Page 105 of His To Erase
“Is this your version of not staying?” I ask, looking around. “Because it looks a hell of a lot like staying to me.”
His smile sharpens a fraction. “There’s a difference between drinking here and dining here,” he says smoothly. “I have a private table. You’ll like it.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before guiding me through the club. The second his fingers wrap around my bicep, I flinch. Pain jolts through my shoulder, but I don’t say anything.
He must have noticed, because his grip loosens, and he adjusts his hand, moving it back to the small of my back.
He leans in close and his mouth brushes the shell of my ear. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” he murmurs. “Until I want to.”
He steers me past the velvet ropes toward a private booth tucked into the shadows, where a bottle of wine is already waiting. He’s pulling out all the stops, it would seem.
Frank slides into the booth like he’s settling into a throne, and nods for me to join him.
I move carefully, even though my shoulders still stiff from the strain of pretending I’m fine. The leather squeaks as I sit down, and I resist the urge to lean back too far—my ribs aren’t up for the performance tonight. I definitely should’ve bailed.
He picks up the bottle and pours himself a glass first, then grabs the second glass sliding across the table before he lifts his own and holds it up.
“Let’s toast.”
I lift my glass, but I don’t clink his. Instead I just take a sip. The wine’s dark and expensive and does absolutely nothing to dull the buzz already building behind my eyes.
“What exactly are you trying to toast?” I ask, setting my glass down with a faint click.
His smile widens. “To us. To the future.”
I study him. His words are casual, but there’s something underneath. Something he isn’t saying out loud. Frank is a really nice guy, and we’ve been doing this weird exchange since the moment I met him.
“I didn’t realizewehad one,” I say lightly, tracing the rim of the glass with one finger.
He laughs at that, like I just said something adorable. “We do,” he says smoothly. “You just don’t see it yet.”
I sit a little straighter, even though my ribs protest. “Frank—this isn’t a relationship. We’re not?—”
He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “Details, baby. All that matters is we’re here now. Together.”
I take another sip, letting it sit on my tongue like I’m someone who actually enjoys this shit, then set the glass down and lean back slightly. It’s too sour—just like every other overpriced bottle men like him use to impress. But I still lift my chin and watch him over the rim like I’m impressed anyway. Because that’s what this is, right?
“You know, you could’ve just asked me to dinner like a normal person.”
Frank’s smile twitches. “I tried that. You kept telling me no, remember?” He tilts his glass toward me in mock cheers. “I figured direct action might get better results.”
“Direct action?” I echo, eyes narrowing. “Is that what we’re calling this now?”
He laughs. Actually laughs. And somehow, it’s worse than if he hadn’t. “You always were dramatic.”
“Right.” I fold my arms. “Because that totally screams romance.”
He leans in slightly, resting his forearm on the table, his voice is soft but full of bite. “If I wanted to scare you, Ani… you’d know.”
My jaw clenches, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I raise a brow. “Was that supposed to be comforting?”
Frank shrugs, calm as ever. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“I’m here, because we’re friends.” I echo, matching his tone. “Doesn’t mean I’m staying.”
His gaze darkens—just a flicker, but enough to catch. “You will.”
I let the silence stretch, then I smile. “So what is this then, Frank? A date? A business meeting? Another move on your weird little chessboard?”
