Page 65 of Playing the Field
As he rights me, he keeps a hand wrapped around my elbow possessively. “Not gonna let you go.”
I look over the menu. Lots of plant-based options and seafood with simple preparation. No heavy sauces or fried food. No wonder he likes this place. I don’t have a chance to think about the menu anymore because our server shows up with two appetizers and plates for each of us. “Hamachi crudo with Sicilian peppers and jalapeño poppers stuffed with spiced cream cheese.”
I do a double-take at the second item, but the server disappears before I can confirm that the dish sitting in front of me is really one of my go-to bar food staples. And now, I’m starting to understand Hunter’s little game here. “This place doesn’t really serve jalapeño poppers, does it?”
Hunter tries to give me his best impression of bafflement, raising his eyebrows high, but then he relents. “Yeah, no. I asked for those when I let them know we were coming.”
“Did you also ask for the place to be utterly deserted?”
He nods. “Do you mind?”
“Do Imind? This is the single most romantic day I’ve ever had. I can’t believe you managed to make all this happen between the time you offered to show me around and the time I said yes.”
“When I’m motivated, I can get shit done.” So smug. So damn handsome.
If I don’t let some air into my lungs, I might crawl over andstraddle his lap. Sneaking a look around us at the empty space, I feel emboldened. I take another sip of wine for courage and focus on breathing. Then I push my chair back.
Hunter watches me and slides his own chair back as though he knows exactly where I want to be. I hike up the skirt of my dress above my knees and sink onto his lap, dropping my arms over his shoulders. His hands grip my hips, but he lets me take the lead.
“Thank you for bringing me here. I love it.”
He nods, his eyes moving slowly over me.
“So you’re the kinda guy who knows the owners of restaurants,” I tease.
It may be my imagination, but I think his lips twitch before he admits, “Something like that.”
I pick up a jalapeño popper and bite it in half. It’s blazing hot, and the cheese oozes out of both sides. Rookie mistake to eat it before it’s cooled, but this man is throwing me off with his romantic gestures and heated looks.
The corners of Hunter’s eyes crinkle in amusement as he watches me try to get control of the fried little thing. He lifts his napkin to my lips while I chew to dab away the oil that’s no doubt dripping everywhere. I never pretended to be elegant.
“Good?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and watching me with crossed arms.
“Mm-hmm. Very.” I push the plate closer to him. “Are you going to try one, or does a greasy pile of cheese go against your lean-protein regimen?”
He picks one up and examines it like he’s never seen one before. “Oh, I’m trying one.” He pops the whole thing in his mouth and chews. He can’t feign indifference. By the time he swallows, he’s licking his lips and reaching for a second one. “Oh my god. I’m doomed.”
I grab another one too, leaving the beautiful shards of yellowtailin their perfect sauce untouched. We devour the remainder of the poppers and wash them down with wine.
Sliding off his lap and going back to my chair, I sigh. “I think my life is complete. Jalapeño poppers, the best guy, and a moonlit night at the beach? It doesn’t get any better.”
“The best guy?” His voice is low, repeating my words.
I nod. “The very best.”
I should say more. I want to say more. I want to tell him that I’m falling for him, but I’m afraid of that look I know so well. I’ve seen that look with other men I’ve dated, the one that says he’s flattered, but he doesn’t feel the same way. The look that says he likes things the way they are and really wishes I wasn’t thinking about the future.
I don’t want to see that look on Hunter’s face. I like what I’m looking at right now, how he seems happy to be here. That’s enough.
After dinner, he walks me out of the restaurant and onto the sand. Down the beach, a pale blue lifeguard station beckons with what look like fairy lights. As we get closer, I see that, in fact, someone has hung a string of tiny lights on the railing.
“When did you do this?” I gasp, taking in the twinkling bulbs that usher us up the ramp and into the small structure, perched on stilts in the sand.
“Had a friend do me a favor.”
“You mean a friend who works for you atyourrestaurant?” I tease.
“Something like that.” He dips his head to nuzzle my neck, and I shudder as chills roll down my spine.
