Lucas blinked and tore his eyes away from the disturbing basket bearing suspicious bread. "Excuse me?"
I rolled my eyes. "You don't want to be here. "
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Excuse me?" he said again.
"And you also appear to have an extremely limited vocabulary."
Lucas sat up straighter and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, and chuckled instead.
I tilted my head. "So...who forced you to do this?"
My date let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Grace."
I waved a dismissive hand at him. "Look, you've wasted an hour of my time so far, and I look like a Debbie Gibson MTV reject. So the least you can do for me after enduring your bullshit is to get me out of here before I get sold into sex slavery, and at least provide me with a meal that won't give me a tapeworm." I stared at the bread basket again. "Or Ebola. Or both."
At that, Lucas' lips twitched and his mouth pulled into a wide grin. "You're right." He threw down a few bucks and rose from the table. But this time he helped me up, placed a warm hand at the small of my back, and escorted me out to his truck. He opened the door for me this time and even turned the station to current folk music.
Now this was more like it.
"Are you always this resistant to dating or was it just me that turned you into a giant turd?"
Lucas started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, maneuvering carefully to avoid the broken glass that littered the entire place. The car was silent, just as before, minus the terrible head pounding music, but the awkwardness had dissipated into something more comfortable. I was still unsure what to make of his sudden change of heart or if it was just my charming way of calling him out on his bullshit that seemed to do the trick, but Lucas was now acting like a gentleman. However, I was not so inclined to trust him now that he'd gone so far off the rails trying to make this date a terrible experience.
I was now in this thing with zero expectations, except for that of a free meal. Which he would give me or I would raise holy mortal hell. Acting like that big of a jerk entitled me to some expectations and not getting food poisoning was one of them.
Several minutes later, Lucas pulled into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant I'd never seen before.
I looked down at my attire and back up to Lucas. "Umm. Are they going to kick us out of here?"
A small smile graced his face. "No. I know one of the guys who owns this place. We might get a few funny looks, but he knows me well enough to not ask any questions."
I let out an embarrassed snort. "Well, not much could make this night worse, I guess," I said before I slid out of the truck.
Lucas held the door for me this time and allowed me to walk in first. The hostess saw me, blinked several times, and opened her mouth presumably to tell me to leave their fine establishment, when Lucas walked in behind me. The woman's brow knitted and she gave herself a little shake.
"Mr. Marsh?"
Lucas stepped up to the station. "Yeah, Micki. Apologies for my unorthodox appearance."
An amused snort escaped me which promptly earned me an elbow from Lucas.
"Certainly, sir," though the woman didn't sound certain at all. She grabbed a couple of menus that didn't appear to be the least bit sticky and led us into the dining room. When she hightailed it for a table by the kitchen, Lucas cleared his throat. The woman stopped, squared her shoulders, and offered us a tight smile. "Your usual table then, Mr. Marsh?"
"Yep," he said, though his voice sounded icier than it had a moment before.
"Perfect," she said, her tone glacial. She led us over to a cozier area, where the lights weren't so glaring. It was romantic. And intimate.
And it made me wonder how many dozens of women he'd taken here before me.
Get a grip, Grace.
"Would you like me to tell Frank you're here?" she asked before setting our menus down and placing our napkins in our lap.
A grimace crossed his face. "I suppose," he said.
"Frank?" I asked.
"One of my brothers."
