Cameras flashed when he leaned down, and then more as she touched her head to his arm. “Thank you. I really should have gone for wool, though. Or sleeves. Yep, definitely should have worn something with sleeves.”
He paused. And then he realized what she meant. That she was wearing a thin dress, outdoors, in November. Because some asshole told her to take off her coat… while he was snug in his sports jacket.
He should say something.
No, dumbass, you should offer her your coat.
But they were already at the door. Mason swallowed hard. It was a stumble. That was all. He had this. They’d have an amazing dinner, and then, afterward, he’d ensure she was wearing her coat when they left. His, too, if that helped.
This was going to be fine.
Better than fine.
It was going to be fucking perfect from this moment on. He’d make sure of it.
GEMMA
As they settled into their seats, the blood flow slowly returned to Gemma’s arms, and she resisted the urge to rub down the goose bumps. Holy shit, it’d been cold out there.
Mason was going out of his way to be a gentleman. Opening the front door and then taking the coat from her arm and then pulling out her chair. She’d never pretend she didn’t find gallantry charming, but it was so obviously a show that it kinda defeated the purpose.
They’d barely opened their menus when the drink server appeared. Gemma reached for the cocktail menu… and Mason ordered wine. For both of them.
Pre-Alan Gemma would have said,Uh, I guess you’re drinking that whole bottle then, because I’m having a gin fizz.
She didn’t have a problem saying that to Mason. That was the beauty of being with someone you’d known since childhood. But this was a performance, and she wouldn’t do anything to spoil it, which meant she’d taken off her coat in near-freezing temperatures and now she was apparently drinking wine.
“I’ve heard the salmon is excellent,” he said. “The crab salad is apparently also very good.”
“What do you have?” she asked.
“Usually the rib eye. Sometimes the short ribs.” He smiled. “Gotta keep up my protein.”
She could point out that the salmon had just as much protein. But she was also thinking of how long it’d been since she had a decent steak. Alan hadn’t eaten red meat in years, one of his endless health kicks. She’d thought they were a cute quirk until she realized he was only keeping in shape so he’d be ready when it was time to trade her in for a younger model.
“Rib eye sounds good,” she said and braced for a comment, but he only smiled.
“Good choice,” he said. “I’d suggest the scallops for an appetizer, but the tartare is good, too. Whatever you want.”
She relaxed a little. “The scallops look good.”
He grinned, as if she’d just gushed over his amazing taste in appetizers. She wanted to inwardly roll her eyes, but he was so damned charming in his braggadocio. As if he was still that little kid with the skates, talking about how many goals he’d scored, so self-assured that it didn’t seem like boasting.
And that was how you fell for guys like Mason Moretti. You were charmed in spite of yourself. You cut them slack because they’d earned their right to boast, and if that arrogance bled into narcissism, you decided they’d earned that, too. You drank the wine they ordered and carried your coat in near-freezing temperatures when they asked. You basked in the warmth of their blaze and tried to forget that you were soaking up the rays from a sun that didn’t give a damn whether it warmedyouor not.
The trick was to figure that out. Then you didn’t run the risk of getting burned again.
Gemma was here for the promo op and for the food, and if she enjoyed the company, that was a bonus.
Two ships, passing in the night.
“Share?” Mason said.
She looked up. “Hmm?”
“You were smiling. Share?”
She waved a hand. “Just thinking that I haven’t had steak in a while. Not good steak anyway. I’m looking forward to it. I—”
