Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
A half smile paints his lips as his sight returns to mine.
“And that,” he says, grabbing the door handle, “is why we aren’t going with the backup plan.”
“But …” I protest, but he’s already out the door.
Dammit.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Gianna
“This is adorable,” I say, gasping as I step inside Hess.
“Do you like it?” Drake asks, grinning because he already knows the answer. How could he not? This place is fabulous.
The space is bright despite the hour, with beautiful peach walls and fantastic maize-colored chairs. The drinkware reminds me of my favorite Depression-era glass in all the delicate, pretty colors. The music is soft but upbeat, and the art on the walls—sketches, sculptures, and tons of whimsical, mixed-media pieces—is nothing short of iconic. But the copper accents with a slight patina? I’m in heaven.
Off to the right is a piece of art composed of pages of books. Figures are painted onto the pages with each person or animal interacting with the words. A rope swing looped around a G with a tiny mouse sitting on the seat. A woman has a leash tied around the word walk as if she’s taking it on a leisurely stroll and a chef stands at the word cook, using the two Os as skillets. It’s whimsical and so much fun.
“Are you ready?” Drake whispers from behind me, his breath hot against the shell of my ear.
I hum as my core clenches and goose bumps race along my skin. My body sinks toward him, desperate for contact. “If you really want to cook me dinner, keep it up.”
His chuckle rumbles through me, and I feel it everywhere.
Drake nestles his hand in the small of my back as he guides me through the restaurant. His touch is gentle, his fingertips barely pressing the silky fabric of my cami into my skin. It’s a taunt. A tease. Hopefully, it’s a taste of things to come.
“Here you go,” a young man says, placing two drink menus on a table. “Jackie will be right with you. Enjoy.”
Drake thanks him and pulls out my chair. Once I’m seated, he sits across from me.
“This place is amazing,” I say. “How did I not know it was here? It’s so close to my house, too.”
“You would’ve heard about it sooner or later. It’s getting a lot of press.”
I pick up a menu and scan the offerings. There are so many choices that sound delicious. I can imagine being here with my friends, ordering drinks and laughing about our day. Astrid should have Gray bring her here. She’d love it.
“Do you know what would be fun?” I ask, spotting a mocktail section that would be perfect for Audrey.
“Yup.”
His tone—rich and rough—captures my attention. I lift my gaze from the menu in time to catch a roguish grin on his face.
“The backup plan didn’t have to involve cooking,” I say, casually. “You don’t need a kitchen to eat, if you catch my drift.”
“This is our first date.”
“So?”
“So first dates are for getting to know each other.”
I start to suggest how I’d like to get to know him but stop myself. I think the fucker is being genuine. Does he really want to get to know me?
This was not what I was expecting, although I’m not certain what my expectations were, exactly. I suppose I assumed this science experiment would be face deep—that is, until he was face deep between my legs. We’d have fun, create stories to yap about on the podcast, and exploit the workplace relationship loophole that we seemed to have found. I’m not sure what purpose getting to know each other serves in this six-week escapade.
Jackie chooses this moment to appear at the side of our table with a wide smile and bouncy red curls. “Welcome to Hess. I’m Jackie, and I’ll be your server this evening.” She fills two soft blue glasses with iced water. “Is this your first time with us?”
“I’ve been here a number of times,” Drake says smoothly. “But this is my girlfriend’s first visit.”
His declaration startles me, as does the swift wave of warmth that rolls through my insides. When men have called me their girlfriend or their woman in the past, it’s been icky—like they were trying to control me. It was a proverbial boot on my throat every time, and I instinctively resisted. This time, though, it’s less boot on my throat and more air rushing into my lungs. He doesn’t spit it out like ownership; he speaks it with pride.
Less like he’s chosen me and more like he’s lucky that I chose to spend time with him.
Huh.
“Oh, nice,” Jackie says, placing two new menus on the table. “If you need any recommendations, please let me know. I’m kind of an expert around here.”
“Okay. What are your favorite drinks?” Drake asks.
She smiles as if this question just made her day. “Well, we have a great prosecco. All our white wines are good, but I love our tempranillo. As far as cocktails, our lychee mule is very popular. You can never go wrong with the mojito or the sangria. But if you go with the sangria, just get the pitcher. Trust me on that.”