Page 95 of Betting on the Boy Next Door
“That’s not what I meant,” I protest.
“But it’s what’s happening, and I love it.”
“You love what?” Ruby asks, emerging from her room.
“Mydress,” I say with the tiniest warning.
Ruby does her smirk. “Looking good, kids. Have fun. Bring me four-hundred-dollar leftovers.”
My eyes widen. “Josh, it’s not that—”
He rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not that much. But if it were, I’d still pay it. You deserve it.”
I’m in wickedly high heels, and I don’t have to stretch quite as high as usual to press a kiss against his lips. “You’re smooth.”
We take his car and use the valet at the restaurant. Spencer’s is the kind of place thatonlyhas valet parking. Josh gives our name to the hostess, who smiles and welcomes us. “We’ll have that table for you in a couple of minutes.”
We stand near the entrance to wait, and I take in the surroundings. Dark wood. Low lighting. Marble floors. Glimpses of white linen tablecloths beyond the hostess stand.
“Josh?” A woman’s voice says in surprise.
We look over to see his mom coming from the direction of the restrooms.
“Mom?” He looks equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Your dad landed a big client, so we’re celebrating.”
“Oh,” he says, his voice slightly subdued. “That’s great.”
“Come and eat with us, honey. We’d love to have y’all. Hey, Samantha. You look so pretty.”
“Hey, Miss Elizabeth. It’s good to see you.”
“Come on and follow me. We were about to order.” She turns, but Josh catches her elbow to stop her.
“That’s okay, Mom. We won’t crash your dinner. You enjoy yourselves.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says, turning back with a slight frown. “You’re not imposing. Come on,” she repeats, and this time when she heads into the dining area, Josh meets my eyes with an apologetic look.
“It’s fine.” I mean it, and I tuck my hand into the crook of his arm to prove it. “I like the idea of you eating together.” He missed their last Sunday dinner. I’ve tried to stay out of it, hoping time will smooth things over between Josh and his dad, but this is too good of an opportunity to pass up. “Besides, it’s not like we have to fake anything this time.”
He smiles and presses a soft kiss to my hairline. “True. Come on, real girlfriend. Let’s go eat some expensive food on my dad’s dime.”
We wind our way through the tables after his mom, who has flagged down a server to request two more chairs.
After a couple of awkward minutes of stiff handshakes with his dad and making small talk while we wait for the staff to accommodate our new table situation, we all settle into chairs and busy ourselves with the menus. I don’t know about them, but I already know what I want. I’ve been studying the website and daydreaming about lobster since Sunday morning. Looking at the menu is just an excuse to buy some time before we have to make polite conversation again. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
“You should get the New York strip, Samantha,” Mr. Brower says. I still can’t make myself think of him as Mr. Steve. “It’s outstanding. Best in Texas.”
“I was thinking I’d get the Maine lobster,” I say. “It sounds amazing.”
He gives me a slight frown. “Everything here is good, but the strip is something else.”
One of the things I’d figured out months after my breakup with Bryce was that I’d made mistakes too; the main one was bending and folding myself to fit in with his family. That’s how I’d come out of that relationship feeling so lost.
I draw a quiet, steadying breath through my nose and smile. “Maybe another time. I’ve got my heart set on the lobster.”
Mr. Brower leans forward, like he’s ready to argue his case for the New York strip. “Trust me, Samantha, you’ll re—”
