Page 21 of Allured
The way he switches from angelic to devilish should be studied, honestly. One little naughty comment from him and I already know it’s going to be a hell of a night.
“I’ll fucking drink to that.” I bring the shared coupe to my lips and not—so—subtly press my lips to the very spot Ezekiel’s were a minute ago before I down the rest of the drink.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALEK
I probably shouldn’t cry on our first date.
Ez and I decided to walk the few blocks to the restaurant and happily chatted it up along the way. He told me about his day full of grading papers and touching up on some administrative work at home. And I finished telling him about the changes going on at the club as we approached the entrance of the diner.
The smell of delicious greasy food is one that I’ll never get tired of. I was born and raised on that smell. The Burger Shop, while lacking an original name, never lacks in flavor. It’s been the performer’s go—to spot since it opened up a few years back and it also happens to be where my brother’s best friend works.
One of my hands sits at the small of Ezekiel’s back, the other holding the door open while I guide him in. I try not to think too much about how the simple touch sends a tingle of warmth up my arm and through the rest of my body.
“Hey, Alek!” Rhett greets us as we walk in, all smiles and charm from behind the half—wall separating the eating area from the bar and kitchen. I respond with a big grin of my own.Rhett’s energetic aura has always been infectious. I don’t know how sunshine personified can be roommates with a grump like my brother. They both lived with me a few years back and some days I could barely stand the bickering that went on between the two of them.
I’ll make sure to introduce Ezekiel once Rhett gets a chance to sneak away from the kitchen. For now, I walk my date over to a secluded booth in the corner of the restaurant.
It’s an odd time of night, nearly 8 pm. People are either finishing up their dinner before heading home for the night or enjoying some food on the first stop of a Friday night out. Thankfully, we’ve arrived when there’s not much overlap. The half—filled restaurant means that we won’t have to be yelling to hear each other.
“I don’t imagine Knight is a very involved owner given the large amount of business he conducts,” Ezekiel continues his train of thought from our earlier conversation as he sits down on one side of our shared booth. He looks around the restaurant as he says it and I see his eyes take in the every small detail of the hipster eatery.
“Honestly, I’m a little confused as to why he owns a burlesque club in the first place,” Ezekiel questions, his eyes focusing back on me. There’s a cute little tilt of his head in a silent question. I’m not sure if I can, or even want to, answer the questions he might have about the club right now. It’s a long and complicated story.
“You know Knight well?” I ask while fidgeting with my menu even though I know exactly what I’m going to order.
“Yes, he’s my cousin.”
“Oh—” Well, that might complicate things. Maybe. I assumed Ezekiel was a supporter of the charity the gala was hosting when we met last weekend, not Knight’s freaking cousin.
Shit, I need to talk to Knight.
I’m unable to start my panicking because a waitress comes over with some water and begins to take our orders. It’s not that I don’t want Ezekiel to know everything about me but there are things I’m not quick to open up about.
After we give the waitress our orders, I take advantage of the interruption and change the subject.
“You’re the kinda guy that likes sweet potato fries, huh?” I tsk playfully at him, back to my usual demeanor. I can’t get hung up on what—ifs when it’s our fucking first date.
“Yes, is that such an issue for me to be tutted at?” he replies with a surprising amount of sass.
“You can’t beat a good ol’ french fry, Ez. It’s classic for a reason.” I lean back in the booth, raising my right arm so that it lays over the top of the bench seat. I don’t miss the way Ezekiel’s eyes track the movement. I can almost feel his eyes tracing the outline of my biceps in my henley.
“I understand you may be the chef between the two of us, but respectfully, no.” It's the no—bullshit tone in his voice that brings a smile to my face.
“Ah—ah, chef slash amazing dancer,” I correct, wagging a finger at him. A huge chocolate milkshake and a soda are set in front of us and I turn to thank our waitress for bringing our drinks.
“When did you start dancing so amazingly, Mr. chef—dancer?” Ezekiel asks cooly, rolling up the wrapper from his straw into a little shape as he waits for my answer.
“Shit, it’s been ten years now,” I admit.
“Did you always want to be a dancer?”
While people usually ask this question with some judgment, I’m relieved to only hear pure curiosity from Ezekiel.
“No, actually. I wanted to be a gymnast.”
“Well you certainly have the build for it,” Ezekiel adds, his lips wrapping way too seductively around the straw.
