Page 18 of Phishing for Love
I smile. “I know.”
He lowers his head to kiss me, but I pull back slightly. “Uh-uh. You’ll kiss it all off. Let’s save it for later.”
“Later seems very far away,” he grumbles, nuzzling the pulse point on my neck where I sprayed the perfume he gave me for Christmas. “You know, we can always skip going out.”
Not a chance. I didn’t get all dressed up to spend the evening at home. I place a hand on his chest and push him lightly backward. “Good things come to those who wait, Nathan Holmes. We’re going out.”
His breathing quickens. “I like this dominant side to you.”
I have to admit I kind of like it myself.
“Shall we go?” he asks.
I nod and turn to lock the front door.
Ash is sitting in the entranceway, glowering at us. In truth, his glower is directed more at Nathan.
“Your cat is kind of freaky,” Nathan says, not for the first time. “He’s like the clown inIt.”
I give him a reproachful nudge. “Ash doesn’t go around killing children.”
“Just anyone who dares to date you.” In a falsetto voice, he calls out, “Bye, Ash.”
Ash delivers a parting hiss and walks away, tail up, presenting Nathan with a clear view of his butt. I’ll say one thing for my cat. He knows how to deliver a message.
The restaurant Nathan has chosen is gorgeous. Awestruck, I drink in the intimate tables, white tablecloths, flickering candles, and dressed-up waitstaff. The whole place exudes elegance.
We order wine and I scan the menu excitedly. I love eating out, the whole experience of sampling different dishes and experimenting with new flavors.
I’m still on the first page when Nathan closes his menu. “Steak frites,” he says.
I try not to sigh. “Are you seriously ordering steak and fries?”
“Steak frites,” he corrects me with a grin.
“Nathan, you can French it up, but it’s still steak and fries, which you have three times a week.”
“Yeah, because I like steak and fries.”
I’m sure his heart has a different opinion.
“Why not try something different?”
He frowns. “Why would I do that?”
Why, indeed. Buried in this exchange, I suspect, is a message for me, a glimpse into an unchanging steak and fries future, but it’s not a thread I want to pull right now. Not if it could unravel the foundation I’m trying to build my life upon.
With my excitement dimmed a little, I scan the rest of the menu and finally select mussels in a garlic white wine broth.
After the server takes our order, Nathan tells me about his workday, dishing out all the gossip on his colleagues. Honestly, it’s like a reality dating show up there on the fifth floor. I’m totally riveted, but all too soon he switches gears and launches into an unfortunately detailed explanation about the big presentation he’s working on, something to do with change management. It doesn’t capture my attention in quite the same way as all the drug dealing and bed hopping in his office did, and I’m only half listening.
Nathan doesn’t ask about my day. For once, I’m relieved. There’s no way I want to rehash what happened in today’s training session. My little sleeping incident is tucked away in a dark, padlocked room in the far recesses of my mind. No way am I allowing that memory out.
Except, to my absolute shock, a familiar face catches my eye. Aaron Sinclair, the man with the master key to that dark room, is standing at the maître d’ station.
No.No.No.
Out of all the thousands and thousands of people in this town, why does it have to behimwho chose to eat at this particular restaurant.
