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I clutch my arms around my waist and shiver at the image of me teaching Leka anything to do with sex. What a delicious, marvelous concept. I should tell him now. I’ll whisper it in his ear and all dinner long he can be tormented by the same fantasies that are swirling through my head.
I lean forward on the tips of my toes. “I was thinking about what you said last night and—”
“Your table will be ready in a moment, Mr. Moore,” interrupts a tall, slender hostess who is a dead ringer for Taylor Swift with crinkly blonde hair and deep red lips. “Would you like to be seated or wait for your guest?”
Leka jerks a thumb in my direction. “I’m with my guest.”
The hostess’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Oh, of course. Yes, well, I didn’t see you there. As I said, it will be just a moment,” she babbles and totters off. She stops by another tall, slender woman draped in black. The two look in our direction and for some reason, the two misjudge how noisy the crowd is because I can hear their whispering.
Can you believe she’s with him?
No. You’ve got to be kidding me!
They must be related.
They look nothing alike. Maybe it’s work?
It has to be. She’s not attractive enough to actually be his girlfriend.
I glance at Leka to see if he’s heard them, but his gaze if focused straight ahead. My newfound confidence dives to the floor. Leka may be a virgin, but it doesn’t mean he’s been saving himself for me. And maybe I misinterpreted it. He said he hadn’t been having sex, but he didn’t say ever. He could be in a dry spell.
Sadly, that makes so much more sense than him being a virgin at the age of twenty-seven. What an idiotic mistake to have almost made. I should get on my knees and thank the hostess for saving me from an embarrassment that would be impossible for me to overcome.
I force my gaze away from the whispering women and take in the dim interior of the fancy restaurant with its white tablecloths and suited waitstaff who all look good enough to have stepped off a runway. My unmanicured hands dig into the folds of my black skirt, which I bought from ASOS today off the sale rack because my entire wardrobe is leggings, track pants, T-shirts and school uniforms. I do have the guilt gifts as Audie calls them, but none of them are clothes unless you count the cornucopia of jackets that Leka’s bought me.
But clothes wouldn’t make a difference. Leka, in his decade-old black jeans and a thin black crewneck sweater, is causing people to stop and stare. I hear speculations behind me as to whether he’s an actor. Maybe theatre, someone suggests when they can’t place his face.
The hostess returns. “Your table is ready, Mr. Moore. If you’d please follow me.”
Leka reaches behind him to cup my elbow. He drags me forward and then we dive into the restaurant, following her through a maze of tables and people until we arrive at a small table at the back. Leka waits until I sit down before grabbing the chair in the corner, presumably so he can stare broodingly at the crowd.
Menus are dropped in front of us and a new person appears, this time a male, to explain the specials of the day. I don’t understand a tenth of what he says, so I tune him out and try to read the menu with the aid of the centerpiece candle.
“Water for me,” Leka says after the waiter asks what he wants to drink. “She’ll have water, too,” he adds before I can request one of the fancy martinis in the front of the menu.
The waiter bows slightly and then takes off. When he’s out of earshot, I lean over the giant menu. “I wanted a drink.”
“You’re underage,” he reminds me. “Stop trying to act older. It’s not a good look.”
His words are like a slap in the face. This is not how I imagined the evening would go. I’d come home with, what I thought, was good news of a job on a cleaning crew at a meat processing shop. The hours were at night, but that worked well with his work, and the pay was decent. When I told him about it, he’d grown cold and abruptly ordered me to get dressed or we’d miss our reservations.
This place is so fancy, too. I don’t like it. We’ve never eaten at a restaurant like this before. Before I left for Boone, we’d go to a little Italian café by the apartment or pick up sandwiches at the deli. Sometimes, we’d order food to be delivered. But we never came to a place that had multiple forks and spoons framing a giant white plate with gold trim.
