Page 75 of David's Chase

The food is tasty. Grilled fish and vegetables for me and a juicy steak for him.

We eat in silence––he’s sunk in thought while I’m concerned with my dress.I manage not to drop food on it and say no to dessert because I don’t want to push my luck.

Overall, things were all right today. Although the last hour or so wasn’t that great.

I try to focus on the positives.

The horseback riding. The hot sex. The gifts.

Oh, the gifts.

I didn’t catch Samantha checking the jewelry. But can you imagine someone, anyone, believing I’m his assistant?No assistant wears jewelry worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

He seems satisfied with the food but not how our evening ended.

Sucking in a long breath, he pushes his fingers through his hair before sliding his elbows onto the table, his gaze trailing down.

The waitress comes by and asks if we want anything else.

He looks at me.

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

He asks for another drink for himself, which arrives quickly.

He looks like someone about to confess to something, and I can see how moving away from that woman hasn’t entirely improved his mood.

“Are we going back?” I ask, stating the obvious––he seems so consumed with what has happened this evening that there is noother option than to go home, have a good night's sleep, and ask him to take me to the airport in the morning.

He shoots me an inquisitive look.

“Back?”

“Yeah. I have a plane to catch tomorrow morning,” I say, studying his face.

“You mean tomorrow afternoon.”

“It’s all the same to me,” I say, not peeling my eyes away from him.

“I hope you’re not mad,” he says, evading my eyes and pondering something.

“Me? Mad? Why would I be mad?”

‘You’re mad. Say it,’the voice in my head barks, sucking at giving advice.

“You seem more affected than I am,” I say, diverting his attention away from me.

“I made a mistake with this woman,” he says, and the chatter inside my head subsides.

This is the moment.

This is our big fucking moment.

“She’s not the sweetest, most caring person I’ve ever met,” I comment, and he cracks a smile.

“You don’t say. What did she say to you in the restroom?”

“Nothing. We talked about my dress.”

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