Page 21 of The Situation
“My God, Kelly.” He takes another step back, his gaze caressing my body from my face to my stilettos. Every movement feathers the fire burning in my core. “You are anabsolute dream.”
The girls still openly gawking at him might as well be ghosts because I don’t think Tate sees them. He’s looking atme.
All I can do is look athim.
Stubble dusts his jawline. A white shirt hugs his body perfectly. Tailored pants highlight his thick, muscled legs, and a deep blue jacket makes his oceanic eyes pop. They’re unguarded and undistracted. He’s 100 percent present—and downright edible.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks. “And howsmokin’ hot?”
“Do you realize that there is a pod of girls standing ten feet to your right who are practically drooling over you?”
He lifts a brow. “Really? Then let me wrap my arm around you so you don’t slip as we go inside.”
I chuckle at his line.He’s good.But I can’t give in this easily.
“Don’t you think it’s a little presumptuous to assume I’ll have dinner with you?” I ask, grinning up at him.
“No.”
“And why is that?”
His fingers flex against my hip. “Because I always get what I want.”
God. “And what is it you want, exactly?”
“You.” An easy, cheeky grin kisses his lips as he stares down at me. “This is for you.”
A long-stemmed red rose appears out of nowhere.
“You got me a rose?” I ask, surprised and confused.How did he have time to find a rose?
“You’re adorable.”
My brows pull together as he hands me the rose.
“I love that you think I’ve been able to think about anything other than you.” Tate slides his arm around my waist, his fingertips pressing through the fabric of my dress to weigh on my skin. “Let’s find our table.”
My body tingles at the contact, and I hope he can’t feel how my breath stutters. There’s no use in pretending I’m not dining with him tonight. We both know it’s true.
Tate’s fan club’s eyes are trained on us as he guides me into the restaurant.
My head spins because, while I hoped I’d run into him, I was not prepared for …this. I hoped I’d run into him, but he’s obviously here to try to run into me. To do that, he had to listen to everything I said on the plane and pick up on my dinner plans.
Is there anything more attractive than a hot man who listens?
He guides me past a throng of waiting customers and into the restaurant. Heads turn as we pass, all of them admiring Tate—the women longingly and the men admiringly. After a few seconds at the hostess stand, we're ushered deeper inside the establishment.He made a reservation.
The vibe is intimate with warm, dim lighting and deep, dark colors. Tall faux plants and strategically placed half walls create private spaces within the building. Candles give off a romantic flair, while gold accents and crystal chandeliers add touches of opulence. The host reaches for a chair, presumably to pull it out for me, but Tate subtly waves him off and does the honors himself. I try not to swoon too hard as I sit, placing my purse and the rose on an empty chair to my right.
A blond man with freckles steps up to our table. “Good evening. My name is Sean, and I’ll care for you tonight.” He pours two glasses of water. “May I start you off with a drink?”
All eyes are on me.
I’d like a glass of wine, but I’m not confident enough in my wine knowledge to choose something that isn’t embarrassing.
“I’ll have a vodka soda, please,” I say.
“I’ll have an old-fashioned,” Tate says.
