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“There’s nothing to handle.” I grip the edge of the table. I could force her to look into my eyes and see the truth. But touching her isn’t the way to get her out of my head. Finding her a boring little boyfriend? That’ll do the trick. “Nothing is wrong. This is just dinner. We’re eating. There is no trap.”
She chews on her lower lip. “It’s really just dinner? You don’t have bad news for me or anything?”
“I think I just figured out why ours was the first good date you’ve had in years. Interrogating your date about why he is taking you out isn’t good dinner chat.”
“I know what a date looks like! But you and me aren’t—We don’t—” She stops and, slowly, her eyes widen. “Is this a date?”
“Believe me, Luna: if this was a date… you’d know it.”
Something like disappointment flickers across her face and she falls quiet.
We eat for a few minutes before she clears her throat. “Thanks for dinner.”
I respond with a quick wave of my hand. I don’t do gratitude; I deal in favors. Give something to get something. If I’m not getting something, I’m not giving shit.
Doing something nice like this just because is… new.
“I believe you, you know.”
I arch a brow and try not to look as interested as I feel. “About?”
“Everything. That I’m in danger, even though I don’t know what the danger is.” Her fork scrapes across her plate as she finishes the last scallion. I slide the plate away and replace it with the ribeye. “I’m not good with a lot of this relationship stuff. Dates and trust and stuff. Not to say we’re in a relationship! Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I drawl.
“But my last boyfriend didn’t make it easy for me to trust people. Or myself, for that matter,” she adds softly.
When she looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable, a weird emotion hits me square in the chest. “What are you saying?”
She jumps at the sharp tone of my voice. “I’m saying that I’m starting to trust you and?—”
“No,” I snap. “About your last boyfriend. What did he do to you?”
It doesn’t matter to me if she dated some mudak before. If she wants to let herself get slapped around by some asshole, why should I care?
Why do I care?
I’d love to ignore it, but for some reason, I can’t.
I do care. More than I should.
Luna’s mouth tips into a sad smile. “I believe you’re telling me the truth. But trust goes both ways, Yakov. You won’t tell me your secrets; I’m not going to tell you mine.”
I’m about to argue—demand, actually—that she tell me everything about this guy, including his current address, when a ball of mangy fur flops onto the end of the table with a heavy fwap.
“Gregory!” Luna squeals. “He must be getting comfortable here. He’s been hiding in my room since last night.”
My room. I’m not sure how I went from never bringing a woman home to letting Luna and her fucking cat sleep in my bed, but hearing her claim the space as her own does something strange to me.
I like that she feels at home here. That she trusts me.
I like it a little too much.
Gregory swats a spare fork off the end of the table with his paw and then slowly makes his way towards us. His eyes are pale blue, compared to his owner’s deep aqua, but they pierce into my soul with the same kind of innate curiosity. Though I think Gregory’s motivation has more to do with the ribeye on my plate than what’s going on inside my head.
“Standing on tables is too comfortable by far. He needs to go.” I reach down to swat the cat onto the floor, but he instantly curls his head into the palm of my hand. I feel the vibration of his purr rumble through my arm.
Luna claps her hands over her mouth. “He’s purring! That means he likes you.”
