Page 15 of Taking A Chance

“Mostly. We’re not all gingers, like you,” he says, his lips pressing together to form a closed-mouth smile as the jacket slides over my shoulders.

I adjust, pulling it further on and uncoiling a little in its warmth. I suppress the urge to inhale its scent deeply or ask him what kind of cologne he wears, even though it might be the number one question I have at the moment.

“Thank you,” I say.

Declan nods his head as he fastens one of the buttons on it so it stays in place. His mane hangs into his face, dangerously close to mine. I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding as he steps away.

We make eye contact for the briefest moment before his phone dings and a car pulls up to the curb behind him.Saved by the Uber.Declan holds the door open for me as I crawl in and slide to the far end, allowing him to step in on the same side rather than run around the car.

“Are you hungry?” he asks me, leaning across the center of the car.

“A little,” I admit.

He leans forward, giving the driver a new destination. The street he names intersects with ours, so it’s not far from home.

“You ever been to Saints?” he asks, leaning back into his side of the seat.

I shake my head. “I’ve heard of it, but never been.”

“I think you’ll like it,” he says as he looks out the window.

Oh you do, do you?Jesus, why am I giving him so much attitude in my mind?

A few minutes later, we pull up in front of the place, which is known for delicious fusion creations and a custom drink menu. I’ve been hoping one of my Internet dates would suggest this place, but no one ever has. I’m not sure why. It has a wonderful tone with low lighting and a rich, warm dining room palette. Not that I can complain about a free meal, but those guys always seem to suggest somewhere really boring and commercial.

Declan steps out onto the sidewalk, giving me his hand to help me as I slide across the seat. I place my hand in his, realizing this is the only contact outside of me sobbing into him that we’ve ever had. His grip is light but possessive as I make it out of the car. His fingers curl around mine, like he doesn’t quite want to let go. He holds onto it until he’s opening the door for me to walk inside before him.So chivalrous.

The door closes behind us, and he ushers me forward by the small of my back until we’re standing in front of the hostess’s station.

“Hey, Declan,” the petite young woman behind it says. “Your usual spot?” She leans way over the podium between us, and her tits practically pop out at Declan. She bats her eyes up at him, her stance forcing him to look straight down into her shirt to make eye contact. I internally roll my eyes.

“Yeah, that’ll be good, Bri. Thanks,” he says.

Of course, she doesn’t give me a second look. Hell, she didn’t even give me a first look. I’m a ghost during that interaction.

I don’t like to be one of those women who pass judgment on other women, but could shebetrying any harder for his attention? Even as she seats us in what is apparently hisusual spot, she doesn’t even glance at me. His usual spot is a small booth tucked back in the corner, further away from the rest of the patrons, and I can see why he’s claimed it.

I remove Declan’s jacket, attempting to hand it back to him, but he stops me, insisting I keep it for when we leave.

In this light, his bright white button-up is practically glowing against the dark of his suit and complexion.

“Why don’t you check out the wine menu, and I’ll be right back,” he says, standing almost immediately after we’ve been seated.

I browse the selection, keeping my eye on a red blend that looks pretty good. I’m not even all the way through the entire thing when Declan re-emerges, his reason for leaving apparent. He’s tied his long hair back into a knot, somehow still looking a tad disheveled, but I like it. It fits him.

“Didn’t want hair hanging down in your food?” I tease.

“Contrary to what you might think, I can be civilized,” he says, pushing his menu to the side without even looking.

Choosing to make the best of this weird situation, I ask, “So, what’s good here?” Because this is weird, right?Well, Cora, you’ve loathed the man for years and now you’re sitting down with him and having a meal and your hate is shrinking ever so slowly, so yeah, it’s fucking weird.

“Try the blackened salmon,” he says, not giving any more information.

“I don’t really like fish,” I say.

“Trust me,” he says.

Uh, okay.I squirm in my seat, adjusting and readjusting as I read the menu. His eyes are burrowing a hole into me. I can feel them on my face and they’re causing a heat to bloom over my cheeks and down my neck.

---