Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
the double date
CHEYENNE
“We’ll start with the calamari and bruschetta,” Iver tells the waiter, snapping his menu closed.
The older gentleman nods, jotting the order down on his notepad and murmuring, “Good choices.” Then he turns to me, his brows lifting in surprise when he sees the empty wine glass sitting in front of my place setting.
He only delivered the drinks a few minutes ago, but I wasted no time in draining mine.
“Another Pinot?” he asks in an even tone, though I don’t miss the poorly concealed judgment in his gaze as his eyes flicker between me and my empty glass.
“Um, yes, please,” I reply quietly, fingering the stem of my glass and avoiding his eye contact. I mean, who the hell is this guy to judge me? He doesn’t know my life.
Iver picks up his own wine glass, bringing it to his lips and draining it in solidarity. Then he turns to the waiter with a ridiculously fake smile as he sets it down. “Another for me as well,” he says brightly. “Actually, we’ll just take a bottle.”
The waiter jerks a nod and hurries away, clearly not missing the silent warning lurking in Iver’s gaze or the protective alpha energy rolling off him in waves.
I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me, but I’m not exactly complaining about it, either. It’s nice to have someone in my corner. Though Javi’s always been there for me, having an actual mate hits different.
Truthfully, I was more than a little freaked out when the full moon confirmed me and Iver as fated mates.
Since I was already marked, I didn’t think fate would give me a mate, and I’d come to terms with that.
I’d let go of all the ridiculous childhood fantasies I had of finding my forever person and falling madly in love, but then Iver swept in and reminded me why I used to dream of those things– because our connection is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, and every minute I spend with him heals another piece of my battered soul.
Whether he knows it or not, ever since the night of the full moon, he’s been slowly putting my broken pieces back together.
We’ve admittedly had our share of hurdles to face over the past couple weeks.
Other than Javi, I never let men get too close to me, so I never fully realized what a visceral reaction I’d have to attempts at physical intimacy.
The first time Iver hugged me, I damn near had a panic attack. It wasn’t cute.
He didn’t go running in the other direction, though.
He stayed and helped me breathe through it, and he’s been nothing but patient with me ever since, slowly working to pull down the emotional barriers in my mind while finding his way in.
The man has the patience of a saint, never pushing me to do anything I’m not comfortable with and allowing me to slowly open up to and accept him at my own pace.
As if he can sense he’s on my mind, Iver slides a hand onto the table between us, offering it to me with his palm up.
This is the way he always initiates contact now- by offering it, but never forcing it upon me.
And I appreciate the hell out of him for knowing what I need without my having to voice it.
I place my hand in his without hesitation, and he curls his fingers around the back of my palm, giving it a little squeeze of reassurance and meeting my eyes.
“You know what you’re gonna order?” he asks, gesturing to the menu in front of me with a dip of his chin as he strokes his thumb over the back of my hand.
“Javi keeps talking up the lasagna,” I say, darting a glance to my best friend seated across the table.
“Trust me, you won’t regret it,” Javi replies, his own mate nodding enthusiastically in agreement.
Javi and Lo have been all about going on double dates since me and Iver found out we were mates.
They think they’re playing cupid, facilitating our connection by doing ‘normal’ couple things like dinner dates, but little do they know that Iver has already won me over in so many ways.
We overcame our biggest hurdle a few days ago by actually sleeping together, and now that I know sex doesn’t have to be painful and traumatic, I can’t get enough.
Hell, even the way that Iver’s rubbing my hand right now has tingles of heat sparking in my core.
It's amazing what trust can do to heal trauma.
“The Ossobuco is great too, or the wedge salad if you want something lighter,” Lo offers, taking a dainty sip from her wine glass.
“Jeez, how many times have you been here?” Iver teases, shifting his gaze to Javi. “Are you just wining and dining her nightly? If so, I definitely need to step my game up.”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head. Iver’s game needs no work. The occasional dinner date is nice, but I much prefer hanging out in sweatpants at his packhouse where we can just be ourselves. Other than my truckloads of emotional baggage, I’m a pretty low-maintenance girl.
Lo shrugs a shoulder. “Not many, but we get a lot of takeout.”
