Page 23 of Rejected Nanny Mate
“Sure,” he agreed. “Completely. One hundred percent. I've already got a place picked out. I hope you like burgers.”
Chapter 9 - Joe
Gwendolyn did indeed like burgers. She also liked frozen strawberry margaritas, which she'd apparently never had before, and the alcohol made her cheeks flush the most alluring shade of red.
She'd been obviously unsure about the whole dinner thing, but her agreeing to join me had been a victory in and of itself. I knew I'd fucked up back at the cafe, but I hadn't known exactly how until she explained it to me—Gwen hated seeing me flirting with her friends. Or maybe flirting with anyone, for that matter. It gave me a surge of satisfaction to hear that, but I tried my best not to show it.
I had a number of reasons for wanting to invite her to dinner. First, the animosity and tension between us had lessened since our talk on the deck the other night, but it hadn't dissipated completely, and it was frustrating the hell out of me. I wanted her back to the way she'd been before our fight downtown. Easygoing, sweet, and open. I hoped to be able to coax that side out of her again.
I was also hoping to get to the bottom of why she'd been so antagonistic back at the coffee shop, but she'd offered that information up to me all on her own.
The third reason was a selfish one. I liked being around her, spending time with her. All the time we spent together was with Rose, and I wanted to see who Gwen was when it was just the two of us. We'd been friends once, almost lovers, and then basically strangers. I'd at least like to get back to being friends again, but I'd accept non-awkward acquaintances if that was all she'd give me.
I'd gotten lucky. Gwen had immediately been more relaxed than before, reading every single item on the menu and agonizing over her decision. It was almost enough to make me laugh—we were at a bar, not a Michelin Star restaurant, but then the humor had bled out of me as fast as it had arrived.
Gwen was so excited and so thorough about her choices because she'd rarely been taken out before, if ever. I remembered sharing meals with her before our falling out, but it had never been like this, sitting across from each other and chatting like it was a genuine date. I'd assured her we were just going out as friends, but it sure didn't feel friendly. It felt...affectionate. Fun.
She deserved to have been taken out before. Every weekend, even. How had this sweet, generous Omega gone so long without being chosen as someone's mate?
Not that I was complaining. Thinking about her as someone else's mate made me want to snap the wooden table between us in two.
“Pick your top two options,” I told her, watching her chew her thumbnail as she read the menu for the third time. “I'll order one, you order the other, and we'll split them.”
“That's so smart!” she'd exclaimed, then looked a little more unsure. “Can we get some appetizers, too?”
Dammit. I'd order her the entire menu just to see her smile like that again. “Anything, Gwen.”
“And a drink? Like...an alcoholic one? I've only ever had wine and beer, and I'm not fond of them, but this margarita looks really good.”
“Yes, Gwen. Anything.”
She smiled, and my heart lurched in my chest. I'd forgotten how much she lit up the room, or maybe I'd never realized it, since she was so reserved.
“I'm going to order one, then.”
“Good girl,” I said, and her cheeks pinkened.
“Shut up, Joe,” she huffed, “This is supposed to be professional.”
“Right, right.”
I couldn't help teasing her. She was adorable when she was annoyed, her brows furrowing and her lips pursing. I wondered what it would take to make those lips part in a moan of pleasure. I shifted, uncomfortable. Those were dangerous thoughts, ones I'd fought to control, and it wasn't like me to not have full control over my mind and body.
Gwen ordered mozzarella sticks, fried pickles, and two different burgers. I didn't complain. After all, this was the first time I'd gotten her out of the house since she started working for me, and she'd agreed to go. She deserved anything she wanted.
Our server brought our drinks, and Gwen sipped hers gingerly, her pink lips turning up at the corners from the sweetness and tartness. I watched her closely, my fingers tightening on my beer glass, and I had to look away before I got carried away.
“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “How's work?”
We talked like that for the rest of the meal, pausing to eat and split the meals so Gwen could try a little bit of everything. Bit by bit, she relaxed, and the animosity that had lingered between us faded away. Gwen was on her second strawberry margarita when her friendliness kicked up a few notches,and I suddenly knew that I should have watched her alcohol consumption a little closer.
“You said you've drank before, right?”
“I had a beer when I turned twenty-one,” she confirmed, her words slower than usual. “And I’ve had wine before with the girls, but I never finish my glass.”
“A single beer?” Uh oh. I might have a situation on my hands.
She nodded. “Yeah, and I didn't like it. I like these margaritas a lot more.”
