Connection (Temptation #6) - K.M. Golland Page 0,38
fish, so I close it and keep scrolling. “I don’t know,” I say, my tone deliberately disinterested. “Like sleeping and bathing, going to the toilet, that sort of thing.”
Thankfully, our waiter returns, places two beers on the table, and says, “Are you ready to order?”
I nod but don’t look at Will. “I’ll have the crispy skinned salmon, thanks.”
“I’ll have the Parma and chips.” Will hands the waiter our menus. “And she’ll have the venison, not the salmon.”
“What?” I shake my head, my laugh uneasy. “No, I’ll have the salmon.”
He ignores me. “She wants the venison.”
“I’m sorry, but how do you know what I want?”
“Because your eyes lit up when your finger stopped on it, sweetheart.”
The waiter takes a step backward and smiles. “I’ll come back in a min—”
“No. The lady will have the venison, and I’ll have the Parma.”
“Will!” I shriek.
“Elizabeth!” he shrieks back.
I almost laugh but grit my teeth instead, frustrated with the gall of him when he reaches across the table and places his hand over mine, his squeeze ever so gentle, his eyes ever so sincere.
“Order whatever you want, your choice, my treat. But be honest… you want the venison, don’t you?”
I sigh. “I’m more than happy with the salm—”
He looks at the waiter one final time. “A venison and Parma, thanks. End of story.”
The waiter gingerly nods then flees toward the kitchen.
“Oh my God!” I try to retract my hand. “Are you happy now?”
He holds it firm. “Are you?”
“I was happy with the salmon.”
“But you’re happier with the venison.” Will smiles, all teeth and sparkly eyes.
I try to retract my hand again, but again, he holds it firm. “Stop it,” I say, laughing. “And you can’t just say ‘end of story’ like that. It’s rude.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
His smile grows bigger. “You have the cutest nose.”
“What?” Unable to help myself, I wiggle it. “Can I have my hand back now?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you mad at me?” He grazes my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, the small gesture sending a rush of emotion through my body. “Don’t be mad at me. I just want to give you what you want.”
My throat thickens at his sweetness, so I pry my hand loose and reach for my beer, eyeing him over the rim of the glass as I take a sip. “Why? Why do you want to give me what I want?”
“Because it’ll make you feel good.”
“And how do you know that?” I place the glass back down and swallow my mouthful.
Will leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, his grey shirt pulling taut, sleeves down, top button undone. “Because it’ll make me feel good too.”
“I’m not sleeping with you, Will,” I reaffirm, my lips lifting as I tip my glass to him.
The waiter approaches the table once again, hands behind his back, face contorted. It’s almost as if he’s about to break the news of a loved one passing. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but the chef informs me that we’ve run out of venison. He offers his sincerest apologies.”
I burst into laughter. “Salmon it is then.”
Will just huffs.
After a delicious dinner and dessert—a chocolate fondant I thought we could’ve shared but was politely told, “Who the hell shares dessert?”—we huddled in his truck, watched the dancing lights below, and listened to music before heading home.
“So how long have you been playing the drums?” I ask.
Will taps out a beat on the steering wheel while waiting for the traffic light to turn green. “Since I was four.”
“Four!”
“Yeah. Santa got me a drum kit, and I’ve never looked back.”
“You’re very good.”
“I know!” He flicks his eyebrows, and the car accelerates.
I scoff. “You’ve also got a big head.”
“Nothin’ wrong with a big head, sweetheart.”
Probably for the billionth time, I playfully roll my eyes at his inappropriate comment. “So what’s this song?”
He glances my way. “You’ve never heard it?”
“No. But I like it. It’s different.”
“It’s ‘Knights of Cydonia’ by Muse. Great fucking song. One of my favourites to play at gigs. Derek nails the vocals.”
His excitement and passion make me smile. “Carly’s mentioned one or two times that he’s good.”
“Yeah, and he knows it.”
“So how often do you guys play?”
“Once a month at Opals and whenever or wherever we want—Bryce has contacts.”
I glance out the window, rain now streaking the glass. “I bet he does.”
“Perks of being a billionaire.”
“Must be weird being friends with someone like him.”
“Yes and no. Sometimes it’s no different than being friends with someone like you or Carly. Other times, it’s fucking unreal.