Page 13 of Drop Shot
“And maybe I’ll kick you.” I slide the seatbelt over my body and click it into place. “I can’t believe it just occurred to me that you got us matching cars. My mom is never going to believe we haven’t been together longer. Was it a buy one, get one free deal?”
He shakes his head as he pulls into traffic. “Nah, Whim. It was not.”
“At least mine’s pink.”
“Custom wrap just for my girl.”
He chucks my chin playfully with his finger and I hope to God he doesn’t hear my sharp intake of breath. I’m beyond pathetic that themy girlcomment has me feeling some type of way.
Neither of us says anything else on the drive and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s feeling as out of sorts as I am, but I’d like to think so.
Elias pulls up outside the restaurant and I’m not surprised to find they have valet. I quickly switch my flats for heels.
Elias hops out and passes his keys to the valet before opening my door. He offers a hand to help me down, arm sliding around my waist to help ease the drop. He raises a brow at my heels.
“Shoe change?”
“It’s Miami. I can’t be caught dead wearing flats.”
He chuckles, his breath a warm caress against my bare shoulder. Looking around at some of the other arrivals I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb. The women I see are mostly decked out in what I would consider club wear, but that’s just not my style unless I’m actually at the club.
Elias keeps his hand on my waist as he guides me inside. The effort to keep my head fixed in place and not gawk in awe is difficult.
He gives his name, and the hostess quickly grabs two menus and leads us to a private booth. Gauzy curtains hang on the outside, only a slit large enough for a waiter or waitress to stand. I appreciate the privacy, though, and I appreciate even more that it shows he was serious about this being practice. He wasn’t putting us on display to be seen.
“Enjoy your evening,” the hostess says before leaving.
“I hope this is okay.” Elias toys with the collar of his shirt.
“This is perfect.” A small candle flickers on the table between us, adding a nice orange glow to the dimmed lighting. “Have you been here before?”
He rolls up his sleeve. “I haven’t. You?”
“I don’t go out much. When I’m home I try to spend as much time as I can with my family.”
His fingers tap absentmindedly on the leather-bound menu he hasn’t bothered to open yet. “You guys are close?”
“Very,” I reply, looking at the salad options.
“I’d like to meet them.”
I look away from the menu, meeting his eyes across the table. “I know, we said we’d tell them and your family in person.”
“Yeah, but I just mean…” He trails off with a shrug. “Even without this I’d like to meet them.”
“You’re going to regret that once you meet my mom and she starts planning our wedding and naming our future kids.”
A laugh rips out of him. “And how many kids are we going to have, Whim?”
I snort. “If my mom had her way probably six.” His eyes widen in horror. “She always wanted a big family. I think it was hard on her when they only had me and then Junie came along so much later.”
“Six?” he squeaks.
“Hey, I didn’t say that’s how many kids I want.” I move on from reading about the salads to the pasta selection. I feel his eyes on me, and it tears my concentration from the menu. “What?”
“So, how many do you want?”
I frown at the question, because it’s not like this is real so I’m not sure why he’s even asking. He doesn’t know about my illness, though. It’s not something I like to talk about. And it’s not that I can’t have kids, just that it might be harder.