“Because your sister doesn’t trust my cooking,” Javi adds cheekily, sliding Lo a wink.
“I never said I didn’t trust it!” she laughs, “I’d just rather not burn our cabin down, thank you very much.”
“It wasn’t even a real fire,” Javi scoffs.
She narrows her eyes on him. “If there’s flames, it’s a real fire.”
“That oven hadn’t been used in years!” he reasons. “That was an equipment malfunction, not operator error.”
“Uh huh,” she muses, smirking.
I relax back in my seat, my lips curling into a smile as I watch my best friend and his mate tease one another.
I couldn’t have hand-picked a better partner for Javi if I’d tried– Lo is the yin to his yang; the two of them just fit.
I used to wonder if I’d be jealous when my best friend found his mate and I had to share his attention, but seeing how happy he is brings me nothing but joy. He deserves it.
Lo has quickly become a good friend of mine, too, which is just an added bonus. Especially since we’re technically family now.
The waiter reappears with glasses of wine for me and Iver, taking the empty ones away and leaving the rest of the bottle. He also takes our dinner orders, and I make a snap decision to go with Lo’s recommendation of Ossobuco.
“You doin’ okay?” Iver asks me in a low voice, leaning in. I shiver as I feel his warm breath skate over my bare shoulder, turning to meet his bright blue eyes, his face just inches from mine.
“Mhmm,” I hum, trapping my lower lip between my teeth and shifting my weight on my seat.
Damn, his attentiveness is doing wonders for my social anxiety right now.
I hate crowded places, and every table at Dolce is full tonight– but between Iver’s close proximity and the way his deliciously masculine scent is overwhelming my senses, I can focus on little else.
His heated gaze drops to tour my body, like he knows the effect he’s having on me, and from the look in his eyes alone I’m a freaking goner, squeezing my thighs together to alleviate the throb pulsing between them.
“I, uh, I’m gonna go use the restroom,” I say breathily, lifting my napkin from my lap and dropping it on the table.
Iver cocks his head in question, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
I give him a subtle nod.
Then I scooch my chair back, rising to my feet and stepping away from the table, my stiletto heels clipping against the shiny hardwood floor as I make my way to the restrooms in the back of the restaurant.
I rarely dress up– you can catch me jeans and sneakers any day of the week– but tonight, I decided to go for it, and I feel like a million bucks in my tight black dress and sky-high heels.
More than one set of eyes strays to follow my path to the ladies’ room, though I don’t feel itchy and uncomfortable like I typically do when attention is pointed my way.
Instead, I feel powerful, secure in my own skin and the knowledge that as long as Iver’s near, I’m safe.
Huh, I wonder when that happened. I’ve been afraid for so long that I hadn’t even noticed the shift within myself, though I know I still have a long way to go.
Iver has no idea what a profound effect he’s had on me in such a short time, but you’d better believe that I’m about to express my gratitude.
Pushing through the door to the ladies’ room, I quickly check that nobody else is inside, then hover near the entrance to wait for my man to sneak in. Sure enough, Iver ducks inside a few seconds later, licking his lips as he prowls toward me.
It’s not the first time he’s followed me into the restroom, but it is the first time that it’s not with the intention of helping me fight off a panic attack.
The look in his eyes is pure sex as I dodge his advance and shuffle over to the door, leaning my back against it to prevent anyone else from coming in and interrupting us.
“We have to be quick,” I breathe as he steps in close.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk and he leans forward– not to touch me, but to reach past my body and slide the lock into place. I shudder an exhale of anticipation as it turns over with an audible click, my blood turning molten in my veins.
“Tell me what you need, baby,” Iver drawls, lowering his hands between us. He turns up his palms, inviting me to direct his hands where I want them. I slide my own underneath them, guiding his hands to my hips.
Like I said, physical touch was a big hurdle for us, and this was Iver’s way of easing me into it at first. He offered me his hands, letting me bring them to my own body, keeping full control over how and where he touched me.
I don’t shy away from his touch anymore, but I love that he keeps approaching things this way, reminding me that he won’t push further without my consent.
Reminding me that he’ll never take my control away unless I willingly give it.