Page 30 of Not in My Book

“Do you want some?”

I shook my head, shaking myself out of my pasta daydreams. “No, that’s okay.”

“You know,” he said carefully. “Dinner’s on me tonight.”

I stilled, narrowing my eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m just saying, order what you want from the menu. I’m paying.”

“I can pay for my own food.”

“It’s a date, Rosalinda.”

“I’m a feminist—”

“So am I,” he cut me off. He cleared his throat and carefully placed his fork next to his plate. “I took you out, I’ll pay for your meal. Get something more filling.”

“I’m plenty full.” I was lying, but I was also too proud to tell him I was starving. Maybe this was all a ploy. He knew to offer to pay for my food because he told the staff to—

“Stop overthinking,” he interrupted my thoughts.

I sighed. “This place is already expensive as it is. I’m not letting you pay fortwoof my entrees.”

He rolled his eyes, likeIwas the one being annoying. He flagged down our waitress and asked for an extra plate.

“What’re you doing?”

He gave me an impatient look before he carefully moved half of his pasta onto the extra plate and set it in front of me. “There. Now I don’t have to pay extraorwatch you stare glumly at your little salad.”

“Did you just say glumly?” I raised my eyebrows, smiling slightly.

“Eat your food.” He sighed, as if he was tired of me. But he didn’t start eating until I hesitantly picked up my fork.

Aiden turned his attention back to his own meal as I stuffed as much pasta as I could in my mouth. He looked up when I moaned, shifting uncomfortably.

“Oh Lord,” I said through a mouthful of food. “This is so good. This may be the best meal I’ve ever had.” The corners of Aiden’s mouth twitched as I continued to shovel food into my mouth. “Aiden, I owe you big time. We can kill a character. We can do whatever, this is the best pasta I’ve ever had. Thank you so much.”

“You’ve got marinara sauce all over your mouth.”

“That may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I didn’t know why I said it. Maybe it was my food starved brain. Maybe it was the pasta. Or maybe it was the slightly authoritative toneAiden seemed to always take around me. But he was a man wearing a nice sweater, sitting across from me, and had offered me half of his pasta. How did a girlnotfind that romantic?

“Aren’t we supposed to be pretending to be Max and Hunter?” he asked, sipping his water.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, don’t we do that anyway?”

“Fair enough, but it might be worth a shot.”

I sat up, straightening the napkin on my lap. “Well, Hunter, how are you?”

“I’m doing fine, Maxine. How about you?” he said flatly, but still playing along.

“What’s with the Maxine? You know everyone else calls me Max.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” I tipped my water glass up, swallowing it down. “You do it for some reason. You’ve always called me Rosalinda.”

---