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“I’ll try the martini,” I say and look at my date.
“Merlot, please.”
When Ariella leaves us, Bennet gives me an appreciative look. “Adventurous.”
“Sometimes,” I reply with a shrug, and silently curse myself as soon as my mind goes to Dan.
We order canapes and talk for several hours, having two more drinks each. Bennet’s an interesting man and easy to talk to but none of that stops me from comparing him to Dan at every turn.
He’s checked every one of the boxes and yet I still feel zero of the fireworks I have with my sexy hockey player.
Fireworks aren’t everything, Elle, I scold myself.
Danon
I’m in a fucking mood. After another dinner with several foreign diplomats, three congressmen and two senators, including the one trying to set me up with his daughter, I’m done. I can’t fucking do this. And it doesn’t help that I’ve dialed Elle’s number and hung up at least four times.
I’m pissed I can’t get her out of my head. And then when we arrive back at the hotel, my tux is hanging in the closet along with a black mask, with intricate silver foiling curved around it. It’s one of those stupid masks with ribbon you have to tie around your head.
I don’t even bother to change after seeing it. I storm out of the hotel wearing the monkey suit I’ve been in all day. I remove my tie as I walk down the road, shoving it in my pocket. Intent on hitting Bruno’s and calling Elle, I head in that direction. Only as I head there, I pass Ce Soir, where I met up with Elle yesterday. I see her through the window and my face instantly splits into a grin. Until I see she’s not alone.
I frown, clenching my fists. It’s like a sucker punch in the gut. Not because we’re exclusive or had plans, or even discussed having other partners. No, none of those things bother me. It’s because he looks like the kind of man Elle deserves. My mood tanks even more.
I should turn back, I should go back to the hotel and hit the gym, take a run through the park I noticed from my suite, or hell, even pick up another distraction at Bruno’s. But I don’t do any of those things.
I walk into Ce Soir instead. And damn it if I don’t slide into the booth behind Elle, her back to me. It’s torment from the moment I sit, not to mention stalkerish, not that I can help myself when it comes to Elle.
Elle laughs at something her date says and it feels like lemon on a papercut. He makes her laugh, he doesn’t demand she obey his every command. Except Elle seemed to like that. So why the hell is she with this guy?
I’ve almost convinced myself it’s something benign, a brother, a cousin. Her friend’s date and Blanca’s late. Until the Clark-Kent-wannabe reaches across the table to touch her hand.
“Dan, right?”
I curse when I glance up and see Ariella, the waitress from last night, at my booth.
Pressing my lips a moment before speaking, knowing from her slightly raised brow and her half-frown, I’ve been caught, I decide there’s no denying it.
“Yeah,” I reply, gruffly. “Dan who needs a beer.” I wave her off, but she doesn’t leave.
She looks at the booth where Elle sits and then back at me. Cocking her head the tiniest bit, she seems to weigh my request.
“Well if you’re not getting my beer, tell me who Clark Kent is.”
“Clark Kent?” she asks, a wrinkle forming above her eyes.
“Yeah, the dude who’d be good-looking, A.K.A, Superman, if he wasn’t dorking it up in that suit, tie and glasses.”
Ariella’s eyes drop to my suit before they land on my scruffy beard. “I’ll get your beer.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
I turn back to my target and further size the guy up. He’s tall; I can tell even though he’s sitting. And his jaw, although baby-bottom smooth, is angular and manly. He laughs at something Elle says and his smile is wide and genuine. His teeth are straight and as white as snow. Guaranteed he doesn’t have any implants like me. My top front two, having been knocked out during a hockey tournament while I was still in high school, were fake, although thankfully no one can tell.
Ariella brings them a tray of fancy nachos and my jaw ticks. It’s probably the same thing she brought for us when we ditched. And instead of letting Elle eat, I demanded she leave with me. And then I beat her ass, leaving her marked. And I’d marked her every time we’d been together since.
Fuck. This is exactly why I should get up and leave the bar right now and delete her number. I am all kinds of wrong for her—hell, for any woman really.
Shaking my head, I rise. I leave a fifty dollar bill, for the drink I no longer want, and as hush money for Ariella, and leave.
