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“What’s going on with you?” My brows furrow. He’s being very unEvan-like.
He rubs at his brows with his thumb and index finger. Then he looks up at me. “This is the restaurant where I first met Evie. I planned to bring her back here for our one-year anniversary and ask her if she wanted to move in with me.”
“Shit,” I hiss. “We can leave. We don’t have to stay.” I grab for my clutch, but Evan reaches out to stop me.
“Stop,” he says. “I was thrown off at first but I’m okay.”
“We don’t have to stay. There are tons of other good restaurants within a block of here,” I state. My stomach turns. I don’t know why. A part of me feels upset that he’s still pining for Evie after all these months. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. My stomach wouldn’t be turning this way if it didn’t.
Evan rests his hand on mine. The touch is surprisingly calming. His hand is warm and calloused but so sexy. I need to give myself a good shake to refocus my mind away from how good his touch feels.
“I want to stay here with you. I’m not thinking of Evie. I was thrown off for a bit because of what this place represented, but none of that matters to me anymore. I want us to enjoy a meal together, have good wine, and have fun. Everything you said, I want.” His brown eyes feel like molten lava as he stares into my eyes. His look is searing, his honesty guts me, and the bad feeling in my stomach lifts and floats away, and in its place is a gooey feeling I choose not to acknowledge.
The server comes by our table and Evan asks me for permission to choose something from the wine list. I give him the go ahead. We are served our wine and Evan lifts his glass to me.
“To good friends and good times,” he toasts with a smirk.
“To good friends and good times,” I reply, and we clink glasses.
Both Evan and I order steaks. Evan gets his with a side of mashed potato and I opt for some grilled asparagus and mashed sweet potato.
We sit back and relax and enjoy each other’s company.
I’m on my second glass of wine, which is a lot for me because wine hits me hard, when I say, “I spoke to Skylar on the way over. Apparently, she saw me leaving your place the other morning and read into it,” I say laughing.
“Funny you say that,” he replies. “Liam was on my case about our friendship.”
“What does that mean exactly?” I ask as the server places our meals in front of us.
“It means he thinks we should be more than friends. I told him he was crazy,” Evan states, and his words burn. I can’t imagine why, but I feel their sting.
“Those two are quite the pair because Skylar basically insinuated the same thing. She also told me if I do unexpectedly stay over at your place sometime, I can feel free to come over to grab something to wear the next morning.” I laugh again and my cheeks flush as I feel warm and giddy from the wine.
“I mean, you could just leave some clothes at my place.” Evan shrugs like what he said is no big deal.
I feel my brows pinch and take another sip of the delicious wine.
“Friends don’t leave clothes at other friends’ houses,” I say for clarification.
Evan cuts into his steak. His eyes close as he enjoys the first bite. “This is amazing. So worth it. And it makes sense, Patty. You live on the other end of the city. The commute is a nuisance. We hang out all the time and my place is convenient with work. It would make sense if it got late that you could crash at my place. My friends have crashed with me before.” He plays it off like what he is saying is no big deal.
“I mean, if you put it that way, maybe?” My tone is uncertain. I take a bite of the steak. “Oh, this is delicious,” I announce as I chew, pointing my fork at my food. Our table falls silent as we enjoy our meal. I feel comfortable to eat and so does Evan. Halfway through our meal, the server comes around and tops off our wine glasses. We both drink and by the time we finish our meal, I am full and kind of drunk.
“Is it bad we drank so much?” I ask Evan. We have to catch a flight tomorrow. “I don’t want to get in trouble for you being hungover.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just some wine. I’ll be fine,” he assures. “We should get dessert.”
“What is it with you and dessert?” I ask.
“It’s nice to have something sweet after a meal.” His eyes gleam the way he says it but I’m guessing it’s from the wine.
“I don’t know how you stay looking so fit with all the dessert you order.”
“When you say I look fit, is that a good thing? Like do you think I’m good-looking?” he asks.
“Stop being weird,” I cackle, and I throw a clean napkin at him.
He cocks a brow at me. It feels like it’s getting too hot in here.
