Page 43 of Trusting Blake
I settle into the chair and feel the coolness of the AC above us. Despite all the interesting, quirky things to observe around me, my attention remains only on Blake as he sits opposite me. He has his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, his forehead creased in concentration as he skims over the menu, and under the colored lights, he looks as gorgeous as ever. When he notices my stare boring into him, he glances at me over the top of the menu with a perplexed look.
“What? You don’t like it here?” he asks.
I laugh and reach across the table to touch his hand, mindlessly examining his calloused fingertips. “I was just thinking how hot you looked.”
Blake lowers the menu and arches a brow, a tantalizing smirk toying at his mouth. “Seriously, Mila,wherehas this confidence come from? You would have never said that out loud a few weeks ago.”
“I’ve learned something about myself,” I say. Letting go of his hand, I slide off my chair and move around the table. I step behind him and lean down to wrap my arms around him, then with my lips hovering dangerously close to his ear, I whisper, “I’m only shy at first.”
I give his jaw a little kiss and then release him, floating back to my seat feeling like an absolute queen. My cheeks burn and my pulse races, but a sense of pride falls over me, because Mila Harding is makingmoves.Blake stares back across the table at me open-mouthed, then gulps and buries his head back into the menu.
“I’m gonna get the, uh, wings,” he forces out.
My smile widens into an amused grin. I could get used to this, this feeling of power at being able to make Blake – cool, self-assured Blake Avery – nervous. Oh, how the tables have turned. It fuels my confidence.
I reach over and lower the menu to reveal Blake’s blushing expression. “I was thinking this morning. . . I’ll be going home eventually. What do you think will happen?”
Blake’s features rearrange themselves into a more serious expression. “To us?”
“Yeah.”
Before Blake can voice his thoughts on the matter, we are interrupted by our waitress. Blake orders his wings with spicy Nashville hot sauce, and I flick through the menu at lightning speed and opt for some classic chicken tenders with simple BBQ sauce. Blake tuts in disapproval at my basic choices as soon as the waitress has left to put in the order.
“Leave me alone,” I say, with a mock growl. “Can’t a girl just eat some tenders without being judged?”
“Your palate kind of sucks. Aren’t you used to, like, French cuisine and exotic dishes with names that no one can pronounce?”
“Exactly. I never get to eat this stuff, so let me take advantage.” I point my knife threateningly at him. “You haven’t made an assumption like that in a while. Please don’t start again.”
Blake holds up his hands. “My bad, Hollywood.”
I glare playfully as I brandish the knife closer to him, and then he breaks out into his hearty laughter that instantly melts away any irritation. I place the knife down, then lean back into my chair and frown.
“But seriously, Blake,” I say. “How are we going to make things work?”
“Do we even have to think about it?” he asks with a hint of aggravation in his tone, which takes me aback. “Can’t we just have funright now?”
The keyboard player finishes up his set to a round of applause from the Tin Roof’s clientele, silencing Blake and me for a few moments until the commotion dies down. The waitress drops by our table with our drinks.
“Of course we have to think about it,” I say quietly, dropping my eyes to my lap.
Blakedoeswant this to work out, right? I know it’s still very, very early in our relationship, but what’s even the point of being together otherwise? I’m dating Blake with every intention to keep seeing him, but it suddenly dawns on me, right here in this dive bar, that maybe Blake only sees this as a summer fling. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about our plans for the future because he doesn’t care if we even have one.
“Yeah, but. . . our options are pretty limited.” He looks at me with a mix of uncertainty and exasperation. “You live so far away, so I guess we’ll just have to try and visit each other as much as we can. Can’t we just focus on enjoying tonight and work this out later? It bums me out thinking about it.”
“I don’t like thinking about it either,” I agree, “but we kinda need to have a plan.”
“Our plan is to have fun right now,” he shoots back impatiently.
“Okay,” I say in a mixture of both defeat and relief. I guess we’ll have to pick up this conversation another time, but will thereeverbe a right time to discuss us being apart?
One of the waitresses hops up onto the stage, grabbing hold of the mic. “Who’s ready for some country?” she yells, her voice vibrating through the speakers, and the crowdwhoopsand thumps the tables in response. “Here to get your feet tapping for the next hour, give it up for Jason Cox!”
Suddenly, there’s a clatter as Blake knocks over his drink. The glass rolls across the table, his soda spilling everywhere and ice cubes crashing to the floor.
“Whoa,” I exclaim, scooting my chair back from the table to avoid the splash zone. I begin reaching for napkins and force myself to joke, “You can’t bethisenthusiastic about country music!”
But Blake doesn’t laugh. In fact, I stop blotting the table dry when I notice he is frozen stiff in his chair, eyes wide and locked on the stage. It’s an expression I’ve never once seen on him before, like he’s shocked to his core.
