Page 9 of Gabriel's Album

“I don’t want you to be embarrassed around me”—I say as I take her in my arms—“but I can’t help complimenting you when you look as good as you do in that dress.”

I pull her toward me for a kiss, trying to sense if there’s any hesitation from her, and when there’s not, I’m glad. Our lips meet, and hers are soft. She tastes like vanilla. I lower my hands down to her ass and pull her hard against me.

Ariana raises her hands and begins to run them through my hair while she’s kissing me, and I swear to god, I think that we should just forget about dinner entirely and head to her bedroom.

“We have reservations,” I tell her as I pull my lips away from hers.

Her hands are still tangled in my hair, and I still have mine on her ass. She has to be able to tell that I’m about five seconds from a full-blown erection.

“We should probably get going then,” she says, but she doesn’t look like she really wants to.

I nod in agreement and take her hand in mine, smiling at how enjoyable this is. We head out of her apartment and cross the street to where I parked my car.

“Nice wheels,” she comments. “What sort of car is it?”

“This, my dear Ariana, is an Aston Martin Vanquish. It’s the very first thing I bought once we were signed. I absolutely love it. I’ve always wanted one!”

“Well, it’s very nice,” she tells me.

I don’t even know what to say to that. I’ve literally never had someone tell me that my Vanquish is ‘very nice’ as though I’m a kid presenting the crayon drawing they did at daycare.

She sees the look on my face and laughs. It’s infectious, and I can’t stop myself smiling back at her.

We drive to Giovanni’s. It’s one of my favorite restaurants in Chicago and the only Italian restaurant that Sebastian will ever go to. Giovanni greets us himself. He must’ve seen my name on the reservation, and he asks how the guys are as he takes us to our favorite table at the back of the restaurant.

I’ve never seen the server that comes to our table to take our drink orders before. When he comes back with our drinks, he hovers for a bit before asking if he can have my autograph.

“Does that ever get weird?” Ariana asks as the waiter leaves with our orders of gnocchi for her and chicken parmigiana for me.

“The autograph thing?” I ask her.

“Yeah, strangers wanting you to sign stuff, isn’t it odd?”

“A little bit. I’m getting used to it, though it doesn’t normally happen here at Giovanni’s.” I smile at her and take a sip of my beer. “Sometimes it’s inconvenient, but mostly it’s flattering.”

“Have you ever had a woman want you to sign her boobs or something like that?” she asks me, looking curious as she does.

“Hmm”—I consider my answer, then decide to tease her—“do you want to know because you’re jealous or because you’ve got a Sharpie in your handbag and you’d like me to sign your cleavage?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” she says sarcastically. “I was just wondering what the weirdest thing that’s happened to you is.”

“Nothing really, yet,” I reply. “Sebastian did have one guy ask him to sign his inner thigh. He was wearing some really short shorts and wanted Seb’s signature as high up on his thigh as possible. Apparently, he was planning to get it tattooed there.”

“Did he actually do it?” Ariana laughs aloud, and it’s a beautiful sound.

“He did; I think he was too flattered to say no. It was when we’d first started getting some fame, and he was still excited that people knew who we were.”

“I can’t believe he did it! I would’ve thought he was too much of an asshole to be so nice to a fan,” Ariana snorts.

“Awwww, Ari, don’t be like that.”

She shrugs at me and her lips are pursed. I hate the way Sebastian treats women at the best of times—basically as though they’re disposable—and the way he hit on her was gross, but he’s also incredibly loyal to all of us and a really good friend.

“We’d both been drinking that night; in fact, Sebastian was completely slaughtered when you met him. I know it’s not an excuse, and he was definitely an asshole and totally out of line, but he’s still one of my best friends. If you can give me a second chance, can you possibly give him one, too?”

“Maybe,” she says. “I tell you what; I’ll reserve my judgment of him until the next time I meet him.”

“That’s all I ask.”

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