Page 57 of Tempt Me

“White or red?”

“White, please. Red makes me a little silly.”

He cocked his head, and a cheeky grin curled at his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

“Well, unless you want to carry me home, you should stick to white.”

“Mmmm, it’s tempting.”

“Oh, stop it.”

He smiled and flipped open the wine list. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Sauv Blanc. Shaw & Smith if they have it.”

His eyebrows drilled together as he scanned the pages. “Ahhh, we’re in luck.” He folded the menu over and placed it to his side. “Thanks for going out with me.”

“Lolita would kill me if I didn’t.” Oh crap, that was a shitty thing to say, and the look on Clayton’s face showed it. “Oh, God, I didn’t mean it like that.” I wanted to crawl under the table. “I’m sorry. I was honestly looking forward to going out with you.”

He nodded, and as a heatwave coursed up my neck, the waiter returned.

I was grateful for the distraction. Clayton ordered our bottle of wine, and the waiter left.

“Clayton. I really am sorry, I didn’t?—”

“It’s okay. Really. I know how pushy Lolita can be.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re not wrong.”

“But I’m glad she forced me to ask you out.”

My jaw dropped, and he grinned with a truly charming smile.

“Gotcha,” he said.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a funny guy.”

Our wine arrived and was poured, and after the waiter left again, I quickly swallowed a mouthful. This dating stuff was tricky business.

When a waitress arrived to take our meal order, Clayton talked me into ordering three different sauces and two side dishes to go with a medium-rare eye fillet.

“So, have you been on many dates since you left your cheating bastard ex-fiancé?”

I huffed as I debated my answer. Were my sexual conquests dates? Hunter McCall, the guy I’d actually had a drink with at the bar, was the closest I’d had to a date. But no, I decided that they weren’t. “No. None, actually.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Wow, that’s a shame.”

I shrugged. “It’s too hard with my job. I work a permanent night shift, six days each week. Nobody wants a girl who can’t go out on the weekend.”

“I would.”

The butterflies in my stomach did a little happy dance, but then I wondered if he was just saying that to charm me. “So, how many dates have you been on?”

“Mmmm, let me see. There was Ellen.” He held out his thumb. “Nicole.” He thrust out his index finger. “Ronda, Kym.” He carried on and on, and with each woman’s name, he added another digit. I bulged my eyes at him as he passed ten and started on eleven. “Susan, Maria—” Finally, he snuck a glance at me and roared with laughter.

I slapped him on the back of his hand as I realized he was joking. “That was a serious question.”

“Well, if Lolita had her way, I would’ve been on thirty or so dates.”

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