Page 19 of Endurance
My eyes trail down to the small hole on the right leg of his faded jeans. It’s not an artfully designed hole either. It’s the type of hole a careless teenager gets from hopping a fence. Seeing the blonde fuzz on his kneecap up close and personal makes him seem so much more human and…normal, rather than a famous footballer.
Then I remember there’s nothing normal about Tanner Harris. He’s a manwhore with no regard for other people’s feelings. He probably got that hole in his jeans hopping a fence to flee from another Harris Ho’s bedroom. He might be used to girls falling at his feet and taking whatever scraps he throws at them, but that won’t be me. I made that mistake once; I won’t make it again. This arrangement is strictly business.
Sure, I may have spent some extra time on my appearance, carefully lining my dark eyes to within an inch of their life. But my eyes are one of my best features. They’re large and almond-shaped, and when made-up right, I feel unstoppable.
And let’s face it, I liked Indie’s idea of making Tanner miserable. He rejected me once, so I crave the pleasure of returning the kindness.
We arrive at a restaurant called The Barbary. It’s a brand new North African cuisine hot spot located in the alley of Neal’s Yard. This area is packed full of trendy pubs, so it’s always brimming with patrons. Crowds of people stand outside on the cobblestone alley with glasses of beer in hand, enjoying the mild autumn weather. Music pours out of several establishments as we make our way through the boisterous crowd.
Tanner puts a hesitant hand on the small of my back as he ushers me through the door and around a huge queue of people waiting to dine. This is one of those cosy, counter-dining type of restaurants. It has a large U-shaped bar that surrounds the open kitchen where the staff works. The chefs aren’t putting on a show, though. They’re just sending out gorgeously plated food, which is a show in and of itself. There’s a lot of bare brick, neon signs, reclaimed floor tiles, and a big, coffered terracotta wall. Overall, it’s got great energy, all the way down to the charcoal smoky air from the clay oven. There’s something magical about being amongst Londoners lusting after the latest craze. Even the customers queuing seem to be happy.
The hostess smiles way too brightly at Tanner as she grabs menus and instructs us to follow her. We’re seated immediately at the very end of the counter in front of the large storefront window. It’s the best spot in the house, showcasing the energy of the restaurant inside and the buzz of excitement outside. Display lights from the alley stream in, casting our seats in a riot of colours. It’s kind of awesome.
The hostess gives Tanner one final brazen look and leaves us at last.
“This isn’t so bad,” Tanner says, dropping down on the outside stool and turning to face me. He spreads his long legs out wide so he’s practically straddling my seat.
I shift nervously, crossing my legs to make myself as small and closed off as possible. I sit up straight, though, not wanting to seem intimidated by all his…manliness near me.
“I know people who have been trying to get in here for weeks.”
“Sometimes it pays to be a Harris.” The side of his mouth curves up, which forces me to look away immediately.
Back when Tanner and I first met and we were in the friendly, flirting stage of our newfound friendship, I used to catch myself staring at his mouth. It always had a smirk to it that was an indescribably attractive contrast to the serious smoulder in his eyes. Tonight, that contrast annoys me.
“You’ve probably never eaten a proper meal with a girl, have you?”
I can feel his smile. “This would actually be a first. Aren’t you lucky.”
“Oh yes, I’ve hit the jackpot indeed,” I murmur as I peruse the menu even though I’ll let the waitress pick out my food.
“What do you like?” Tanner asks.
“I like most things.”
I can feel his knowing, steely blue eyes on me as he interprets that in a blatantly sexual way.
“But not all,” I add with a flat note to my voice, cutting my eyes at him in challenge.
He lets out a soft huff of a laugh. “You seem to enjoy chocolate a bit more than most.”
“Sweets are different. I’m very particular about those. Dark chocolate is a religion.”
He puts the menu down and eyes me with appreciation. “So you love dark chocolate. What else do you love, Ryan?”
I close my eyes and do my best to ignore the way he says Ryan. I don’t know why it irks me that he refers to me by my last name. Perhaps it’s because I can’t stand my family and the bullshit title they like to flaunt with it. Or perhaps it’s because it’s Tanner and most things he does irk me.
The waitress stops at our end of the counter to take our drink order. I have her pick a glass of red for me and Tanner gets a beer. As soon as the drinks are placed in front of us, I almost regret not ordering a bottle. He slips off his grey jacket and is wearing a simple T-shirt, his veiny, inked arms on full display now. I can practically feel the warmth of the blood in his veins. His scent and the smell of food are overwhelming all the parts of my body.
“So, Ryan, let’s have some Tanner Harris Deep Talk right now. How do you foresee this going?” he asks as he closes his menu and takes a long drink of his dark beer.
“You tell me,” I reply. “I’m curious to hear whose clever idea this was. My father didn’t really have a chance to say.”
He cringes. “It was mine, actually.”
“Yours?” I shake my head in disbelief.
“That so hard to believe?”
