Page 14 of His To Erase
I arch a brow. "Because men like you don’t ask for things. They take."
His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes. "And yet, here you are. Voluntarily."
I scoff, reaching for the menu. "We’ll see how voluntary it feels by the end of the night."
He laughs, and I hate that the first thing I notice is how good he is at this. Not just the date—though, yeah, he’s excellent at that—but the way he reads people, adjusts, and plays the role perfectly.
“Tell me something true about you,” he says at one point, watching me over the rim of his glass.
I smirk. “I think most rich people are deeply miserable.”
He grins, unfazed. “That’s a cop-out. Tell me something real.”
I tilt my head, pretending to think about it. “Alright. I like thunderstorms. The louder, the better.”
He nods, like I just revealed a profound secret about my soul. “Good answer.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes so hard they detach. What is this, a game show? Cool, Frank. Would you have sent me home if I’d said sunshine and puppies?
“Your turn,” I say instead, leaning back and pretending I’m not already questioning all my life choices that led me to this table. Again.
He leans back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
Something about the way he says it makes my skin prickle and not in a good way, but also, not in a bad way.
I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the silence sit between us for a beat too long. “That supposed to impress me?”
His mouth curves just enough to count as a smirk. “Just letting you know what kind of man I am.”
Oh, good. A warning. Like I haven’t heard that one before. He’s charming, witty, and smooth in ways that should set off every internal alarm I’ve got hardwired into my spine. But somehow… it doesn’t.
Dinner lasts longer than I expect, but I laugh more than I should. So I guess that’s a win. And somewhere between the second glass of wine and the third story about his supposedly tragic childhood,which may or may not be real—I haven’t decided, I forget to keep my guard up.
When he walks me outside, the city buzzes softly around us like it’s in on something I’m not. I realize—I actually had a good time. And I hate that.
I should’ve hated every second of it, or found a reason to leave halfway through. Hell, I should’ve rolled my eyes and made some excuse about an early shift or a sick cat or literally anything else.
But instead, I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant I never would’ve chosen, staring at him in the soft glow of a streetlight, and I don’t feel like leaving. And he knows it.
He’s watching me with that smug, satisfied look like I’m the prize. Or maybe he’s hoping I’ve stopped resisting.
He steps closer, tilting his head slightly as he watches me. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
I raise a brow. “About what?”
His smirk is lazy, and smug. “You like me.”
I snort, shaking my head. “You’re tolerable at best.”
His eyes flick over me, slowly. “That’s a step up from last week.”
I roll my eyes, already reaching for my phone to see how close the Uber is. “You’re exhausting.”
He grins like that was exactly the answer he was expecting. “You may have agreed to one night, but I don’t think you realize how patient I am.”
He leans in closer, brushing a kiss against my cheek. “I’m just glad I found you when I did.”
The Uber pulls up and I take a step toward the door, barely resisting the urge to sprint, because as much as I like Frank, I’m not sure I want to kiss him. Behind me, he’s still standing there with that same self-satisfied smirk—the one that’s been tattooed onto his face since the moment he decided I was worth chasing. Or collecting. I still haven’t decided which.
