Page 12 of Love Starves

"I'm sure she's proud of how annoying that's turned out to be," I tease.

For a moment, I think there's a flash of pain in his expression before a slight breeze ruffles his brown locks and it's gone with the wind. Another bright smile lights up his face, and the corners of my lips curve up in response.

"Get in," I tell him. I'll have my chance to regret this decision later. For now, I'm enjoying the way his warmth radiates off his body and seemingly tries to attach itself to my skin. With how close he's sitting, I get a light whiff of his cologne as he reaches for his seatbelt. It's an expensive citrusy smell that makes my mouth water. Of the two of us, maybe I should be questioning him as to how he can afford what smells like Louis Vuitton when he gives off the struggling college kid vibe. Cutting off small talk, Ryan flicks me an eager smile before turning the knob on the radio and cranking up the music I'd been listening to when I got out of the car before class. His eyebrows dart up in surprise seconds before he starts mouthing the lyrics to a song Elliot wouldn't be caught dead listening to. My heart beats to a heavier thud in my chest as I realize I'm going to need this guy to start throwing some red flags so that I don't get caught up in the vibes he's throwing my way. Between my gut and head, neither have decided on him yet.

With the music still cranked high enough to drown out any conversation, he directs me to the restaurant by way of hand. By the fourth turn, I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of where we're headed, and color me fucking surprised. Parallel parking at the curb in front of what used to be one of my favorite hole-in-the-wall places, I shut the car off and whip my face toward him. "You've been here before?"

With a short chuckle, he says, "Yeah, I found it by accident one day when I got lost one of my first weeks here. Have you?"

Something within his tone sets my nerves on edge, almost like he knows the answer to that question already, but there's absolutely no way he could know.

Unless he’s a stalker, my brain supplies helpfully. Farrah and I didn't make it much of a secret that this was our favorite place to go, even if the rest of our snobby-ass friends turned their noses up without giving it a chance. For a second, I'm torn between kicking Ryan's ass to the curb and walking inside with him. I'll feel no guilt at all for him having to walk ten to fifteen miles back to campus. The only thing that saves him besides the delicious smells already floating through his half-opened door into the car is my gut feeling. Time and true, it's saved my ass more than once in my life. Through the annoying persistence, I don't get any other weird vibes from him. Quite the opposite actually, surprisingly enough. At least that's my excuse for answering him as I step out of the car.

"I used to come here a lot with my friend."

The words have opened a window that I have no doubt he'll be trying to creep through as soon as he possibly can. Rushing forward, he snags the door to hold it open for me to walk through first. I can't exactly say it's shocking. Twice now, he's been nothing but courteous. I've avoided this place since Farrah's death more than I've avoided our friends, and the wave of sadness that crashes over me at the familiarity as we walk in almost brings me to my knees.

After so long, even though the interior and scents haven't changed, I don't expect the people to be the same, and I'm not wrong. In the before, I'd have been ushered straight to a table without having to speak a word. Being here grates a tiny sliver of my heart away.

"Table for two?" the hostess asks, pulling out a couple menus.

Ryan does the talking for us both since my tongue seems to be superglued to the roof of my mouth. On autopilot, I follow along behind them to our table near a window overlooking the street. Thankfully, it's not the one Farrah and I always requested. I'm not exactly sure I'd be able to come back from that one. Pretending to read over the menu gives me a few minutes to pull myself out of my head. The last thing this guy needs is an episode of Dr. Geoff.

"I'm starved," he says, glancing down at his own laminated paper in front of him. "I swear, I could eat here every day and still need to look at this thing."

I don't know if he's trying to cover for the fact that there's no way he missed the sheen of tears that tempted to drip down my face as we sat down, knowing good and damn well that I was using the menu as a barrier. Or, that he's actually been here enough toknowthe menu does in fact change every week. It's a tossup at this point to try and guess what's inside his head.

When the waitress comes back for our order, we have a good laugh at how close we are to ordering the same exact thing. He doesn't need to know that I steered clear of anything familiar and tried for something new. Not like I'll actually be able to eat any of it anyway. Not here. Not with him watching me so close. We should've gone for a coffee outside somewhere there's loads of distractions. Regret burns a hole in my throat, choking me until he finally speaks.

"Okay, I've got to ask something that's been on my mind since class," he starts, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, "Howling With the Wolves? Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't exactly have you pegged as the type to read wolfie romance."

Relaxing back into the worn black-pleather booth, I cross my arms defensively. "You don't know me at all, sir. Wouldn't you say that it's mighty presumptuous of you to assume what I do and don't like to read?"

He holds his palms up in surrender. "I didn't mean to offend. I've read some romance books before. Yeah, I'm all about rolling on a dirty forest floor with a hairy creature who likes to howl at the moon."

The response is so ridiculously stupid that I laugh in spite myself and can't help but tease, "One of your previous lovers?"

A deep laugh booms from his chest and echoes around our little booth. "I can't exactly argue. I've had my fair share of howlers."

In a move so unlike myself, I actually blush at his innuendo. Since the time spent with Giovanni and his men, it's been a long time for someone being able to get the drop on me. Apparently, when you fuck almost as much as you breathe, it makes you less susceptible to sexual passes, but not today.

Letting me off the hook, he chuckles again. "Just kidding. Maybe." He pulls his drink to his lips, which instantly draws my gaze. The bottom one is plumper than the top, making them look absolutely delectable.

Bad Blythe. Down, Girl. Can't be thinking about lips I'd like to be kissing, or maybe even licking when it's never going to be acceptable for me to do so. To keep my head from straying too far into the gutter, I answer his question that caused us to get so far off topic in the first place. "I joined a book club. That's why I'm reading about fucking wolves right now."

Those lips pop open slightly with his surprise. "A book club, huh? Could I join? I'd read wolf smut if I had to. This city is boring for nerds like me, so I'd love to meet some people who share the same hobbies as I do."

"Color me purple if I hadn't already imagined you forcing yourself into more than one group already," I snark, immediately feeling a slight twinge of guilt at the drop of his happy smile. It causes me to do something I haven't done in longer than I remember. "Sorry," I tell him honestly. "I've got issues with my brain-to-mouth filter. My inner bitch tends to bleed out into the universe without warning."

"That's okay," he replies, letting his mouth pull back up into a softer smile. "I'm aware my aggressive tendencies aren't for everyone. I just figured since meeting you, we're kind of one in the same. I had to at least try again and look where it got me. On a date at a fancy restaurant with the prettiest woman I've ever laid eyes on."

The compliment does its job and as sick as it makes me sound, my conceited, little heart eats it up and finds him all the more charming. I'm not taking him to bed or trusting him with anything important, so what's the harm in enjoying his presence while we're together, right? Dropping my guard slightly, I tone down my autobitch. "You wouldn't want to be in this book club. It's seriously just a bunch of women harping on love stories. I thought it was going to be just a group of hags shit-talking men, so it turned out a little better than expected. Even if they chose that book just to fucking spite me."

He laughs, "Back up, so you went in ready to flay us out like hunks of meat?"

"No," I snort softly. "That's what my assumptions were of them. I went because I need more social interaction in my life, apparently."

Skipping over the most important of questions like who might've given me those instructions, he says, "This doesn't seem like it's mandatory for anything, so if you didn't want to be there you wouldn't be. It's evident in the way you smiled when mentioning them and the fact that you read wolf porn that you may actually like the club."

---