Page 23 of Forecheck
“I told you to wear a dress,” I reminded her. “As for the rest of it…this is Michigan. What’d you expect?”
When I helped her from the truck, I nearly burst with joy when she grabbed my proffered hand and didn’t let go once her feet were on the ground. We walked hand in hand down the small staircase to street level and up the sidewalk to our destination.
“Clink?” Berkley asked, incredulous. “You’re taking me to Clink? This place is impossible to get into! How did you manage this?”
I shrugged, displaying a swagger I didn’t quite feel comfortable with. “I’m Brent Jean.”
Some of the excitement in her eyes dimmed as she said, “So you are.”
Fuck, that had been the wrong thing to say.
The maître d’ opened the door for us, spreading his arms wide as we stepped inside, as though he were a king showing off his kingdom. “Welcome to Clink!” he said as he moved behind a sleek mahogany stand where an iPad sat. “What’s the name on your reservation?”
I gave my name, and the man’s eyes widened.
“Of course. Welcome, Mr. Jean and guest. Your table is right this way.” He retrieved two menus and led us through therestaurant toward the back, where a semi-secluded table sat ready for us.
I’d chosen Clink for this first date with Berkley for a few reasons.
First, it was easily one of the fanciest restaurants in the city. At the time I was planning everything, I’d felt compelled to flex my fame and wealth a bit for Berkley’s sake. If previous relationships had taught me anything, it was that women liked it when I tossed my money around, that they enjoyed being wined and dined. It made them feel special, and I definitely wanted Berkley to feel special.
Although now, I wasn’t entirely sure that had been the right move.
The second—and more important—reason I’d chosen Clink was because of its exclusivity. Nobody here was going to slyly take photos of me and Berkley enjoying a candlelit dinner and send them to tabloids or post them on social media sites. It was our first date, and I wasn’t about to throw Berkley to the wolves before we had a chance to see where this thing would lead.
“So what do you think?” I asked her once we were seated and had ordered a bottle of wine to share.
“It’s incredible,” she said, her blue eyes darting around the room, taking it all in.
“I’m glad you like it,” I told her. “I’ve never actually been here, but the owner is a big Warriors fan, and the chef has been begging management to send one of us here forever. Our first date seemed like the perfect time to use that invitation.”
Berkley’s responding smile seemed strained, and she said, “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble for little old me.”
Before I could protest, our waiter appeared with our wine and to take our orders, so I let the subject drop.
We were just getting to know each other, right? I couldn’t be held accountable if this wasn’t the perfect date—though I desperately wanted it to be.
To calm my nerves and the roiling in my gut, I reached for a piece of bread at the same time Berkley did, and the brush of her fingers against mine sent a jolt up my arm. I quickly pulled away and gave her a sheepish smile.
“So,” I said, wiping a clammy palm on my thighs under the table, “tell me about yourself.”
Berkley huffed out a laugh. “Really? Could you be more vague?”
I frowned. “What? I want to know everything.”
“So let’s start with something specific and work our way up toeverything,” she said with a sly smile.
As I thought of something, she dipped a piece of bread into oil and popped it into her mouth. I watched her jaw move, her throat bob as she swallowed, the way she brushed a stray drop of oil that landed on the table away with her thumb.
Everything about this girl fascinated me, and I wasn’t lying when I told her I wanted to know it all.
“Where are you from?” I asked at last.
“Traverse City.”
Damn. Too easy.
“I’m from New York, near Albany.”
