Page 68 of Sunflower Persona
“Can we go somewhere else?” My eyes fall shut as I chew on my lip.
“Hey, none of that.”
Sparks rain through me as his thumb runs across my mouth, coaxing the abused lower lip out from between my teeth. When my lashes open, he’s staring at me with the same intense heat that was there before he kissed me in my room. His hand doesn’t fall away as his fingers ghost over the sensitive skin. Each pass sends another wave of sparks through me, setting all my nerves alight with electric energy.
“Hi, I’m Andrea, and I’ll be your server toni—”
“Give us a minute,” Gage says without taking his gaze from me. There’s no mistaking the command behind the softly spoken words.
Our waitress nods and scurries away from the table without protest.
“Now tell me what’s wrong.”
My whole body shudders when he finally pulls his hand away.
“Nothing’s wrong, exactly. This place is very nice, and I really, really appreciate the effort you went through planning this. Like, it’s totally great—”
“Kori.” He says my name with a soft growl.
“It’s just…I don’t know what any of this food is, or if I’ll like it, and I don’t want to ruin our date by hating the food. Especially after you went through the effort of planning it all.”
He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his.
“Thank you for telling me, but let’s get one thing straight: you could never ruin anything.”
My face flushes as his intense stare bores into me.
“So what sounds good?” he asks.
“Promise you won’t judge?”
“I promise.”
“Can we get Mexican?”
“Mexican it is.”
His lips twitch with a smile as he stands and pulls me to my feet. Our fingers stay entwined as we walk back through the restaurant, ignoring the confused looks from the staff. He doesn’t let me go until we’re back in the car, and even then, the separation only lasts long enough for him to turn on the radio and set it to a pop station before he grabs my hand again and rests them twined together on the center console.
It doesn’t take us long to make it to the new restaurant. The scent of peppers and other spices hits me like a delicious wall as we step inside. I feel like a cartoon character being carried intothe brightly decorated space on that tantalizing tendril. There’s nothing unique about the Mexican restaurant, which makes it perfect. Sure, it’s loud and bright, but it’s a familiar loud and bright, which makes it safe.
“This better?” he asks.
“This is perfect,” I tell him with a smile. “Now let’s go get some queso.”
A hostess seats us and hands us our menus. We order our drinks, and once the server leaves, we fall back into silence while we look over our options. I don’t need to—I always get the same thing—but flipping through the oversized book gives me something to do with my hands and an excuse to keep my eyes off the man in front of me.
So what happens now?
Talking to him was so much easier through text, but I think that’s true for most people. Everything is easier with that barrier of tech. People become data, nothing more than names on screens, and you don’t have to worry about things like micro-expressions or body language when you can’t see someone’s face. All you have are the words someone says, and everyone has the same inputs to go off. It evens the playing field a bit. I’ve always had an easier time connecting online than in person, but I also know those relationships only go so deep. People can hide a lot of who they are behind a keyboard.
“So, how are classes?” Gage asks once we place our orders and the server takes the menus away.
“They are classes,” I say with a shrug. “Things are starting to pick up now that the semester is getting into full swing.”
“Is that a good thing? I’m a little out of touch. I haven’t stepped foot in a classroom in almost two decades.”
“It gives me something to do besides playing video games and watching movies all night. Although it seems like all of my professors conspired to have their due dates aligned.”
