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It’s all glossy black floors, sleek black booths, and minimalistic globe lights that hang overhead in random bunches. It’s classy and contemporary; very nice, but it doesn’t have the cozy, welcoming feel that Sal’s does.
This place screamsrich people hang out here for fun, and I already don’t feel like I belong. It’s too fancy, and even in my gold cocktail dress, I feel plain.
“Welcome, Mr. Costa,” the host says with a dip of his head. He’s a young beta with curly brown hair, wearing a suit jacket with a red bowtie. “Gian Luca said you’d be stopping by today. Your table is right this way.”
He grabs a pair of menus from the host stand and, with a sweep of his hand, leads us to the back corner of the restaurant. It’s a large, circular booth far too big for the two of us, but it has to be the most private spot in the entire place.
Alessandro gestures for me to slide in first before taking a seat next to me. From this angle, he can see most of the dining room, which is mostly full at almost noon, but I can’t see much. Not that I care–I’d be content staring at Alessandro for the entirety of our meal.
“I’ll let Gian Luca know you’ve arrived,” the host says, placing our menus in front of us.
Alessandro thanks him and turns to me as he disappears. “Still nervous?”
I’ll admit, I feel a little better, seeing as no one has stared awkwardly in our direction since we arrived–the host didn’t even bat his eyes at us together–but the nerves are still there, turning my insides into a swarm of bees.
“A bit,” I finally answer.
He smiles sympathetically and places a gentle hand on my thigh, just above the knee, making my stomach backflip and the air catch in my lungs.
“If you don’t want to be here, we can leave,” he says, “I can tell Gian Luca something came up. It’s not a problem–”
“No.” I cut him off firmly and reach for his hand, squeezing it softly for reassurance. “It’s fine. Really. It’s just… I haven’t gone out with anyone in a long time. I’ll be okay in a few minutes.”
His fingers press into my skin, and heat pools beneath them, crawling up my leg to my core. My pussy throbs at the touch, wishing he’d slide his hand just a little higher, maybe high enough to tease my sensitive nub.
I blanch.
What am I thinking?
I’m not going to let Alessandro fondle me in public. He hasn’t even hinted at anything sexual since we left his house. It’smewho’s thinking dirty, but I can’t help it. Not after how he touched me last night.
I want more.Need more.
A waiter in a white button-up shuffles up to the table with a couple of waters and a basket of toasted bread. It’s served with two dipping sauces–a buttery garlic one and another that looks like guacamole.
“Good day, Mr. Costa,” the waiter says. “Gian Luca told me to tell you he’ll be over in just a few minutes. Would we like to start with drinks and an appetizer?”
“Yes, please. A glass of Malbec and a Sex on the Beach,” he says. “And whatever Gian Luca recommends for an appetizer.”
The waiter bows slightly. “Yes sir. Coming right up.”
I cock a curious eyebrow at Alessandro, tracing the side of his face with my eyes. He ordered for me, which isn’t out of the ordinary when it comes to alphas, but I’m beginning to wonder what kind of relationship he and Gian Luca have.
How is it that everyone already knows Alessandro’s name? Does he come here that often?I thought he said he hadn’t been able to come visit.
“Is the Malbec or the Sex on the Beach for me?” I ask, pursing my lips.
He hasn’t moved his hand, nor have I–I’m getting used to the way his thumb runs delicately back and forth over my skin.
“Either.” He shrugs. “Both. I figured you needed something to take the edge off your nerves.”
My heart skips a funny beat when he looks over at me and catches my eye. Even though I wouldn’t normally enjoy someone ordering for me, I genuinely don’t mind when he does it.
“You’re not wrong,” I mutter, slipping my fingers between his, glad they’re hidden beneath the tablecloth. If I could see our fingers intertwined, I might lose my nerve, but being that they’re hidden, I can pretend it isn’t happening.
I can pretend I don’t love being this close to him.
“Everyone knows who you are,” I say, attempting to distract my busy brain. “Do you come here a lot?”
