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I end up in jeans and a halfway decent blouse, the top buttons undone, a hint of my black bra showing. It’s a little much, but the look in his eye when I come out and announce that I’m ready is worth risking all this cleavage.
“You’re lucky you’re with me,” he says as we get into his truck. “They’d never let you into the Oak looking like that otherwise.”
“Are you commenting on my clothes right now?” I arch my eyebrows at him, fighting the urge to throat-punch.
“The Oak is a very conservative and formal institution,” he says, glancing down at himself. He’s wearing a suit without a jacket and a tie, bridging the gap between our outfits. “I’m borderline like this, but since I’m a member in good standing, they’ll let some dress code violations slide.”
“I’ll stay home if I’m going to embarrass you in front of your fancy friends.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to do that.” He heads away from the city, humming to himself. “Though don’t be shocked if they assume you’re my mistress.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” After a few minutes, I can’t keep the questions from bubbling out, even though I’m rightfully insulted by that mistress crap. “What’s the Oak? Why are they so fancy? Who are we meeting exactly? Is there food involved or are you just treating me like arm candy?”
“Questions.” He sighs. “The Oak is a private club. It’s essentially the most exclusive place in North America. You have to be a senator, a famous actor, or obscenely rich to get membership. My friends and I have been members there for years now.”
“Good for you,” I mutter, refusing to be impressed. “Must be nice.”
“We’re having dinner with Carmine, who you met, Evander, Gareth, Ford, and their wives. The whole crew.”
“Then there’s us.” I glance at him. “You know we’re not together, right? Did you tell them that? They’re going to leap to conclusions.” I blush slightly.
“I might’ve mentioned something,” he says, sounding vague.
“Mentioned… what, exactly?”
His grin is almost sheepish. “Well. I actually told them we’re dating.”
My jaw drops. “Lanzo, what the fuck?”
“It’s easier this way. Carmine knows about Burian, but the others don’t, and I don’t want to get them involved if they don’t have to. And we definitely don’t want the wives to know anything about this. Though Evander might be useful, his power base is up in Chicago, not down here. And anyway, it’s too dangerous.”
“I thought you said they’d be helpful.” I rub the bridge of my nose. A migraine’s coming like a speeding train. “And I’m not dating you. I’m never dating you.”
“That’s a matter of personal opinion.”
“Lanzo. I’m serious. You are so beyond not my type.”
“I seemed like your type when my mouth was down between your legs.”
I turn beet red, glaring at him. “That whole mistake was a trauma response, okay? I was venting some very complicated emotions.”
“Yes, of course, you were venting them through your wet pussy onto my mouth.”
“Please, as if you didn’t throw yourself at me.”
“I seem to recall you appearing in the doorway of that room with some very attractive fuck-me eyes.”
My hands spread, appalled. “I didnothave fuck-me eyes. I’ve never had fuck-me eyes in my life.”
“You did last night. I’ve seen fuck-me eyes before, and you were practically drooling at me. You were salivating.”
“I’m going to grab that wheel and Thelma and Louise us both off a cliff if you don’t take it back.”
He laughs, obviously enjoying my embarrassment. “I might almost believe you if you hadn’t had a very lovely orgasm with my name on your lips.”
“On second thought, I’m turning my murder-suicide into just a straight-up murder.”
“Get mad all you want, but telling my friends you’re mine is going to make everything easier. There will be fewer awkward questions.”
