“But,” I deadpan. “Romance?”
“What better way to understand what women want than reading the books theydevour?”
“You’re a sneaky bastard, you know that,right?”
“Possibly.”
I don’t believe this guy. Not for one second. Sure, maybe he reads some Dean Koontz or James Patterson, but romance? Actually, I don’twantto believe him, because that means hewantsto understand women. What makes them tick. No female stands a chance against Elijah Banks. Not on one date. And certainly not forfour.
“All right then, Mr. Sensitive.” I lift my drink. “What’s your favoriteromance?”
His chin drops slightly on a laugh. “The Time Traveler’sWife.”
“Mm-hmm. Goodmovie.” I smirk around myglass.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the waiter stop at the end of the table. He places two large plates in front of us and tells us toenjoy.
Sweat beads on my neck. I sigh through my nose and take the chopsticks in hand. Elijah uses his with elegant grace. I attempt to mimic the placement of his sticks, resting them on my pointer and ring fingers. But when I move them together, instead of looking graceful, I’m pretty sure I look like EdwardScissorhands.
Maybe he won’t look atme.
“What kind of music do you listen to?” heasks.
“A little bit of everything. Rock and pop.” I attempt to grab a piece of chicken, but it falls right back onto the plate. “What aboutyou?”
“Oh, some Nirvana. A little bit of Black Sabbath.Hozier.”
My eyes widen and I grin. “I loveHozier.”
“Doyou?”
“Yes. ‘Take Me to Church’ is my favorite song. That guy’s voice issoulful.”
His brow lifts. His lip curls. “I never would’ve guessed that would come fromyou.”
“What?” I try for the chicken again, and I drop it a second time. “Whynot?”
“Do you know what that song’sabout?”
“No, I just think it’s poetic. It makes me feel things.” This time, when I try for the meat, I manage to grip it between the sticks. “What’s itabout?”
“That you’ll never feel closer to God than when you’re havingsex.”
The chicken falls to the plate. “Pfft.” I roll my eyes—like ateenager.
He’s making me dumbagain.
“And I do believe that.” Elijah leans across the table, grabs my chin, and pulls me toward him. “Don’t worry, Demi. I’ll gladly be yourgod.”
His words wind through me, scorching.Oh. Jesus. I’m burning up.There aren’t adequate words to follow a statement like that. I wish I was one of those women who always had some catty, sexy response, but I’mnot.
“Well, I appreciate the offer.” I focus on the chicken I have managed to grip between my chopsticks, and then my hold slips and the poultry launches into the air. It soars right over Elijah’s shoulder. His eyes track its movement as it lands in the middle of the walkway with asplat.
He shoots a smug grin at me. “Chopsticks aren’t yourthing?”
“Um, I mean.” I watch a waiter step on the chicken. “No.”
Laughing, Elijah scoots around the table until he’s behind me, his legs on either side of my thighs. “It’s not that hard, you just have to…” His arms encircle me, and he positions the chopsticks between my fingers. I swallow when his hand closes overmine.
“You have to relax. Don’t grip the sticks too hard,” he says. “When you do, you end up catapulting your food across a nice restaurant like a medieval warrior.” His lips brush my neck in a light kiss, and a small heat darts through me. “Justrelax.”
He guides the chopsticks to my plate, then my mouth, and I open so he can place the food delicately inside. He leads me through the motions once more. Maybe I should be embarrassed that we’re in the middle of a five-star restaurant and he’s practically feeding me, but I’m not. He’s so reassuring, comforting. I can’t help but let my back melt into hischest.
Showing someone how to use chopsticks shouldn’t be a big deal. But he took the time to demonstrate for me, and that tells me he cares. It makes it impossible to deny that he’s a genuinely nice person and that I am seriouslyfucked.
