Russo:I’m back. Ready for dinner? I’m at a nice place.
From the map location he dropped in the chat, he wanted to meet at a steak and seafood place a half mile away. I could walk there.
I glanced down at the flannel shirt I’d borrowed from Jude. It was far too big on me. Beneath it, I had on a form-fitting black cropped tank and my leggings.
I’m not wearing anything fancy, I warned him.
Come as you are, he replied.
I hesitated and smoothed my hair with one hand. I’d thrown my wet hair into a messy bun and just let it dry there. Mom would be appalled I planned to meet a man looking like this. Was dinner with Russo really a good idea? But I needed to know moreabout what he found about Mateo, and while he’d been gone, he’d missed a lot.
I sent Jude a text. Just to let him know I was meeting with Russo.
I watched my phone. Dots appeared, then disappeared.
Then, nothing.
I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t have time to dwell on it, either.
I left the park bench and made my way down to Lake Sanguis’s semi-fancy seafood restaurant with its wraparound porch and gorgeous views of the lake. The sun had dipped down past the horizon, and the air had turned cool. The old-fashioned streetlamps flickered on.
I got the feeling I was being watched.
I wrapped Jude’s flannel a little tighter around me, noting that it smelled like him. Sweet and savory, all at once. A cold breeze kicked up, and I shivered. I glanced once behind me, just to be sure no one was following me. The street was deserted. No tourists were out.
Many restaurants were shifting to off-season hours, and the darkened shop windows told me many were closed until the morning. There’d be a short break between now and the holiday season, when the town would be decorated with holly and twinkling white lights, and ice fishermen would head here for winter weekend getaways.
I swept into the restaurant, expecting to see Russo waiting for me. Instead, I found a mostly empty restaurant filled with leather booths and small two-person tables with white tablecloths. The hostess stand was empty. In here, it was much warmer than outside, and I let Jude’s shirt fall loose and open.
I glanced around but saw only a single older couple dining andnobody manning the bar, either. I felt a little uneasy, and I didn’t know why. I glanced around again, looking for Russo. No hostess. No Russo. Odd.
I’m here, I texted him.
Back corner. Right.
Relief shot through me. I walked into the dining room, realizing it curved around a bit to the right. There, sitting in the corner, was Russo. He looked a little bit less put together than usual, his hair slightly ruffled, as if he’d run his hand through it in frustration. He also wasn’t wearing his usual blazer. Instead, he wore just his crisp Oxford button-down, rolled up on his muscular forearms.
As I approached, still worried my leggings and flannel were not fancy enough for the leather-bound booths and real linen napkins on the table, Russo’s eyes widened in appreciation as he saw me. He stood, dumping his napkin on the table.
“I’m not fancy,” I said by way of apology.
“You look great,” Russo said as his cool blue eyes swept down my body, lingering at the scoop neck of my tank top. When his gaze rose up again to meet mine, it burned with want. I suddenly felt sweat break out on my lower back. Maybe I didn’t want this much attention from Russo. I wanted to go back to Jude’s house and cuddle or play foosball.
Russo moved slowly to me, gently putting his hand on my waist and dropping a kiss on both of my cheeks. My face felt warm, the imprint of Russo’s lips lingering there.
“You look good enough to eat,” he told me, voice low in my ear.
I glanced up at his serious blue gaze, wondering if we were goingto get naked later, and just how I felt about that. Good? Nervous? Petrified? I wasn’t entirely sure.
Jude was comfortable and easy—like a favorite meal.
Russo was strange and new—like a complicated new recipe I’d been too scared to try.
I guess I’d have until the end of dinner to decide whether I wanted to take a bite of him or not.
What would it be like to get under Russo’s pristinely starched shirts?
I’d bet everything in my Paymo account he’d be the one in control, his hands directing me at every step, even as now, they grabbed the back of the wooden chair and pulled it out for me. Then he guided me to the chair with a possessive hand on my lower back. I dropped down in the seat and he pushed it forward for me, his eyes still lingering on my chest.
