Page 116 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
Wyatt wriggles his eyebrows. “What do you say, Joze? Wanna get spoiled?”
I hesitate to smile. “We aren’t just taking advantage?”
“C’mon,” Wyatt coaxes. “You just went through hell. Why not take advantage of the fame perks you’ll actually enjoy?”
I look over my shoulder at where the fans had flocked. I really don’t want to wait around for round two.
With a shrug, I reply, “Why not?”
Security takes us to the restaurant, and inside I’m immediately relaxed by the soft piano music, cozy lighting, and lack of wandering eyes ogling my boyfriend.
My boyfriend.
Still can’t get enough of that.
“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks the couple in front of us.
“No,” the man says. “We were hoping you’d have room to fit us in.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the hostess replies. “We are booked solid. I can offer you a seat at the bar.”
As the couple in front weighs up their option of a bar stool or leaving the premises, Wyatt gives me an uneasy look.
“Oops,” he mutters. “Looks like we walked into the wrong place.”
As the couple in front of us turn and leave, Wyatt gestures at the door, signaling for us to follow them out.
“Oh, Mr. Hayes,” the hostess says, stopping us in our tracks. “Welcome back.”
“Oh, umm, hi,” Wyatt says with a wave.
She beckons us over. “Would you like to dine with us today?”
“We were hoping to, but you’re booked...”
“Give me one moment,” the hostess cuts in. “I’ll have a server get your table ready.”
Wyatt and I share bewildered glances.
The hostess nods at Wyatt’s security. “I can give you gentlemen a space at the rear of the dining room.”
The security nods in approval.
The hostess has a server show us to a table for two, where securitycan keep tabs on us. After we’re seated and handed menus, we thank the server who gives us a few moments to look things over.
Wyatt lowers his menu. “I didn’t take any notice of prices in the clothing store, but have you seen the ones here?Cha-ching.”
“What are you worried about, Mr. Hollywood?”
“Hey, it’s just a bit different from getting burgers back home,” Wyatt jokes. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“I know. I’m trying to act like I belong.” I clear my throat and put on a phony posh accent. “Ah, yes. Forty dollars for a salad. That seems right.”
Wyatt snorts a laugh, composing himself as a server approaches our table.
“Hello, my name is Diana, and I’ll be your server today,” she says, hands clasped in front of the waist. “My management would like to welcome you back to our establishment by comping your bill today. Please, order to your heart’s content. It’s a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Hayes, and your companion as well.”
My chin drops as I look at Wyatt with wonder.
