Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,190

keep my mind off this dinner.

But now that I’m pulling my Ford Escape into the valet lane, the fear is hitting me full force. I’m not ready to go on a date with someone, not when I still feel Mark’s hands on my body, not when I keep thinking he’ll show up around the next corner.

I find the restaurant a few minutes early and stand out front. When I spot Brian strolling through the casino, he’s even more devastatingly handsome than I remembered with his thick, dark hair brushed up and parted to the side. Stubble peppers his chin.

He wears a black suit with a black tie as if he didn’t stop home after work, yet he looks fresh and crisp again, all clean, hard lines. He’s talking on his cell phone, but as soon as he spots me, he cuts the call short. He saunters through the casino, and when he’s standing in front of me, he gives me his signature cocky grin. My heart starts racing, and I stick out my hand to shake his as he leans in for a hug. Instead of a hug, my extended arm jabs him in the ribs. He jumps back, and I giggle nervously.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“I like the dress.” His voice is low and close to me, an unexpected seductive promise. A shudder runs down my spine. With just the hint of rasp in his voice, I half expect him to say that he’d like it better on the floor, but he doesn’t. “Let’s try this again.” He leans in and presses a surprise kiss on my cheek.

“Uh…blerg.” Words escape me as my cheeks burn a bright red. I clear my throat. “Thanks,” I manage. I draw in a breath. “You look nice, too.”

He holds out his arm to escort me to the hostess stand. The move is antiquated yet provocative as I slip my arm through his. I find comfort in his heat against my side as I start to relax—even though I was a bundle of nerves mere seconds ago.

We’re seated at a table overlooking the casino. We’re far enough away that the noise doesn’t prove a distraction yet close enough to feel part of the action.

“Are you a gambler?” I ask, nodding toward the casino after he orders us a bottle of red wine.

We both pick up our menus.

He shrugs. “Sometimes. You?”

“Not really. I don’t make enough money to spend it frivolously.” I pretend to peruse my menu. Money talk this early in a date can’t be good.

Except this isn’t a date.

“What teachers are paid just isn’t right.”

“No arguments here.”

He chuckles, then we’re both quiet for a few beats as we look at our menus. I try to pretend it isn’t awkward silence. He’s the one who wanted this date, so I wait for him to say something.

“What are you going to order?”

I glance up at him and find his eyes back on me. “I’m not sure. You?”

He sets his menu down. “The filet.”

I check the price next to filet mignon almost subconsciously. Seventy-two.

Seventy-two dollars for a steak. The last pair of shoes I bought wasn’t even that pricey and I’ve worn them nearly every day for two months.

I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the menu. As much as I want the ribeye, I can’t justify sixty-five dollars for one meal. “The mushroom risotto sounds good.” The number next to it is much smaller than nearly everything else on the menu.

“At a steakhouse?”

I lift a shoulder in embarrassment.

“Reese, it’s my treat,” he says gently. “Get whatever you want.”

I set my menu down and our server comes over to take our order.

“The ribeye,” I say. Brian nods proudly across the table at me as I tell the server how I want it prepared.

“And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the mushroom risotto.”

I sit back in shock as my hand flies up to my chest.

He grins at me before returning his gaze to the server. “Just kidding. I’ll have the filet, medium rare.” He looks across the table at me. “And a side of mushroom risotto.”

“Yes, sir,” the server says before scampering off.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say as I giggle at his little stunt.

He winks, and while some men do it and it comes off as creepy, when he does it, it comes off as cute. “You wanted the risotto. I didn’t want you to feel pressured into a steak. This way, you get both.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

An awkward beat of silence passes between us, so