I might have gone too far, and now I’ve ruined this nice little moment.
I blink, and he’s managed to rein himself back in. His eyes are on his plate as he stabs a shrimp and pops it into his mouth. I can’t take my eyes off of him as his jaw works a little too hard for the tender piece of shellfish, and I scold myself for finding it sexy.
“I was joking, sorry,” I mumble.
“I’m not…” He clears his throat. “I don’t do this sort of thing. Sometimes I eat with Torrin, but that’s very different.”
“Pretend I’m Torrin, then,” I suggest.
He rolls his eyes at me, and it’s so out of character, I’m not sure what to do with it. I end up barking out a very unattractive laugh, which brings the tiniest of smiles to his face. I stare at it, mapping every single thing about it and etching it into my memory.
“I can’t do that,” he says. His gaze pierces through me.
“And why is that?” I ask over a dry throat.
“Because I don’t want tofuckTorrin.”
“Oh,” I say, totally embarrassed at how it comes out way too breathy.
“What would you rather have to eat instead?” he asks once he gets his features under control, but there’s an edge of lust still lingering in his eyes. I don’t miss the way he can’t take them off of me now. I’m thankful for the subject change, but I can’t get his words out of my head.
“I think I’ve already wasted enough food. I don’t mind this.” I tuck back into my dinner, stabbing three shrimp at a time and shoving them into my mouth. It really doesn’t taste bad, and I’m not sure why it’s become a wholethingnow.
He clears his throat as he reaches for his glass of water. After taking a long sip, he places it back down and picks up his fork again.
“Then next time, you get to pick the meal,” he says almost as if he’s telling this to his food.
I smile and maybe hate myself a little for it.
Next time.
I shouldn’t be stuck on that one little part, but I am. He’s all but promising me there will be another one of these. He’s admitting that he wants to share a meal again. And while I’m unsure how the future is going to go and how we’re going to get out of this mess, I can’t deny that I’m looking forward to spending time with him.
“Okay,” I say softly, and now I’m the one talking to my food.
Not another word is spoken until after the dinner plates have been cleared. A cup of what I assume is coffee with a lot of cream is set in front of me, along with a small plate holding what must be the world’s most delicate cookies. I’m afraid to breathe on them, worried they will crumble and the bits will scatter in the air.
I don’t even hesitate. I snatch up a cookie and shove it in my mouth. Butter and sugar and honey explode on my tongue. I think I moan.
Yeah, I definitely did. The little twitch of his lips tells me so.
“Good?” he asks after he regains control of his stern mask.
“Uh, yes!” I say, shoving another one in my mouth.
His eyes go to the side, not looking anywhere in my direction, as he slides his plate in toward me. I gobble his cookies down too.
After a long moment of silence, he gets to his feet. I suppose dinner is over. I follow suit, tucking my chair under the table. He walks me to the arched entryway.
“Thank you for joining me,” he says, his shoulders a little stiff. “What will you do now?”
And just like that, a brilliant idea comes to mind.
“I was thinking about watching a movie,” I tell him.
“A movie?”
“Please tell me that you know what movies are.”
