Page 749 of Filthy Elites

ChapterFour

To sayI’m seriously annoyed with Declan is an understatement. As soon as I reach my car, I slam my water bottle, empty, into its spot in the center console and then retrieve my cell from the glove compartment.

You probably made the right choice.

Poor Dawn.

Want to duck out of there?I text her back.

Immediately, she responds.Yes. Dinner? On campus or somewhere else?

Hmm. I scope out the restaurants near the dojo and settle on an Italian place that’s highly rated.

How about DiMaggio’s?

Works for me! I’ll text you once I’m there.

Perfect.

I head on over. DiMaggio’s is actually within sight of the dojo, and I manage to snag a spot right in front. That really surprises me, but I’m so happy about that. It’s prime time for dinner, and this place looks like it’s hopping.

Instead of bothering to stay sitting in my car, I climb out, stretch my legs a bit, and lean against my car’s door as I wait for her. It’s a beautiful day out, but I’m tired. Honestly, I think I’ll be hitting the hay once we get back to campus.

Dawn comes, and she has to drive around for a bit to find a parking spot. I probably should’ve put our names in but too late now. She waved to me as she made the rounds, so as soon as she parked, she came on over.

“Have you eaten here before?” I ask her.

“Yes. My parents dragged me here for a visit, and the university is the only one I ended up applying to.”

“Wow. Bold much? What if they hadn’t accepted you?”

"There was no doubt they would," she mumbles, her cheeks turning pink, making her golden complexion look even prettier.

I tilt my head to the side. “Oh, yeah? You a genius?”

“I wouldn’t say that, no.” She grimaces. “I am smart enough to have gotten in on my own, but I guess I’ll never know for certain.”

“Because of your parents being alumni.”

"Yep, and my mom's on the board, so…"

“Oh, wow. Don’t worry. I’m sure your parents didn’t have to pull any strings.”

“I hope not. I guess we’ll see how my grades are for the first semester. That’ll prove things or not, one way or the other.”

We head on inside, and we're told the wait will be close to an hour. That's fine, and we stand and then sit and chat, getting to know each other until we're finally called back. The wait had been more like forty-five minutes. It could've been worse.

After we order—the tour of Italy for Dawn, rigatoni alla carbonara for me as well as Caesar salads for us both—I lean back and eye Dawn.

“How was karate?” she asks.

“Not terrible.”

“Not good?”

“Well, there’s just this one guy. Declan King.”

“What a name.”

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