Page 145 of Altius
“Nope. No starting flirty shit when I can’t get to you.”
“You won’t perish before Sunday night.”
“Maybe. But I’ve done my time.” Despite the certainty in his voice, it still hitched at the end. “No more waiting.”
“Agreed,” I said tenderly.
A splash of pink distracted me—soft and bright—glowing through a window decorated with frosted evergreen trees. It took a moment to register that the name on the window matched the restaurant where Alijah was waiting for me.
“I hate to do this,” I said to Wyatt as I stopped outside the front door, “but I need to let you go.”
“Yeah,” he teased. “Joaquin told me all about Alijah’s plans for your big date.”
“Wyatt.” My warning fell flat.
“Have fun.” Amorous laughter stroked my ear. “Be naughty—within reason. And tell Alijah I said hi.” With a noisy, wet smack against the receiver, Wyatt hung up.
What a delightful idiot.
Alijah should prove to be far more refined company. At least until I ruined the evening with a rejection. I’d been stringing him along for ages, hoping he’d realize that I wasn’t worth the hassle—or the literal headaches—and move on.
I couldn’t deny that his mere presence brought me comfort. That a simple smile was enough to brighten my mood. Or that I had regular flashbacks to my mouth and hands traveling over his trim body. The intensity of his kisses still made me shiver.
But I couldn’t trust myself not to hurt him. Alijah had already suffered enough.
Tonight, I had to make things clear. No more kicking the can down the road.
Mini pep talk complete, I reached for the door handle.
Before I could open it, my phone vibrated with another text from Wyatt.
Forgot to tell you—Owen talked to Alijah. That was the whole reason I called.
Thanks. I’ll text you later.
Night baby.
“Table for one?” the hostess asked as I entered the French restaurant.
“My party has already been seated,” I said, nodding toward a table by the window, where Alijah sat, trying to catch my attention with small, eager waves. His pink polo shirt wasn’t exactly easy to overlook. “Thank you.”
Our table had two place settings, but five beverages. Waters for both of us, a pair of dark red cocktails—no doubt virgin for me—and a mug of Earl Grey tea, according to the tag. Nice and bitter, just the way I liked it.
Even if I was still irked with a certain tea-scented alpha.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I ordered a bit of everything.” Alijah pointed to the menu as I sat down. “Today’s special is salmon and lentils. You like that sort of thing, don’t you?”
Why the abrupt and blatant pandering after avoiding me all day?
He gave me an entreating smile. “Do you want a cup of French onion soup?”
Another ill-advised attempt to grease my wheels.
Folding my arms on the table, I leaned closer and said, “All right, out with it.”
Alijah’s grip tightened on the menu, wrinkling the paper, unduly tense.
“I…want to apologize. Owen called and explained—well, not everything, but enough for me to get the gist. It sounds likeyou’ve been dealing with an absolute nightmare.” He ran a finger along the creased menu, failing to smooth the paper back out. “And thanks for sticking up for me. Joaquin filled me in. What made you think of answering Owen’s silence with silence?”
