Page 10 of The Love You Win

She leads me to the back corner of the restaurant, where there’s a gorgeous table covered with candles and flowers. It’s not in a private nook like I’d hoped—nothing like the threat of public humiliation to help set the mood—but there is ample open space around it. Hopefully, that means we won’t have people eavesdropping. The last thing I need is some superfan posting play-by-plays of my horrendously awkward first-date conversation on social media for all the world to see.

And it will be awkward. Because Kacey is right. Maddox Graves is positively panty-melting in person.

I take a moment to study him before we’re introduced. He leans back in his chair, long legs extended out to the side. His maroon suit pants fight a valiant battle to contain his muscular thighs. His jacket hangs on a coat rack against the wall, and he’s rolled his shirtsleeves up to just below his elbows. Muscular forearms ripple as he types away on his phone, a deep scowl on his chiseled face. If the ticking of his jaw is any indication, whatever he’s looking at on the screen isn’t good news. That, or he’s just as unhappy about being here as I am.

There’s no way in hell I’ll get through this dinner without making a fool of myself. Maddox Graves is completely out of my league. He oozes confidence, and mine evaporates out of my very pores with every step toward him I take. I can feel my spine softening and my shoulders curling.

“Here you are, Miss Harding,” Kasey says as she pulls out the seat across from Maddox. “If you need anything, just let me know. Have a lovely evening.” And with that, she gives me a subtle wink, and I’m left alone with a gorgeous, brooding stranger.

A stranger who doesn’t even bother to stand and shake my hand. He just sits there, his eyes making a lazy perusal of my body as I try not to fidget like a spider monkey on ecstasy. His eyes flare for a moment with what I swear is interest, but it’s gone in another instant, and they turn glacial again. I wait for him to speak, but when it’s obvious that won’t happen, I clear my throat and re-tuck my hair behind my ear.

“Um, hi.” I wave like I’m riding on a float in a parade. Smooth. “I’m Isla. You must be Maddox?”

He grunts. “Yup.”

Okaaaay. What an ass.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I sink into the seat across from him. If I’m lucky, this place will be haunted, and I’ll be swallowed whole by a cursed chair. A woman can hope. “This place is nice,” I stammer.

Here we go. An uncomfortable Isla is an awkward Isla.

He shifts in his chair. “It’s fine.”

“My friends have been dying to eat here, but apparently, it’s next to impossible to get a reservation. I wonder how they were able to fit us in?”

One dark eyebrow arches. “I’m the captain of the Minnesota Rogues. I’m sure they were more than happy about the publicity they’ll get by having us do this here.” He thinks I’m an idiot.

“Right,” I say, forcing out a fake, breathy laugh. “Of course.”

We fall silent, and I wrack my brain for something to say. Luckily, a middle-aged gentleman glides up to our table in a black suit. There’s a white towel draped over his forearm, and he carries a bottle of expensive champagne.

“Good evening. Welcome to Rêveur. My name is Gregory, and I will be taking care of you tonight. Can I pour you both a glass of champagne?” He looks at Maddox first, who waves his hand over the champagne flute as if he can’t be bothered to utter the word yes. He picks up his phone and types something on it as Gregory looks my way. “Champagne, miss?”

“Yes, please,” I murmur, ducking my head. I want to tell him to leave the whole bottle because the only way I’m getting through this dinner is by turning it into a drinking game.

Maddox grunts? Drink.

He rolls his eyes? Drink.

Looks at his phone? Drink.

Answers a question with a single word in his best caveman impression? You guessed it. Drink.

Gregory pours us both a glass as he recites the specials, but I hardly hear them. My ears roar with static, and my gut fills with acid. All-too-familiar feelings of inadequacy writhe like snakes in the pit of my stomach. Can Maddox tell I’m nothing more than a broke English teacher who doesn’t belong here? Jess and Nevaeh claimed I cleaned up well, but apparently not well enough. Do I smell poor or something?

What would poor even smell like? Ramen noodles and student loan debt?

“I’ll give you both a few moments to look over the rest of the menu,” Gregory says. And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with Captain Grump-ass.

I steal a look at my phone before setting my purse by my feet. I’ve only been here for five minutes, and it feels like an eternity.

I’m tempted to text the girls and tell them to turn around and come get me. I didn’t ask them to spend thousands on this stupid dinner. But I swore I’d give this a chance. Besides, if I leave now, I won’t have anything to show for it.

That selfie I’ve been promised at the end of the night better make Alex so jealous he loses the power of speech.

The painfulness ramps up after Gregory takes our order.

“So,” I say with an awkward giggle. “Do you auction off dates often?”

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