Page 55 of Whiskey

“Savannah tells me you like to run.” Patrick looked directly at me for the first time.

I nodded “I do. I find it—”

“Relaxes you. Yes, it does. You know, most people run incorrectly. There’s actually…” I tuned him out and relished my slight buzz. It calmed me enough to sit there. At least I knew with the wine, I could do it. Even the part of my brain that would normally psychoanalyze him wasn’t even interested. In a normal world, I would have already made an excuse and left, but I couldn’t because of Quinn and the house rules. He would have to leave as well, and he didn’t have his meal yet. Patrick’s mouth moved as he mansplained the art of running, and I gave in and looked at Ty, only this time the woman, who I could only assume was Demi, had her hand on his shoulder as she smiled lovingly at him.

Damn.

Sexy or not, at that point in time, Ty had someone. I decided it didn’t mean I couldn’t look, though. I told myself there was nothing wrong with appreciating the male form and all that came with it. I could feel his hands on me, the way his erection dug deliciously into my lower belly as he held me tight. He seemed to know exactly what to do and how I liked it. He was so intense. My thighs squeezed together at the thought, and my throat became dry. Suddenly, birds and whale sounds could be heard through the noisy restaurant. My body jolted back to the present. What the ever-loving hell was that sound?

“My sister.” Patrick held up his phone. “I have to take this.”

“Please do.” I watched him leave then sagged into my chair and hoped the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Maybe he’d have to leave, and I’d be free of sweaty Patrick forever.

Quinn grinned at me, and I glared back as I tried to control my blush. “Savannah’s dead,” he mouthed as he drew a finger across his throat and laughed. He bent his head and went back to reading something on his phone. He’d better not warn her what was happening. She didn’t need a head start.

“Here you are.” Adam placed my dinner in front of me. “Zack thought you might like the rest of this?” He took an open bottle of wine from the other waiter who had helped bring the food over. “Or,” he held up the cork, “maybe just keep it for the road.” He winked.

“He’s a good man, Adam.” I watched him leave then admired my delicious looking dinner.

“Ah, I see you got the slow-roasted chicken,” someone said next to me. “I got that, too.” I looked up at the rather good-looking man at the table next to me. He wore a suit and expensive shoes. I knew my shoes.

“I heard it was the best.”

“Well, you’re at Zack’s, so everything’s amazing.” He leaned over. “Without sounding too forward, I’m Carson Holden.”

“Ivy Knight.” I lifted my glass and thought how he was more my speed. He looked at the dinner plate across from me.

“Are you on a date?”

“Sadly, yes.” I closed my eyes. “Sorry, that was rude. It was a blind date, and, well, I’m sure you’ve already noticed his ringtone.” I rolled my eyes. “He isn’t exactly what I hoped for. He’s on a phone call.”

“He took a call during your date?”

“Trust me, I could use the break.”

The door opened, and Patrick returned. He sat and scowled at his food. Carson leaned back and thanked Adam for his drink. Patrick slumped in his chair and lifted a piece of kale with his fork.

“This hasn’t been washed.”

“Welcome back.” I stared at him, beyond annoyed at his rudeness. “Perhaps you’d like to learn a little about me?”

“Oh, I know you.” He dropped his fork with a cocky smirk.

“Please, enlighten me.”

“You eat meat, and not just chicken. I can tell by your skin pigment that you eat red sometimes too. I’ll look past it because you’re pretty.” He winked, and I supposed I was to find that funny. “You’re a psychologist, so chances are you’ve already formed an opinion of me, and the fact that you’re still here when I got back means you’re interested in me.” I blinked at his gumption. “I’ve been out with women like you before. You’re easy to read.”

Don’t snap, Ivy. He’s not worth the outburst.

“Really?” I cleared my throat. “Well, I bet you didn’t see this coming.” I stood up, grabbed my plate, my purse, and my bottle of wine and looked for an open table or even an open seat.

“Please, Ivy.” Carson pulled out the chair next to him.

“Thank you.” I took the seat. Patrick’s face dropped as he looked around, unsure what to do.

“There’s a reason you’re single, Ivy,” he snapped as his face turned red.

“Yes, because of rude men like you.” I turned to Carson, who smiled.

---