Page 27 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
He turned back to the closet. “Maybe we can break you of that while we’re here.”
“Bigger men than you have tried.”
“I’m surprised at you”—he shot me a calculating look—“thinking size matters.”
I left him standing in the bedroom with a spark in his gaze.
On the patio, I thought about Laurie. I missed our chance to get together, but Epic might actually be a much better plus-one. Like it or not, Laurie drew unwanted attention wherever we went. Epic and I could leave the room, walk on the beach, swim, and sail. We could dine without curious onlookers and strobing flashes interrupting us every five seconds.
But I began to sense that Epic attracted attention in his own way.
He was a handful. A lovely, teasing, mischievous handful.
If nothing else, this weekend would be interesting.
* * *
“Holy cow,”Epic said when we were seated at a table in the glass-enclosed space overlooking the sunset on Butterfly Beach. Still half-visible on the horizon, the sun bled purple and pink and fiery orange ripples onto the water. “This is spectacular.”
The hostess responded with a pleased smile. “Enjoy your evening, sirs.”
“Thank you.”
The menu at Tyde was brief and pricey. It featured things like oysters mignonette and beef tartare.
I found it charming that the ordinarily opinionated Epic stayed quiet as we looked the menu over together. I assured him he could get anything he wanted, but he kept asking me what I planned on having.
“I’m torn between the pasta and the sea scallops.”
He bit his lip. “Those sound good. I love scallops.”
“Then why don’t you order those, and I’ll order pasta, and we can share. Would you like that?”
“Okay.” He lowered his gaze. “Is your friend paying for this too? I don’t want to take advantage.”
“If it matters, I’ll find a way to pay Laurie back. Not for the suite because honestly, that’s on him for upgrading me like that. But the incidentals shouldn’t be at his expense.”
Epic leaned over to whisper, “But this is ridiculous. We serve the same things at Bistro, and they’re nowhere near this expensive.”
“We’re paying for the view, the experience, and the chef’s reputation. It’s all right. I haven’t had a vacation in six years. I assure you, I can afford it. Let’s enjoy ourselves, shall we?”
I handed him the wine list. “Find us a nice wine, unless you’d prefer a cocktail?”
“Wine with dinner, I think. Cocktails later?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He bit his lip. “Maybe we should request the sommelier?”
“Oh, indubitably.” I put on a snooty accent. “Let’s do.”
I ended up getting Brussels sprouts for the table along with spring pea and prosciutto tagliatelle while Epic settled on the sea scallops. We got a bottle of crisp, dry white wine the waiter recommended to enjoy with dinner. After the meal, we ordered an artisanal cheese platter and twenty-five-year-old port.
“I can’t believe I’m drinking port that’s older than I am while eating after-dinner cheese.”
“If this meal doesn’t give me a heart attack, we can do it again tomorrow.”
“Don’t even joke.”
