Page 33 of Pucking Good Girl

Talia

Becks runs to open the passenger door for me after giving his keys to the valet.

He laces his fingers through mine as we walk inside the restaurant.

The sign above our heads says “Estrella Marina”, evoking a starfish in two different languages to immediately communicate the Mexican-Italian fusion cuisine on offer on the menu.

The interior is understated but elegant, with a decor that could equally be Mediterranean or quintessentially Californian.

The host ushers us to our table the second Becks tells her he has a reservation.

“Thanks,” I say as Becks helps me into my chair.

His fingers brush against my naked shoulder, and I’m glad I just sat down. Warmth floods me at his touch, and I doubt my knees would support my weight right now.

Our small, square table is on a wooden porch covered by a flat roof. Hundreds of string lights are wrapped around the visible beams in the ceiling, offering a soft, romantic lighting. But the best part is that the water is no more than a few hundred feet from us.

“This is beautiful,” I say, taking in my surroundings. “This place just opened a couple of weeks ago. How did you get a reservation? I’ve heard that the waiting list is months long.”

Becks’s cheeks turn pink. “Promise you won’t think I’m a loser?”

“I would never think that.”

“When the person on the phone asked for my name and I said Shayba, she thought I was my dad. It happens all the time. Every time there are issues getting a reservation, all I have to do is give my last name. I feel a little guilty sometimes, but Dad doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s funny that five years ago I was embarrassed by my parents and now I pretend to be him on the phone.”

Our waiter chooses that moment to come to bring the menu and take our drink order.

“If I may make a suggestion,” he says. “The Estrella Marina Margarita is an unmissable Italian twist on the classic Mexican cocktail. It comes with a shot of Sicilian mandarin liqueur instead of triple sec and, of course, top shelf tequila. It’s delicious.”

“That sounds good.” Becks agrees. “We could try it. What do you think, Talia?”

He takes my hand on the table, and my brain short circuits for a moment. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

The waiter is about to tap on the tablet he’s using to take our order but hesitates. “On second thought, can I see your IDs? I’m sorry. I’m new and the boss was adamant that we need to card every customer who looks like they could be under twenty-one. No offense.”

“None taken.” I know exactly where he’s coming from. I use my free hand to grab my clutch on the table. It’s only when I free my other hand from Becks’s hold that I notice the look on his face.

He’s redder than a tomato, and his eyes go from the wallet he just pulled out of his pocket to me.

“Oh,” I say, realizing why he looks so embarrassed.

I was so nervous about this date that I almost forgot that the name on his fake ID is Beavis Rawbottom.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to get served if the waiter reads that name. He’s definitely going to check it thoroughly since this place is brand new and I’m sure they don’t want to get in trouble with the sheriff just yet.

“You know what?” I smile. “You’re driving and I have an early morning tomorrow. Maybe we should keep it alcohol free tonight.”

The relief on Becks’s face is palpable as he nods. “You’re right. I have early practice tomorrow. Let’s go with a Coke, please.”

I order a sparkling water with ice, and things get easier from there.

The menu is an interesting mesh between Italian and Mexican staples. There are tostadas topped with burrata, sun-dried tomatoes and other Italian delicacies, and pizzas or pastas that feature carnitas or carne asada ragù.

We decide on a tasting menu to sample a little of everything.

The food ends up being delicious, but my favorite part of this date is how easy talking to Becks is.

It shouldn’t surprise me, since it was like that the night we met.