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"You said you wanted dinner."
"Well, you didn't take me to dinner, did you?"
"I'm going to take you to dinner now."
"I don't want you to take me to dinner now." He pressed his lips together.
"Rosalie, do not get me started."
"What do you mean do not get me started?"
"I mean, do not make me..."
"Do not make you what?"
"Do not make me take you into one of these side rooms and give you a spanking." I stared at him for a couple of seconds and started laughing. I laughed so hard that I almost spilled my wine.
"You think that's funny," he said, his lips twitching.
"Oliver, who the hell do you think you are? You're going to spank me, like to tell me off, like I was disobedient or something?"
"Spanking is not just done for disobedience, you know."
"Yeah, it's also done, I guess, in kinky sex, but we've already established that we're not going to have sex."
"So you're saying you don't want my hand on your ass?"
"I'm saying I don't want your hand anywhere. I don't know if you think you're Christian Grey or some other hot romance book hero, but you're not. And I'm certainly not some innocent little damsel in distress who will let you do whatever you want after being a jackass."
"So you'd let me do what I wanted if I hadn't been a jackass?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I stared at him for a couple of seconds. His blue-gray eyes looked really gray tonight, smoldering as if a thunderstorm were about to erupt inside him. I certainly didn't want to be on the receiving end of that wrath.
"Oliver, let's get one thing straight. We kissed five years ago, and it was good. We kissed last night, and it was good, but we're not going to kiss again. I'm not interested in being with a guy who plays games. I'm not interested in being with a guy who has a maybe girlfriend, bitchy girlfriend, whatever. And I'm certainly not interested in a guy who's trying to be possessive over me when I talk to a handsome, young, promising attorney for five minutes and have two sips of wine. You're not my dad. You're not my brother. You're not my husband. You're not even my boyfriend. You are my brother's best friend. And you need to remember that." His lips were trembling now, and I couldn't tell if he was angry or about to laugh.
"Well, well, well, Rosalie Sloan. You certainly have matured, haven't you?"
"Yes, I have. I'm not the little girl you knew back in the day."
"Rosalie, you may be more mature than a teenager, but you're still only twenty-two. Trust me, you're not the most mature person on this planet."
"I didn't say I was the most mature person on this planet, Oliver James. I just said I'm mature enough not to have to deal with your bullshit."
"Okay then. So you're not hungry?"
"I am hungry, but as I said, I'm going to have some hors d'oeuvres." At that very moment, a server walked past. "Excuse me," I called out to him, and he stopped. "Any canapes there?"
"Yes, ma'am." He presented the tray to me, and I took two small quiches and a sausage roll.
"Thank you." I ate them greedily. "Mmm, good. Yummy." I rubbed my stomach. Oliver shook his head.
"Really, Rosalie?"
"What?"
"That's going to fill you up."
"I mean, I don't know if it's going to fill me up, but maybe Chad will want to take me to dinner for a nice juicy steak. And maybe after dinner, we'll go back to his place, and we'll bang." I said the word deliberately. This time, Oliver's eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. I knew he wasn't about to start laughing.
"That's not funny, Rosalie."
