Page 49 of Allure

“Wait, did you walk?” he asks, glancing around at the parking lot.

“I did.”

“When it’s this late? I get that you might not want to eat dinner with me since I might have been an ass to you a time and again—”

I snort but wave my hand for him to continue. Ouch. Even that tiny movement causes my muscles to protest. I amsore. Karate is a workout all in and of itself, and when we’re grappling, it’s almost like it’s a dual workout, both cardio and weight-training. Grappling with Mike had definitely been an exercise in weights.

“But at least let me drive you back to campus,” he says.

“I’ll admit that walking for the night classes might not be the smartest of ideas, regardless of what happened the other night, but, ah, if you don’t mind, dinner sounds great. I didn’t want to eat before class, and now, I’m regretting that choice.”

“A light meal before class is what I suggest,” he says. “You can always eat something after. Come on. I know a great place.”

I hope it’s not fancy because my clothes are casual, plus I probably smell. I hope I don’t.

Declan rolling down the windows makes me worried I do smell, but he probably would make a comment about it.

Figuring I’ll beat him to the punch, I start to say, “If I smell—”

“Did Detective Rivera get back to you?” he asks at the same time, so I clam up mid-self-degrading comment.

“Not yet, not unless he called during class.” I had put my clothes on the backseat, and I reach back there to grab my phone. “Nope, nothing yet.”

“You can answer during dinner if he calls. No big deal.”

Because this isn’t a date. Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.

* * *

It's a steak place. Some people are dressed up, but enough are more casual that I don't feel out of place. The hostess brings us to a table for two smack dab in the middle of the restaurant, and I try to ignore the feeling that everyone is looking at us.

“Kyle will be your waiter this evening,” the hostess says. “He’ll be over shortly. Enjoy!”

I don’t bother to pick up the menu. “What do you recommend?”

“A steak.” He chuckles. “I only ever order a steak from a steak place. You can’t go wrong.”

I skim the menu. The prices are high but not exorbitant.

“Order what you want,” he says. “I won’t judge.”

“You’re buying?” I ask, not wanting to assume.

“I did invite you. I didn’t want to sit alone at a restaurant. I hate that, and while the food in the dining hall is decent, when you wait this long to eat, the food isn’t always the hottest, has been sitting out for hours…”

“Thanks.” I smile at him and quickly look down at the menu before looking up again.

He’s eyeing me.

With hungry eyes.

Kyle comes by, and I opt for water, but he gets a Diet Coke. We also both get salads—Caesar for him, but I opt for the house dressing.

"Do you know what you would like for your main meal?" Kyle asks. "If you need more time…"

“I don’t. Are you ready, Brooke?”

“I’ll take the New York Strip.”

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