Page 20 of The Player's Obsession

“Yes, I do. Whites usually.”

I nod and scan the wine list. “Dry or sweet?”

“Pino Grigio, actually.”

“Great. I’ll order a bottle.” The server arrives. I ask her to bring us a bottle of Santa Margherita. She returns, opens it and pours some into one glass, and slides it to me.

I lift the glass and give it to Penelope.

She gives me a questioning look.

“I ordered it because I thought you’d like it.”

She lifts it to her nose and smells it before she places the wine glass on her full, red lips and takes a sip.

I watch as she swallows her wine then she seductively flicks her tongue over her lower lip. My cock thickens. Why do I want to impress her so badly? I get women without putting on the charm.

“It’s very good.”

“Great.”

The server fills both glasses three-quarters of the way to the top and asks what we’d like for appetizers. I order shrimp cocktail appetizers, and Penelope says that’s plenty.

I’m sure she’s freaking out over the fact there are no prices on the menu. Women in my circles expect this.

“Order whatever you want, I want you to enjoy the food.”

“I’m fine. I’m not used to drinking, the shrimp will be fine until the food arrives.”

“May I suggest the ribeye steaks. They are incredible. So are the pasta dishes. Actually, everything is excellent here. What is your favorite food?”

“I like it all,” she answers with a sweet smile. She’s not the snapping turtle she was when I surprised her yesterday. I like both versions, sweet and spicy.

“Great.” I lift my wine glass. “A toast…” She lifts her glass and waits for me. “To new acquaintances.”

“To new acquaintances,” she murmurs as our glasses touch. We sip, and it’s better than expected. Normally I prefer a red wine, especially with a steak.

“This is a nice wine,” I comment before taking another sip.

“It is,” she agrees. Our server returns and we both order the ribeye with baked potatoes and creamed spinach.

“I’m not a fan of Brussel sprouts,” she volunteers.

“They need to be cooked and seasoned exceptionally well,” I add. “I’m easy to feed.”

“Oh, so I don’t need to study the book of theFeeding and Maintenance of Oliver?”

I chuckle, having caught the Harry Potter reference about the care and feeding of animals or something—cute movies and creative.

She sips her wine and sets her glass on the table when our appetizer arrives.

We both take a shrimp. I dip mine in the cocktail sauce, she skips it.

“You’re not a fan of ketchup?”

“I love seafood. Come on, we harvest lobsters. When seafood is fresh and cooked properly, it doesn’t need condiments. At the most, use a squeeze of lemon. Now, if you’re talking Gyros, I love the tzatziki sauce.”

“I do, too. I know a place that has the best. They load the sandwiches with lamb, and they make their own tzatziki sauce. It’s a pizza place owned by a Greek family.” I’m animated tonight and chatty, which is unnerving.

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