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I feel small, and not in the way a tall man makes you feel small enough for him to protect.
Small in the way someone who is way out of their league feels.
“You’re perfect,” he says, his hand grabbing mine and tugging until I’m forced to step out of the car. He doesn’t back up, though, instead pulling me up and into him until we’re just inches apart, my breasts in the thick sweatshirt brushing against the white button-down he’s wearing under the black suit jacket.
It’s strange because this man feels like both a familiar friend and a complete stranger, and the way that heated electricity rolls over my skin when he touches me is like a long-lost lover.
“This place is . . . fancy.”
“It’s really not. It’s just a restaurant.”
“I’m serious, Dante.” My voice is breathy, both from the nerves and him being so damned close to me. “Everyone walking in there is dressed nice, and I’m—”
“And you are perfect,” he says.
“People will stare,” I whisper. He looks into my eyes, and that strange mix of comfort and electricity runs through me.
Comfort and electricity and something so fuckingfamiliar.
“They’ll stare because some scum bag is walking into the restaurant with the most gorgeous woman on his arm.” A blush burns my cheeks.
“I look like a slob.”
“It’s just dinner,” he says. I don’t respond, and finally, he steps back, giving me room to breathe.
Instantly, I'm cold, and it has nothing to do with the October air.
“Come. Let me feed you,” he says. He puts out his hand once more, asking me to take it but still giving me the option.
And really, what are you supposed to do when a hot older man rescues you from the side of the road and then insists on feeding you?
So when he raises his eyebrows, waiting for a response, I put my hand in his and follow him into the restaurant.
* * *
“Menus?” the waitress, who is staring at my . . . date in a rather familiar way, asks. She smiles warmly at Dante and then moves her eyes to me, giving me a top to toe, and then another smile crosses her face—smugness.
This gorgeous woman knows I am no fit for the man across from me.
No fit for this fancy restaurant.
It’s a strange realization.
I wanted out of my protective force field more than anything in the world. I wanted to live my own life, not let it be dictated by the wills and wants of other people. To have adventure and mystery. Now I’m here, but it doesn’t feel as sexy and exciting as I thought it would be.
I went from galas, late nights in expensive VIP lounges, and the newest designer clothes to stripping in a mafia-owned bar. A nice one, but still—a strip club. There was once a time when a woman like this would look over my outfit and my date and know she was the one who didn’t measure up. She’d ask me where I bought my dress or compliment my shoes.
Now I’m at a five-star restaurant in sweats and a messy bun.
Strange how the world works.
“No, we’re good, Janine. Please tell Gino to send us the tasting menu, yes?” She nods, her charming smile returning to her lips as her face moves to him. “Drinks?”
“Whiskey for me and whatever Lilah wants,” he says, tipping his chin to me. The waitress reluctantly moves her face from Dante to me, holding a pen to paper.
“I’ll just have a Coke, please. Thank you.” For a flash, her brow furrows and her eyes shift to Dante. He looks at her like he's annoyed that she's even questioning me before he nods.
“Go. Get it, Janine.”
