Zelda
When Sawyer comes back to the table, it’s written clearly all over his face that something is wrong. The muscles of his jaw are working, and there’s an angry fire in his eyes that makes my breath catch in my throat.
He slides into his chair, but his body is tensed up, waiting, ready. The smile has vanished from his face. “Listen,” he starts, and then he looks to the side, probably scanning to see if the waiter is coming back. “Something has come up with my job, and I need to take care of it.”
My heart sinks. This date is barely getting started.
They haven’t even brought the food yet. And it’s selfish, it’s selfish as hell, but I don’t want him to go.
Plus, we drove here together. The thought of getting dropped off two hours early, minimum, from my date, makes my chest heavy with disappointment.
Or is he going to call me a cab? It’s going to be expensive, coming from Greenville, and probably end up being a pain in the ass.
He could also go, and I could arrange my own ride.
There’s no way in hell I’d call my parents to pick me up, so it’s going to have to be Carly.
I have my phone in my hand almost before I realize I’m reaching for it, and on the screen is a text from my mother.
She’s “checking in.” A weird adrenaline rush surges through me at the sight of her words. No. No.
“Where do you have to go?”
Sawyer looks at me, his eyes narrowed. “I have to take care of something at…an address about fifteen minutes from here, if the traffic is light.”
“Great.” I stand up, grabbing my purse from where I tucked it in the corner of the table. I spot our waiter across the room. When he sees me stand up, he starts hurrying over.
“What are you—?”
The waiter arrives at the table, looking anxiously from me to Sawyer. “We’re going to need the bill. And could you have the kitchen box up our dinners? Something came up, and we have to leave.”
“Absolutely,” he says, already backing away. “Absolutely.” I’ll make sure we leave a decent tip.
As he heads off swiftly toward the kitchen, Sawyer stands up and pushes in his chair. Then, in a faux courtly gesture, he offers me his arm. “I’m glad as hell that you understand.”
“Of course I understand. Things can come up.”
We walk out to the lobby and get my coat from the recessed rack by the door. It’s a warm May night, so it’s not like I need a light jacket, but slipping it on makes me feel more prepared for what I’m going to do next.
We hover near the hostess station for another few minutes before the waiter rushes out again, our bill in one hand, a paper bag in the other.
It’s a classy paper bag with thick twine handles, and the paper is white and sturdy, smooth to the touch.
Even through the plastic containers inside, I can smell the food, and my stomach growls.
I was minutes away from a petit filet with signature mashed potatoes.
Sawyer waits while the waiter goes to run his credit card.
He doesn’t sway back and forth or fidget, but his back is ramrod straight, and he’s searing with a kind of energy I’ve never seen from him before now.
It’s like he’s ready to react to anything that might happen, like he’s considered every possible outcome of the situation, even though we’re standing in the lobby of a nice restaurant.
When the waiter returns, Sawyer signs the slip with a scrawl and then slips his card back into his wallet.
“Are you ready to go?”
I give him a big smile, lifting the bag with my fingertips. “All set.”
He puts his hand on the small of my back as we’re walking toward the door, and even his touch is radiating a purposeful tension. He never pushes too hard, but he’s firm, in control.
I’m turned on again, all the disappointment from our interrupted evening gone, and in its place is a bright confidence. I’m humming with it, buzzing, and between my legs there’s a torturous ache demanding release.
That will have to wait.
When we get to Sawyer’s car, he opens my door for me. “I’ll drop you off at your house, and then—”
I have one foot in the car. “No.” It comes out in a more forceful tone than I was planning, and Sawyer does a double-take.
His eyes locked on mine, he takes a deep breath. “What do you mean?”
“Is my house on the way to where you have to go?”
“No. It’s in the opposite direction. But that’s not—”
“Then take me with you. If it’s fifteen minutes, you can do whatever you have to do, and then we can find somewhere to eat this. It smells really good.” I hold the bag up closer to his face, but he doesn’t move toward it, not even a flinch.
“You can’t come with me.”
“It doesn’t make sense to drive all the way back to Greenville. It’ll be another hour before you can get whatever it is you need to do out of the way.”
Sawyer presses his lips into a thin line, his eyes boring into mine.
A muscle in his jaw twitches, but the longer the silence goes, the better chance I have of him caving in.
Whatever he has to do, it’s putting the pressure on.
It’s ridiculous to waste time dropping me off like I’m some high school kid.
“I’ll wait in the car,” I say in my most reasonable tone. “I won’t bother you at all.” Then I give him a big smile, letting the conversation from earlier paint itself all over my face, dance from my eyes. “Then we can get back to our date.”
There’s another long silence, and then something in his face shifts. He must have done the math and realized that going out of the way to take me home is a waste of time, or else he wants to get back to our date as much as I do.
“Damn it.” It’s almost a growl, a frustrated growl, and my entire body is frozen in suspense, waiting to see what he’s going to say next.
Is he going to take me with him? I don’t think I’ve ever been this gutsy in my life.
“Fine.” The word falls onto my ears and sends another spike of adrenaline shooting through my veins. “Get in. But Zelda?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re taking a big risk.”