Page 8 of Van Cort
“Harvard.”
I put my napkin on the table and lean back in the chair, smiling at her. She’s charmed me tonight, absorbed me. Beauty and brains - a dangerously tempting combination, maybe, but still not a combination I’m prepared to commit to past a single night.
She blushes slightly, as if something has changed in her thoughts, and picks up her wine again. It was probably my darkening gaze, or the third glass of wine tempting her past sense.
“Are you ready to leave?” I ask.
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She puts the wine down and grabs for her bag, looking in it for some reason. “Dutch?” She holds up her card, as if she’s attempting to offer me money. “We’ll split the check? Is that okay?”
I stand. “Don’t be ridiculous, Andie. Put it away.” She frowns and fidgets, picking up her bag and jacket. “Do men often ask you to split the bill?”
“Well. Yes. And I’m more than comfortable paying for myself.” I’m not in that new age when it comes to money and women. I have always wondered if I’m just buying a fuck by doing this sort of thing. I suppose I am. It’s cheaper than a divorce, though.
I look at her beginning to fidget with her dress, smoothing it down again.
“Why are you nervous?”
Her head shoots up. “I’m not.” Yes, she is, and I’m enjoying it far too much.
“Are you offended that I’m not allowing a split bill?”
“Well, no, but I wouldn’t assume. Assumption is the enemy of progression.” I smirk.
“Whose quote is that?” I walk for the bar, offering my hand out to her for her to pass.
“I don’t know. Someone’s. I’m sure I’ve heard it somewhere.”
“Hmm.Someoneis profoundly intelligent, then.” She smiles shyly and straightens herself a little. “Assumptionisthe enemy of progression. We know nothing if we only assume.” Which makes me consider the assumption that I’m about to get laid, as I reach the bar to pay for the meal. She might say no. Unlikely but a possibility. For once, I’m unsure. There’s been nothing in the way of usual flirtation from her. A few batted lashes and the occasional blush, but she’s different from the others.
I hold my card out to the server, and she instantly puts hers beside my hand.
“Split the check, please,” she says.
The server looks at me.
And I look at her.
“Andie, put it away.”
“No.” She looks at the server again. “Split it.”
Unsure how pissed I am, I allow a small smile to form on my mouth. “Is this your way of showing me guile?”
“It’s my way. I appreciate the offer, Everett, but I like to pay my own way.”
“Hmm.”
Allowing the split, I find myself staring at her as she fidgets with her dress. If there was another date in our future, I’d change her behaviour on this front. There won’t be, though, and an argument now about chivalry diminishes any chance of the fuck I’m after.
I watch her walk through the restaurant in front of me, part wondering what it’ll be like to wrap that long hair around my fist and part fascinated with the swing of her gait as her ass moves.
“Thank you for dinner. This has been lovely,” she says.
“I didn't buy you dinner.”
“Well, no, but you invited me. And I’ve enjoyed myself.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
