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State of Grace is a beautiful restaurant decorated in a style that's like a modern art deco. Gorgeous, tiny tiles decorate the walls and counters that wind through. There's a small bar jutting out into the dining room floor, bottles of liquor catching the light from the chandeliers. The chandeliers hang low, illuminating plush booths and leather seats.
Seats that are empty.
I turn to look at Parker as he holds the door open for me as I step into a quiet, empty restaurant.
"Parker, I think they're closed," I frown.
"No. I thought a crowded place might be too much, so I reserved it," he says with a soft smile.
I blink, trying to figure out just how much it would cost to rent the whole place for a night. The mental math quickly becomes too much as my emotions wrestle for control of my tongue.
"Parker, that's too much to spend on me," I say, my cheeks heating up. I know Parker is making good money now. Pro athlete money. But for him to spend a chunk of it on me, just for one night?
He steps up, leaning in close. I'm aware, suddenly, of the eyes of the staff on us. Watching, weighing, waiting.
"Don't worry. They gave me a discount when I told them why I wanted it," Parker says, giving my hand a squeeze.
It's clearly not true because I know Parker wouldn't dream of not paying full price for something like this, but the joke does jump-start my brain.
"Warn a girl next time, would you?" I fish a tissue from my purse and hold it up to one eye. I didn't spend an hour getting my mascara perfect just to ruin it before appetizers.
That's for dessert.
Something about how much care and thought went into this surprises me. It shouldn't. I know Parker cares for me. He's already shown me that. But there's something about someone being nice to me that always puts me on guard, and I'm slow to lower my guard.
This, though, is making me open the gates, raise the portcullis, and lower the drawbridge. I can't stop smiling. For once, I don't want to. I want to just exist in this happiness.
Parker makes it easy to smile. He's so bubbly, so good-natured. The way he makes friends everywhere we go — something I always wished I could be better at. Normally, I'd be jealous of someone like him, but his warmth makes it impossible.
The suit doesn't hurt, either. It's clearly expensive, something designer that's been tailored to his bulk. Parker is so exquisitely built he could easily model if this whole hockey thing doesn't work out. There's something about seeing all that raw strength and power confined within the soft, sleek lines of a suit that makes me squeeze my thighs together under the table.
I'm wearing a classic little black dress. It's nothing crazy, but the fire in Parker's eyes every time he glances at me makes me resolve to fill a closet with them. His amber eyes linger on my curves, dancing along my exposed cleavage, tracing the lines of my thigh tattoo as it peaks out from under my short hem.
There's no question I'm going to end up in his bed again tonight. I can't stay away from him. I'm thoroughly addicted to his dick.
Dinner is exquisite, the staff friendly. I can see a few of them gossiping as they watch us from the safety of the kitchen, but it isn't too much. They've got hearts in their eyes, and I don't blame them.
I do, too.
Parker takes it all in stride, asking questions about every dish on the menu before finally settling on the roast octopus in green curry vinaigrette. He's outgoing, friendly, every inch the extrovert that I'm not.
I find myself watching, studying his every move. Parker's voice and smile consume my entire world, and for once, the anxiety of being out in public fades away. I know the staff are watching us, but their eyes aren't burning a hole through me. Parker's brilliance is bright enough that I can hide in his shade.
It's the most romantic, intimate date I've ever been on. The kind of thing I've never even let myself dream about.
We pass on dessert. The menu is decadent and rich, but right now, there's nothing sweeter or more addictive than the man sitting across from me. I can tell that Parker is on the same wavelength by the heated look in his eyes. I want nothing more than to get him back home so he can rip this dress off and destroy my makeup.
I'm not ready for the flash as we exit, or the sudden noise. There's a clamor— the rush of multiple voices shouting over each other all at once. They're not asking questions, but demanding answers.
"Parker, is it true that your hot streak is because of your new girlfriend?"
"Mr. Knight, they're already calling you the Next One. How many of Gretsky's records will you break?"
"Parker, how big is your stick?"
"Parker, who's your date?"
"Parker —"
