Page 57 of Irresistibly Risky

I’m trying to focus on tonight. On the date I’m forcing myself to go on. But the truth is, I’m hurt. And annoyed. And wanting to kill Asher, so that’s not helping anything. Did he not think I’d hear about it or see it somewhere on the internet if he’s dating a freaking model?!

I blow out a breath and run my hands down my dress. It doesn’t matter. I’m here for me. Not for Asher. And I plan to give this man a real chance. He was cute and uncomplicated and normal. He has no ties to Joe, and he’s not a celebrity, and he’s not Mason’s father.

All reasons why I should be happy about Asher’s date.

The valet opens the door for me and helps me out. I walk into the lavish restaurant, the space large and sprawling with high ceilings and hypnotic music playing in the background. The bar is at least two layers deep, and the crowd around the hostess stand is intense. I manage to slip through, but I don’t get far before a warm hand hits my lower back.

“Hey,” Heath breathes by my ear. “You made it.”

I spin around against the warmth of his palm and face him. He’s wearing a black button-down and jeans. His hair is brushed back, and his dark eyes are all over me.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

He leans in and kisses my cheek, and considering I barely know his first name, that feels forward. Then again, maybe I’m the outdated one. Maybe this is how it’s all done, and I just don’t know better. I can’t remember the last time I went on an actual date with someone.

With his hand on my lower back, he guides me to our table somewhere in the center of the enormous space. He helps me into my chair and then takes his own, menus on the table as if he’s already been here a while when I was exactly on time.

“I’ve wanted to eat here since it opened,” he tells me, staring down at his menu. “I finally have an excuse.” A smile brightens his eyes. “I’m glad you agreed to meet me.”

“Me too,” I tell him, not fully sure if I mean it yet. Gary told me he was new to the team and doesn’t know him all that well yet. I never would have given him a chance if it weren’t for Asher’s date. Perusing the menu, I settle on an entrée—no appetizer or dessert—and then set it down over the empty place setting.

“I wasn’t sure you would,” he admits, his features softening. “I know I was a bit forward yesterday, but I didn’t want to let the chance go. I knew the first time I saw you skating that I had to ask you out.”

“Oh.” That surprises me.

He blushes slightly “Anyway, I heard everything here is good, so let’s have some fun.”

I relax at that. Smiling and laughing along and not protesting when he orders some appetizers and a bottle of wine for us to share.

The wine comes along with our appetizers and I settle in, forgetting everything else until he asks, “Did you always want to be a doctor?” He’s sipping from his wine glass, carefree and totally interested, without knowing the blackbox that is my past. That’s a hard question for me to answer without getting into the details of my fifth birthday. Usually, I answer that by talking about my knee injury and decide that’s the course I’d rather take.

“No. I was at a competition, getting ready to head into my second Olympics the following year, when a skater came too close to me during practice. I was mid-jump and I saw them out of the corner of my eye, and when I came down, I landed funny to avoid hitting them. But in the process, I tore three ligaments in my right knee.”

He frowns, dropping his elbow onto the table. “That must have been awful. I’m sorry.”

“It was… pretty rough,” I admit, shifting some of the tomato and burrata around on my plate. “It was going to be my last Olympics anyway. I wanted to go to college and had gotten early acceptance to Yale that I had deferred.”

His eyes widen. “How? You were… what?”

“I was seventeen, but I had done high school entirely with tutors since I was competing and training so much. I technically graduated at sixteen.”

He looks impressed. “You never got to compete in the Olympics.”

“No. Definitely not.” I shrug. “I retired.”

“So you know what I went through then.”

I laugh lightly at his playful tone. “I guess I do.” I take a sip of my wine as our appetizers are cleared and our entrees are set before us. “Wow. This looks amazing.”

“It does. Do you want to try mine?”

“Um. Sure.” He cuts into his steak and then offers me the bite from his fork. It’s intimate as hell, and I falter. Just do it. Pushing myself up, I extend toward him and take the bite, chewing as I sit back in my seat. “It’s delicious. Do you want some of mine?”

“I’d love to try it.”

I do the same thing he did to me, and he eats from my fork.

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