Page 11 of Of Flesh & Bone

The hostess has led us to a booth.Adam extends his arm toward the seat, motioning for me to sit.I slide in andwhat the hell is he doing?He just slid in right beside me like we’re a couple of same-side booth sitters.There is absolutely nothing and no one in the booth on the opposite side of this table.This is definitely going to draw attention.Not only that, but his proximity is making me twitchy.I swear on all that is holy; if Ada walks in here and there’s a choreographed scene designed to fluster and shame me, I will show these assholes exactly who they are tangling with.It won’t be the first time that someone has mistaken my quiet solitude for weakness.

While I'm certainly not afraid to fight back, I do hope that this isn’t a sham.Not only do I not want the unnecessary attention, but I can already sense that it would hurt, at least a little if Adam had been playing me this whole time.

We're still settling into the booth when the hostess tells us the name of our server, Monica and says she will be right with us.“Enjoy your meal and thank you for coming to Red Ash.”Adam nods once, dismissing her.

He reaches into my lap and takes my hand again, this time placing it on his thick muscular thigh, then uses both of his hands to open his menu.This man continues to do the most surprising things while maintaining a look of avid indifference on his face.Removing my hand from his thigh, I begin perusing my own menu.Without looking away from his task, he grabs my hand again, linking his fingers through mine over the back of my hand as he places both of our hands back on his thigh.I again attempt to pull away but his vice-like grip keeps my hand in place.

The server appears at our table, Monica, I presume.She can’t see our linked hands on his thigh, but she can see us sitting on the same side of this booth like a couple of witless, lovesick puppies with no concept of spatial awareness yet, she still brightens like a child on Christmas morning when she catches sight of Adam.Placing a flirty hand on his shoulder, she leans in way too damn close.She speaks with a sugary sweet pitch "Oh my gosh!It's you.It must be my lucky day.My roommate is going to be so jealous."

I immediately want to wipe that smile from her too pretty face.Who does she think he is?Better yet, who the hell does she think I am?Didn't I already say today is not the day and I am never the one.

“Do you want his autograph?”

They're both looking at me now.She looks at me like she just now realized I'm here.He looks at me with barely disguised amusement.What does he think is so funny?

“You look a little starstruck.I’m hungry, so I just want to speed things along and get you his autograph so you can take our orders.”

Her mouth falls open.

“No ma’am.I was just trying to be friendly.It's not every day we get a celebrity in here.I can take your orders now.”

Adam clears his throat."Not a celebrity."His tone leaves no room for misunderstanding.He is done with that topic and everyone else should be too.He looks back to his menu and begins speaking to the server without actually looking at her.It takes a moment to realize he's speaking in Italian.He’s ordering.Then, he stops speaking, grabs both menus and hands them to the server, dismissing her in the same inattentive way that he did the hostess.It takes a breath of time to comprehend that he must have ordered for me too.That’s rather presumptuous of him.What makes him think that he can order for me?Or that he has any idea what I like?I'm by no stretch of the imagination a picky eater, but that isn’t the point.I straighten my spine and fortify my forces to prepare for this battle, but when my mouth opens, what comes out is, “You speak Italian?”

Slowly, he turns his head to face me.

“Impressed?”

I refuse to answer that question.Ever since the encounter in the library, our interactions have been a series of concessions on my part.All I've gotten from him is his name and not having to ride in his Batmobile.

“Are you Italian?”

He continues looking me in the eyes as though he's reading the book of my life and slowly unraveling all of my secrets.Have at it, you Italian-speaking, drink-stealing, man of intrigue and while you’re at it, tell me what you find out.This inquiring mind would love to know.He nods slowly in response to my question.

“What did you order for me?”

A better question would’ve been WHY did you order for me, but I’m already tired of fighting these losing battles.I would be worried about that, but how much longer could this really go on?We will have lunch, I’ll take him back to his car, and we will both go on living our separate existences.

“Agnolotti del Plin.You'll love it.It’s one of my favorites.”

“What did you get for yourself?”

“Osso Buco with Citrus Gremolata.You'll have to try it.You’ll like it as well.”

Every word from his mouth drips with sensualism.He is flattening me at every turn and still, I want to touch him.I want to place my fingers on his lips and see if they feel as soft as they look.I want to place my face so close to his that I'm breathing the air from his lungs.

Am I high?The air from his lungs?That actually sounds gross, but it feels like it would be soooooo hot.

Since when do I care what is so hot?Does this mean that I'm not actually asexual?Nathan said I’m not, but I was never really sure until now.Gauging from my reaction to this man, I'm not at all asexual.The things I want to do with him, to him, are not asexual.

Breaking me free from my revelry, he says, “You think a lot more than you speak.”

“Shouldn’t everyone think more than they speak?”

“Yes, but they rarely do so.Especially girls your age.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Leaning in closer and, keeping my hand firmly in place on his thigh, he uses his free hand to move a strand of hair from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear, causing goosebumps to spread down my neck and arm.Just at this slight touch, I feel electric pulses low in my belly and even lower between my legs.I want him to touch me more.

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