wanted to talk about the charity work I’d done, but I hated talking about that sort of thing. I donated to make a difference, not for people to recognize me as some philanthropist.
“That’s grand,” I said. “Pretty damn admirable.”
She nodded quickly, her mouth in a flat line. I got the sense she felt the same way as me about charity – you do it, you don’t brag about it.
“I’ve been really lucky in my life. Some people haven’t.”
“You’re right about that.”
Before our conversation could continue, the bartender approached. I opened my mouth to ask a question, but before I could, she was already on it.
“Vodka with cranberry juice,” she said, her voice crisp and professional. The bartender nodded and was off, leaving a pair of menus on the bar in front of us.
A small smile curled the corner of her mouth as she looked at me. “You were going to do it, weren’t you?”
“Do what now?”
“Order for me.”
“Now, what makes you think I’d do something like that?”
“You had that look on your face, that overly confident posture that men get when they’re ready to tell me what I want.” She followed this with a challenging narrowing of her eyes.
“Never,” I said, meaning it. I was about to ask the specials when she’d jumped in.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. See, the thing I recognized about you right away, what made me mad attracted to you, was that you’re obviously the kind of woman who knows what she wants. And you’re most definitely not the type of woman to sit by with a demure look on her face while a man makes all the decisions.”
She clearly like this assessment. “You’re right about that. God, I get so sick of the kinds of men who think their job is to take a woman who shows the slightest bit of independence and tame her like a horse. They act like they’re into independent women, but as soon as you actually show independence, they get all kinds of insecure.”
I smiled and gestured toward myself with a sweeping motion. “Do I look insecure?”
She looked me up and down, and I was almost certain her eyes lingered on my crotch for a few seconds.
“Nope. Or maybe you’re good at hiding it.”
“That’s the thing about me, Lola,” I said with a smirk. “You never have to worry about me hiding anything. Life’s easier if you just come out with who you are and what you want.”
“Yeah? And what do you want, Patrick?”
I flashed her a smirk before turning my attention to the menu. “You, of course.” I let my eyes lock onto hers for several moments, then slowly lowered them to the menu. Out of the corner of my gaze I saw her face redden, her eyebrows arch.
“Wow,” she said, grabbing the menu off the bar and opening it. “Are all Irishmen this forward?”
“Forward – or confident, however you like to think of it.” I flashed her a smirk, letting the heavy sexual tension hang in the air for several long moments. “But in this case, it’s more that I want to know about you. I wanna get into that head of yours, Lola. I wanna know what makes you tick.”
And that wasn’t the only part of her body I wanted to get into. But her reaction wasn’t one I expected. Lola’s eyes glanced down at the menu.
“Let’s order our food first.”
I cocked my head to the side curiously and watched as she flipped through the laminated pages. The way she eagerly side-stepped the subject of herself…it was strange. But we were out to eat, and it was a first date, so no sense in thinking too much about it.
I reached over and placed my finger on her menu, getting close enough that I could smell the scent of her hair. “That’s a good one – the short ribs. Best you’ve ever had, I’ll bet.”
She flicked her eyes to me, a sliver of her white teeth exposed in a wry smile. “Considering I’ve never had short ribs, you might be right.”
My eyebrows arched and I clapped my hands together. “Then it’s settled. I’ll get the sampler so we can have a bit of everything, and you can get the short ribs. Trust me, you’ll want a pile of ‘em.”
“Not really my thing,” she replied confidently.
I was a touch confused. “Not into ribs? Hmm…” I cast my eyes over the menu. “They do a killer bulgogi steak – meat’s spiced perfectly. You’ll be in heaven.”
“Steak’s not really up my alley, either.”
“Then the chicken?