Chapter 7 #2
“I come here for all my special occasions.” He wraps a hand around his water glass, letting that tidbit of information soak between us. “My mom’s best friend’s daughter is the head chef. I do my best to fill the tables and get my friends to write five-star reviews.”
I tip my head. “I’ll be sure to write one.” There’s a pause. Both of us are looking at the wine list, although I already know I’m going to let Noah decide.
“Smack women in the face with doors regularly?”
His eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly recovers when he sees the smirk splayed across my face.
“I don’t make a habit of it, no.”
“And that’s what you consider a special occasion?" I tease.
“My special occasions involve people I know—friends, family, but some include those I want to get to know better.” He looks at me as he says the words “get to know better” and every lady part I own starts to tingle.
Holding my breath, I lean my elbows on the table and rest my chin on top. I don’t trust myself to respond, so I change the subject. “So, how long have you been doing yoga?”
“Six months, maybe? I’ve been battling an injury, and yoga has been helping me get my strength back. Now that I have a yoga practice, though, I won’t be quitting.”
He turns my question back on me. “How long have you been doing yoga?”
“It’s been part of my routine for a couple years, but lately I’ve been using it to keep busy after a bad breakup. I miss it when I don’t go.”
“I’m sorry about your breakup. Were you together long?” He pauses. “You don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s okay. Like I said, it’s been about six months. We’d been together for years, but engaged for one.” I definitely didn’t want to have this conversation tonight, but I don’t see any reason to outright lie to a man who has been nothing but polite and kind to me.
“Why did you split up? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“We had irrevocable differences.” It’s not the whole story, but it’s the truth. Tonight we’re just getting to know each other; there’s no reason for me to bring out my crazy parade. I probably shouldn’t change the subject again, but I do.
“How did you get hurt?” I should also feel guilty about asking leading questions when I already know the answer, but I don’t. I want him to tell me in his own words.
“Playing football.”
“So, you know a lot about romancing women then?”
He chokes on his sip of water but recovers quickly. “I can see how you would think that, but I’m not a player—well, I’m a player in the literal sense, but not with women.”
I lean back, a small smile playing on my lips. “Noted.” That went better than I expected.
Something spurs him to continue. “Football has been my whole life. I walked onto my college team freshman year and battled my way into a starting position. After my college career was over, I went into the draft, and here I am. Tight end for the Houston Hurricanes. It’s been a roller coaster.
We’ve been in a rebuilding season. Every year we get better, but sometimes disappointment comes with the territory.
I was injured trying to catch a deep shot.
I broke my ankle and ended up with the whole nine.
Surgery, crutches, then walking boots, physical therapy. All of it.”
“Wow, I had no idea.”
“Not a football fan?”
“I just like for both teams to have fun.” I smirk. He guffaws.
“So, what are you into?” His eyes are alight, interested.
“In reference to what? TV? Hobbies? Kinks?” I mock him indignantly. “I’m not sure that’s dinner conversation.”
He shrugs but I catch a playful glimmer in his eye. “It can be, if you want.” I can feel the pink rising in my cheeks.
I didn’t expect to be so unwillingly charmed by this man. I clear my throat, trying desperately to dissipate the blush on my cheeks. “Yoga, obviously. For work, I’m a social media manager for influencers. Well, I own my own firm, so really, I’m accounting, marketing… A jack of all trades.”
“Would I know anyone you represent?”
“Probably not. Right now, I’m mostly in the beauty influencer space.”
“Have you seen the girl who went viral for painting her face like a different fish every week?”
I lean forward, shocked. “You know Tanya?”
He chuffs. “I think that hit everyone’s For You page.”
“She’s really nice. Values my opinion. Takes my advice.”
“She didn’t let the fame get to her head?”
“Not at all. She’s just the same at one-million followers as she was at one hundred.” I consider him. “Seems like you didn’t let fame go to your head either.”
“What do you mean?” He wipes a hand over his mouth, his eyes shifted down. We’re both leaning over the table as if drawn together.
“You’re a professional football player. I’ve seen Friday Night Lights. Aren’t you supposed to be all baby mama drama and testosterone?” I’m being serious, but a smile cracks across his face.
“That’s a TV drama about high school kids. I wouldn’t exactly call it a source of truth.”
“That’s all I know.” I shrug. “‘Texas forever’ and all that.”
We’re interrupted by the sommelier approaching the table with a bottle of wine. As he presents the wine to Noah, I relax back in my chair.
My head was full of folly, but reality is settling my imagination. After the sommelier pours my glass, I pick it up and tip it so it just barely touches my lips to taste. Noah watches me carefully, like he’s trying not to miss any details.
“Do you like the wine?”
“It’s great.” I’m not usually a wine drinker, but when presented to me, I try to be a good sport.
Noah tilts his head to the side. “When’s the last time someone took you out?”
Holy shit, can he read the nerves behind my eyes?
“It’s been a while. Not because there weren’t any opportunities, because there were.
” There’s fake sternness in my voice. “I’m my own boss so when I don’t work, I don’t make money.
” Sure, it’s been a while, but I’m not about to admit exactly why right here at this dinner table.
It’s the twenty-first century, we don’t need men to be sexually satisfied.
That’s why we invented vibrators. Something that I’ve become highly appreciative of in the last six months.
A banked fire roars behind his eyes. “So, I’ve already met your high standards?”
“I thought this was an apology, not a date.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
I lower my eyes to get away from the heat in his. I scan the menu one more time, confirming my already decided order. I’m going to get the steak, of course. I took a door to the face for this meal. He could have broken my nose! And he’s asking lots of questions; that costs extra.
Noah looks like he’s about to say something else, probably about why I didn’t answer his question, but I’m saved by the waiter. “Are you ready to order?” Matt asks.
Noah’s eyes are on me when he says, “I know what I want.”
Okay, maybe not saved.
It’s hard to take my attention off him. The hard plane of his jaw line and the darkness of his green eyes—the kind you can get lost in.
Realizing how far I was leaning toward him, I sit up straight.
The list. The list. The list.
I read off the menu to him. “I’ll have a side Caesar salad and the fourteen-ounce ribeye.”
“And how would you like that cooked?”
“Medium rare.” He nods, turning to Noah.
I can see Noah considering me. Everyone tries to tell you that a filet is the best cut of steak, but they’re wrong.
I’ve always found them dry and underwhelming.
A ribeye—with its melt in your mouth marbling—is the perfect steak.
I won’t be denied the enjoyment of a good piece of meat because I should be ordering a female-sized dinner. I got a salad too. It’s called balance.