Page 13 of Red Zone Realizations
“Would I know anyone you represent?”
“Probably not. Right now, I’m mostly in the beauty influencer space.”
“Have you seen the girl who went viral for painting her face like a different fish every week?”
I lean forward, shocked. “You know Tanya?”
He chuffs. “I think that hit everyone’s For You page.”
“She’s really nice. Values my opinion. Takes my advice.”
“She didn’t let the fame get to her head?”
“Not at all. She’s just the same at one-million followers as she was at one hundred.” I consider him. “Seems like you didn’t let fame go to your head either.”
“What do you mean?” He wipes a hand over his mouth, his eyes shifted down. We’re both leaning over the table as if drawn together.
“You’re a professional football player. I’ve seenFriday Night Lights. Aren’t you supposed to be all baby mama drama and testosterone?” I’m being serious, but a smile cracks across his face.
“That’s a TV drama about high school kids. I wouldn’t exactly call it a source of truth.”
“That’s all I know.” I shrug. “‘Texas forever’ and all that.”
We’re interrupted by the sommelier approaching the table with a bottle of wine. As he presents the wine to Noah, I relax back in my chair.
My head was full of folly, but reality is settling my imagination. After the sommelier pours my glass, I pick it up and tip it so it just barely touches my lips to taste. Noah watches me carefully, like he’s trying not to miss any details.
“Do you like the wine?”
“It’s great.” I’m not usually a wine drinker, but when presented to me, I try to be a good sport.
Noah tilts his head to the side. “When’s the last time someone took you out?”
Holy shit, can he read the nerves behind my eyes?
“It’s been a while. Not because there weren’t any opportunities, because there were.” There’s fake sternness in my voice. “I’m my own boss so when I don’t work, I don’t make money.” Sure, it’s been a while, but I’m not about toadmit exactly why right here at this dinner table. It’s the twenty-first century, we don’t need men to be sexually satisfied. That’s why we invented vibrators. Something that I’ve become highly appreciative of in the last six months.
A banked fire roars behind his eyes. “So, I’ve already met your high standards?”
“I thought this was an apology, not a date.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
I lower my eyes to get away from the heat in his. I scan the menu one more time, confirming my already decided order. I’m going to get the steak, of course. I took a door to the face for this meal. He could have broken my nose! And he’s asking lots of questions; that costs extra.
Noah looks like he’s about to say something else, probably about why I didn’t answer his question, but I’m saved by the waiter. “Are you ready to order?” Matt asks.
Noah’s eyes are on me when he says, “I know what I want.”
Okay, maybe not saved.
It’s hard to take my attention off him. The hard plane of his jaw line and the darkness of his green eyes—the kind you can get lost in.
Realizing how far I was leaning toward him, I sit up straight.
The list. The list. The list.
I read off the menu to him. “I’ll have a side Caesar salad and the fourteen-ounce ribeye.”
