Page 14 of Asking For a Friend

I copy him and look down the list. Everything looks great; too many choices. “There’s so much to choose from. What’s good here?”

We’re discussing the choices when the waitress comes back. “Did you drive?” Lando asks me, and when I shake my head, he looks happy. I’ve said the right thing. “Do you want to order the wine?”

He gives his order while I check out the wine list. Since I’m paying, I pick a great Barolo.

Hesketh seems to be enjoying it here. The food is incredible, and the wine is delicious. We laugh over the antics taking place at the events he organises, and he seems to like hearing about me and my friends. But I can tell he’s holding back a question. No, the question. The one about my past boyfriends. I know this because I’m doing the same thing. We’re skirting around the issue. Maybe it’s too soon, but we’ve talked about everything else over the last three weeks.

I leave it, and so does he.

I drop my linen napkin on the table and lean back, my fist to my mouth as I hold back a very uncouth burp. “That was worth every mile I’ll have to run to work off the calories.”

“You run?” Why does he sound so surprised?

“I do. It’s a good way to clear my head when I’ve been writing for a long time. Do you? Or are you a slave to the StairMaster?”

“Both, actually. Not necessarily the StairMaster, but I go to the gym with my friends and run when I feel like it. I hate running in the wind or rain, so I use the gym more in the winter.” He takes a sip of his wine, then flicks his tongue over his bottom lip and licks a droplet away. I let out a little groan. “You okay?” He gives me a smug half smile, and dammit, a dimple appears.

“Yep,” I croak. “I’m good. Nothing going on over here.”

Just then the waitress appears and clears the table. “Would you like to see the dessert menu?”

Hesketh cocks his eyebrow. “Yes, please. I’m feeling indulgent.”

He goes through the list. That damn tongue of his is just peeking out of his mouth, touching the centre of his upper lip. It should be illegal what that small movement does to me. My thoughts are turning dirty. I want that tongue on me, in me. What position would he prefer? And is that something I need to know now? “Top or bottom?”

Hesketh chokes on the sip of wine he’s just taken. Shit, I said that out loud. Fuck! Kill me now.

“Shit! Sorry, ignore me. Please, god, ignore me.” I slap my hands over my burning face. “I did not just say that. I did not just say that,” I chant. If I could rewind the last minute, I wouldn’t have to get my foot out of my mouth.

“I think that depends on whether there’s a right or wrong answer.” He lowers my hands, but he isn’t laughing at me as I expected. Instead, his gaze holds such heat I instinctively lean forward slightly. “Do you really want dessert, or shall I call a cab?”

“Cab,” I squeak. This time his eyes crinkle up, and he chuckles. I manage to request the bill in a sensible voice as Hesketh taps away on his phone. I’m guessing he’s requesting an Uber.

“Ten minutes.” He puts his phone away.

We have enough wine left in our glasses to last us until then, the tension between us thick and rife with anticipation. I try to relax back into the conversation, but all I can think about is that he didn’t answer me.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“I know.” His smug expression shouldn’t be hot, but damn, I want to climb him like a sailor up a mast. Every strong, muscle-y inch of him. His phone dings. “Our ride is here.”

It’s not until we get in the car and have moved away that he fidgets. “What’s wrong?”

“The bill. I didn’t pay the bill. Shit.”

“It’s okay. I paid it.”

“But I asked you, and crap, I ordered a fifty-quid bottle of wine. I should’ve paid.”

“You can pay next time.” Our hands touch on the seat. He turns his hand over for me to hold. Our fingers entwine, and as I sneak a peek at him, he’s smiling too.

“There’s going to be a next time?” It’s a genuine question. In fact, not one moment tonight did I think he’s a player.

“I’m for lots of next times.”

I haven’t thought about where we’re going until we pass the turning that will take us towards my part of town. I look at him, and a frown creases the space between his eyebrows. What’s that spot called? Does it even have a name? It doesn’t matter. Focus on him, dammit.

“What’s wrong?”

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