Page 36 of Can't Always Get What You Want

Fuss with my purse strap.

Look at my cell—notbecause I’m waiting for a text—because it gives me something to do with my hands. I fiddle with my social media apps, knee bouncing.

What is wrong with me?!

“I’ve already been out with him, this is stupid,” I mutter, loud enough for the driver to hear, because I thrive on embarrassment apparently.

The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. I give a tight-lipped smile.

“Haha, I’m fine, definitely not having a mild breakdown.” I groan, willing myself to shut up.

Before I can abort this mission and kiss my Rainforest cup good-bye, the driver pulls up to the curb and tells me to have a great night.

I nod, slipping out of the car. Smooth down my shirt. Jeans. Tussle my hair. Adjust the hoops in my ears…

“Stiff spine, Nova. You are a Montagalo.” Chin up.

Chest out.

Ha!

Obviously, Luca is waiting for me by the hostess stand, the dark, moody interior of the restaurant a stark contrast to the kid-friendly café we’d had our first…uh. Meeting.

His eyes find me instantly. Lock. Freeze. Narrow, then widen.

“Whoa,” he says, his voice low and stunned. “Your hair.”

I lift a hand, fingers grazing the soft, wavy strands and give it a fluff.

His mouth curves, slow and suggestive. “You just unlocked a whole new level of gorgeous. This color is working for you. Hard.”

“You like?”

He steps closer, eyes roaming without apology. “If I wasn’t already in trouble with your brother, I’d say something wildly inappropriate right now.”

Aww. Sometimes he says the sweetest things.

“I mean, I was already planning to mercilessly flirt with you tonight. Now it’s going to be borderline illegal.” Luca pauses, eyes lingering in that devastatingly confident way. “I like blondes, but love brunettes.”

Of course he would say that.“You probably say that toallthe girls who go from blonde to brunette to avoid an emotional breakdown.”

He only chuckles at me. “Only the stunning ones who would stab me with a salad fork if I mispronounce bruh-scedda.”

“It’s broo-sket-ta,” I deadpan with an Italian flare, lifting an eyebrow—one that has also been dyed brown.

“See?” He holds up both hands, grinning wider. “Sexyandsmart. I knew this date was a good idea.”

My eyes lower to his waist, verifying he has our cup in hand—not that I would spin on my heel and leave, but—it makes a great excuse to stay. A little voice in the back of my brain knows this is all a ruse and secretly, deep down inside, this is the only place I want to be.

Luca is wearing dark jeans and a white polo shirt, his dark hair a purposely mess.

His five o’clock shadow is doing wonders for his face and why is his jaw doing that…thatthing?Stop it, strong jawline. I am powerless against you.

Lord, have some mercy.

I hang back as he lets the hostess know we’re both here and within moments we’re following her to a quiet table toward the back of the dimly lit restaurant.

As the hostess disappears, Luca raises an eyebrow. “So. Are you going to pretend you didn’t spend your entire car ride over debating whether or not to ghost me?”

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