Chapter 3 #2
I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to let him know I’m on the worst date in man history either.
But of course, the universe hates me.
“Got yourself a fancy date?” he asks, his eyes running down my body once more.
Unlike with Jeremy, I feel the chemistry humming between us as Peter looks into my eyes, not hiding his interest.
“Wouldn’t really call it fancy,” I mumble.
“Molly, are you coming?”
God. Could he have any worse timing?
Peter looks past me and starts snickering when he spots Jeremy at the table. “Really? Jeremy? Is he even capable of forming a full sentence?”
I’m a little surprised he knows the name and personality of his mechanic, especially someone like Jeremy, who I’m sure hides away most of the time, not one to grab the attention in a room.
At Peter’s smile, I can’t help my own breaking through.
“No, he’s not. So, I’m actually eager for this date to be over. You’ll have to excuse me while I go and end my misery,” I tell him before turning around and walking back to the table.
I don’t bother with the dessert.
Knowing Peter, and possibly someone else from the paddock, is here is bad enough. I don’t want any more witnesses to this.
I sit down in my chair, and Jeremy doesn’t even look up, too occupied with the dessert menu.
I clear my throat before I start speaking.
“I’m sorry, Jeremy. You’re a sweet guy, but I’m just not looking to date right now.”
There.
That wasn’t too bad.
He finally looks up from the menu, and even though I feel bad, I don’t want to string him along either when I know I don’t feel anything for the guy.
“Oh, okay. Would you mind taking care of your part of the bill?”
I nearly laugh out loud.
Because is he for real?
That’s what he has to say?
“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
He abruptly stands from the table, saying he needs to go to the restroom, but when he grabs his jacket and heads in the opposite direction of the restrooms, I can’t believe my eyes.
Now, he’s the one sneaking out on me.
What the hell just happened?
Here I was, scared to hurt his feelings, but the moment I ended it, he scurried out the door like his pants were on fire.
Oh well.
I’d rather have this than a clingy man who insists on giving us another chance.
I’m still processing the whole thing when Peter drops into the seat Jeremy occupied just a few minutes ago.
“Got rid of him, I see.” He picks up the menu that Jeremy left behind.
“Yeah, he couldn’t get out of here fast enough,” I mutter, still a little dazed from the way he ran out of this place.
“No wonder. He could never handle a woman like you.” He says it so effortlessly, still looking into the menu whilst my head spins.
“What do you mean by that?”
His eyes catch my own, a challenge ready to be thrown my way.
“I get the impression that you like a man who challenges you. Meets you at your level. He’d never stand a chance.”
I gulp, feeling more exposed and stripped bare than I have in a while.
How come Peter can see this without spending much time with me, but Jeremy was clueless?
I realise that Peter may be better at reading people than I’ve given him credit for.
When I don’t comment, he lifts an eyebrow.
“Well, am I right?”
The hair on the back of my neck rise as he looks at me, the intensity of his gaze unwavering. Unlike Jeremy, Peter is the kind of man who makes a woman feel desired when he turns those watchful eyes on me.
“You’re right that he’s not the man for me,” I say, not giving him too much of an answer, a little intimidated by the way he’s making me feel.
He stops a waiter before he orders a crème br?lée, then his gaze is right back on me.
“Don’t you have a date to get back to?” I ask, my own curiosity spiked as to why he’s even here, dressed up and looking ravishing.
Surely, he must have an awaiting lady, or two, at one of these tables.
“Business meeting with the suits. They probably won’t notice I’m gone,” he says it casually, but I notice the way he swallows, a solemn expression crossing his face before he recovers.
“The suits?”
“Yeah, that’s my nickname for all the agents, PR people, and managers who like to tell me what to do.”
Seems fitting if you ask me.
Formula 1 and other sports are swamped with people who like to feel important, and they wield their power by lecturing those beneath them.
I’ve never understood how Dad wanted to operate in a world like that, but I’m grateful he’s never lost his integrity and warmth, even when doing business.
I’ve met enough of his associates over the years to know that many people lose themselves in a world like that.
“Something tells me that you don’t listen to them,” I say, a smirk breaking through as he smiles.
God, he really has a beautiful smile.
“Enjoy reading the gossip columns, sweetheart?”
You don’t need to be reading the gossip sites to know of Peter’s reputation.
And he’s forgetting I’ve experienced it firsthand.
“No, but I did turn up for what I thought was a date to you having two ladies on your arm already,” I say, eager to hear if he has anything to say for himself.
Maybe he didn’t consider it a date.
“You don’t like sharing?”
I’ve never gone down that route when it comes to sex, and I don’t think I ever will.
“I prefer the man to have all his attention on me.”
I really shouldn’t be doing this.
Flirting back.
But it feels good to have a man who’s capable of meeting my wit.
“I bet,” he says, his eyes dropping down to my lips, probably imagining all the ways he’d give me his full attention in the bedroom.
His blatant interest is both arousing and intimidating. He doesn’t shy away from our attraction, and it feels good to indulge in the chemistry between us.
Fuck.
What are you doing, Molly?
This is Peter Centimo.
Probably the last man on earth I should be doing this with.
Thankfully, our moment is broken by the waiter, who sets the dessert down in front of Peter.
He picks up the spoon, scooping up some of the dessert before he holds it out in front of him. “Thought you would appreciate Crème br?lée, considering your coffee order.”
Christ.
The attraction to this man won’t simmer down if he keeps up with this.
Noticing the small details.
My love for vanilla doesn’t just affect my coffee order. I love a good crème br?lée.
But being fed the dessert by Peter Centimo?
Not what I envisioned for my evening when I agreed to the date with Jeremy.
It has taken a turn for the better.
I find myself enjoying Peter’s company a lot.
I open my mouth before closing my lips around the spoon as Peter holds my stare the whole time.
I’ve never understood how eating could ever be considered sexy, but when he dips right back into the pot and puts his lips to the same spoon, never breaking eye contact, I’m feeling heated.
It’s like a twisted form of a kiss.
A twisted, but sexy, kind of kiss.
We go back and forth until the pot is completely empty.