Page 20 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

Eventually, Cheryl is able to get in a few words and asks Marlow and me all the questions that we expected.

“Where did you two meet?”

“Work.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“Not long…just a few weeks.”

The entrees arrive in time to save us from elaborating too much. The waiter sets Marlow’s plate down first. It’s a beige lump of chicken breast with scalloped potatoes and roasted vegetables. Mine is a steak with mashed potatoes and the same vegetables. Marlow side-eyes me and then looks down at my plate.

Shit.

She’s a vegetarian.

When I RSVP’d to the wedding, I had to select dinner options for both of us, but I didn’t know who ‘us’ was yet. I picked chicken and beef. They seemed like the safest choices at the time. Lots of people don’t like fish, and I never would’ve guessed that I’d be bringing a vegetarian as my date.

“Do you want me to flag down a waiter and ask for something else?” I whisper to Marlow while everyone else starts digging into their dinner.

“No, it’s fine.”

“You don’t need to eat that, Marlow.”

“I’m not…you are,” she says as she plops the chicken on my plate when no one’s looking.

“What are you going to eat?” I ask.

“The potatoes and vegetables…and probably your potatoes, too,” she laughs.

“Fair enough.”

I’ll gladly sacrifice my potatoes to keep Marlow happy and to keep our table from becoming suspicious.

The lull in conversation while everyone takes their first bites provides ample opportunity for Nipple Cream Lady over there to start blabbering on about the unpleasantries of motherhood again. This time, she leads with a detailed tirade about cloth diapering. During dinner.

Marlow looks over at me, raising her eyebrows in a look that can only mean, ‘Is this woman fucking serious?’ It’s a quick glance that no one else can see, but it makes me laugh out loud.

My eyes linger on her mouth for a second too long. The delicate bow of her soft lips is suddenly front and center in my mind. She catches me staring but doesn’t turn away. Instead, she gives me a curious look and straightens up in her chair. This offers the distraction that I need, since it puts the swell of her cleavage on full display. Marlow’s look shifts from curious to knowing. It’s a smug little smile, like she just solved the world’s hardest puzzle. And I know that puzzle is me. She caught me in a moment of weakness where I have to admit that not every single part of me hates Marlow Stephens. In fact, there is one part of me (which is luckily hidden beneath the table right now) that responds rather positively to her sometimes.

Because I am at least a little bit of the asshole that she believes me to be, I take the opportunity to see if Marlow’s hate for me runs as deep as she’d like everyone else to believe.

Settling my gaze on her, I reach up and run my thumb over that pouty lower lip of hers, dragging it slowly across her mouth. Marlow squirms a little in her chair, but it’s not out of discomfort. Her breath stalls and her eyelashes flutter together.

A wave of something like pride rushes through me because in that moment, I know that there is some part of Marlow that responds positively to me as well. Even if she’ll never admit it out loud.

I drop my hand and smirk over at her, breaking the tension of the moment.

Realizing that I was only fucking with her, Marlow blots her mouth daintily with a cloth napkin and mouths the word ‘Asshole’ so quickly that no one but me would ever catch it.

Unfortunately, touching Marlow’s lips did very little to quell the growing situation under the table. Dealing with an erection during an already awkward dinner is a small price to pay for beating Marlow at her own little game though.

We both turn our attention back to our plates. I down Marlow’s chicken breast quickly. Marlow is taking the opposite approach – dragging out each dainty bite to make it seem like she’s eating more than she is. But I also see the way she’s side-eyeing my mashed potatoes.

“You want to try some of my potatoes, babe?”

“Sure,babe.”

It sounds more like a threat than an invitation, but she’s still smiling. She knows I’m still fucking with her. Might as well go for broke.

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