Page 35 of The Playboy's Playbook

Better to tell him the truth than lie. “I’m nervous.”

“Nervous about what?”

“This date. Us.”

“Don’t be. We’ve been on dates before,” he retorts.

“Yeah, but I feel like this is our first proper date. You know because we’re both dressed up and you planned it. It’s special,” I counter.

“Baby, it’ll be fine. But if it makes you feel better, I’m nervous, too.”

Unfortunately, it doesn’t make me feel better.

After driving for thirty minutes, we arrive at a fancy and expensive restaurant named Hugo’s. I turn to look at Matt and see that his nerves have only amplified since parking the truck.

“What made you pick Hugo’s?” I ask, looking at the cars in the parking lot. Matt’s blue truck sticks out like a sore thumb in the sea of luxury cars and SUVs.

“It had great reviews,” he says, his eyes scanning the scenery. He doesn’t dwell too long on our surroundings. “Alright, come on, baby. We got a reservation to make.”

Since I began working for Senator Mitchell, most of my nights include going to fancy restaurants often while she meets with colleagues and lobbyists begging for her support. I’m used to this setting, but Matt looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. I love that he’s trying and my heart skips a beat just thinking about him sitting on his phone looking up nice restaurants.

He steps out of the truck and walks around to help me out. Once I’m steady on the ground, he grabs my hand and we make our way toward the entrance. I’ve never seen Matt dressed up, except for junior prom – he skipped senior prom.

He’s in a black button down that hugs his toned body and black jeans. He’s not in his black Ariats or his steel-toed work boots –instead he’s wearing a pair of black Chelsea boots that look like they don’t get worn too much.

His blond hair isn’t a mess of curls like it normally is. He has it combed back, but a few fly aways are loose. I’m tempted to run my hands through his hair to return it to its disheveled look that I love so much.

I squeeze his hand to ease both of our nerves. “Have I ever told you how handsome you look?”

He turns his eyes to me and when he smiles my favorite smile that shows his dimples.

“Hello. Welcome to Hugo’s. Name, please?” the hostess asks.

“Uh, Foster,” Matt says, placing his hand on the small of my back. I reach behind and lace my fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently to reassure him. He squeezes my hand back and places a kiss on my temple.

“Right this way,” the hostess says before she escorts us to a booth in a dimly lit corner of the restaurant. She sets the menus down and steps back. “Your server will be right with you.”

Matt and I thank her before sitting down in the curved booth seat. We open the menu and look through it and I try to hide my smile at the facial expression on Matt’s face, the confusion written all over his face. I watch him skim over the menu, searching for anything that looks familiar.

“Good evening. I’m Marquis and I’ll be your server tonight. May I interest you in anything to drink from our bar menu?”

“Go ahead, baby,” Matt nods at me.

I look over the drink menu before answering. “Your house red, please.”

“Of course. For you, sir? We have excellent top shelf whiskeys and rums.”

I don’t miss the nervous shift Matt does in his seat. He shakes his head and avoids eye contact with me when he answers. “Just water with lemon for me, please.”

Marquis nods his head and is about to walk away when I stop him. “Actually, I’ll have the same.”

Marquis nods and walks away to retrieve the drinks. Matt furrows his brows at me and tilts his head to the left, the confused look amplified.

“Baby, why’d you change your drink?” he asks.

I shrug, not tearing my eyes off of the menu. “I wanted to.”

“Laila,” Matt says softly. I feel his blue eyes burning a hole into my skin.

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