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“Guess it doesn’t take much.” I slide back to my original position in my seat.
“With you, no. I swear to fuck, you look at me a certain way and all the blood rushes south.” He gestures to his groin which the table is blocking from my view.
“I must be doing something right then.” I smile to myself, forking some veggies before sliding them into my mouth.
“You’re doing more than just some things right.”
“Careful there. You keep talking like that and I might start to think that you like me or something,” I tease.
“Good. Then it’s working.” He grins, shoveling a huge mouthful of French onion soup into his mouth, moaning dramatically. “Holy shit, this is delicious.”
I have to resist the urge to tell him not to talk with food in his mouth. Normally, I can’t stand it, but with Atlas, I don’t know, I find it kind of endearing.
I take another bite, this time getting both fish and veggies on the fork.
“Mine too,” I agree once I’ve slowly chewed and swallowed, glad to have moved on to a lighter topic. The room was getting a little too hot for comfort.
Don’t get me wrong, I love everything about what he was saying. But that’s the problem. I shouldn’t. I can’t. Because in the end, I know what this is and I can’t afford to hold out hope that it might be something more.
Atlas knows how to get women to play right into his hands. I’ve seen him do it countless times. Say exactly the right thing. A sultry smile here. A little wink there. And BAM! You’re eating everything he’s serving without even looking at the damn menu.
That’s all this is. He’s playing the game. A game that he’ll lose interest in soon enough. And then here I’ll be, just another stupid girl who fell for a man that wasn’t built to share his heart.
But even knowing all this, I can’t bring myself to walk away... At least not yet.
“Be honest, you just ordered that because of the movie.” Atlas gestures to my plate.
“What?” I act like I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“The movie. You know, the one with the little rat that’s a chef.” He points to my dish again. “Isn’t that what the movie is called?Ratatouille?”
“It is,” I confirm.
“And that’s why you ordered that, be honest.”
“Seriously?” I give him a dramatic look of annoyance. “You think I would order something based on some kid’s movie?”
“Um, absolutely.” He snorts. “And I’m right, aren’t I?”
I want to fight him on this, deny that he knows me so well, but the childlike glimmer in his eyes makes it impossible not to cave.
“Okay, fine.” I huff. “You’re right.” I can’t help giggle. “I saw it on the menu and I had to try it.”
“I knew it.” He grabs his fork and leans across the table.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching him stab his utensil into my food.
“Tasting it.” He gives me a look that I can sum up with one word –duh.
“Yes, by all means, help yourself,” I grind out in fake irritation.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He slides the food into his mouth and then chews slowly. “Meh,” he finally concludes.
“Meh?” I look at him like he’s a crazy person. “This is delicious.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugs.
“And yours is better?” I ask.
