’t be able to share a dish with her but she scoots closer to me without protest, careful not to put any strain on the skirt of her dress. I’m glad I double-checked the dress code here with Iris because everyone else is dressed similarly and I wouldn’t want to make Sinclair uncomfortable or embarrassed.
I wipe my hand across my mouth, disgusted with my thoughts. Who am I again? Why do I care about her? As she loves to remind me, we don’t even know each other. Physically we’re compatible but whatever happens between us tonight feels like a test. One I will most likely fail.
Epically.