Page 84 of His Secret Obsession

My cheeks heat. Now I sound narcissistic. “Forget it,” I say and chug some of my water, before realising I should save it for when dinner comes, in case it’s spicier than I expect.

The waiter comes over and places down a napkin, a pair of chopsticks and a spoon in front of both of us. I murmur a thanks, but Lucas gives the waiter a full smile thank you and watches him walk away.

“You’re right,” he says once the waiter is out of earshot. “He is cute.”

I grit my teeth.

“Maybe I should ask for his number,” Lucas muses.

“Maybe you should,” I say and fix my chopsticks so that they’re perfectly straight on the napkin.

After spending way too much time also making sure the spoon is straight, Lucas taps my foot with his. “Charlie.”

I look up.

“Are you upset?”

“No.” Even if I do feel…less than great…it’s not his fault. I started it. And I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. I was only asking about the waiter because —

“Are you gay?” I ask.

Lucas’s eyes widen for a millisecond at the sudden question, before he relaxes, a lazy smile stretching languidly across his face.

“Gee, I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe the fact that I had you against the shower wall less than half an hour ago answers that question for you.”

“Lucas!” I hiss, glancing around, but no one is paying attention. Nearby us is a family of three and a bunch of twenty-something couples, and they’re all wrapped up in their own conversations.

“I mean,” I say, feeling my skin grow warm again, “are you…do you…” I pause, thinking of a way to phrase it. “Do you like girls?”

“No.” His answer is short and simple. “Do you?”

I raise my brows at him.

He nods to himself, looking down with a serious expression. “Right. Claudette.”

I stare.

He peeks up at me.

And then, in spite of myself, I crack a smile, and a moment later, I’m shaking with laughter. Maybe it was Lucas’s faux serious expression, or the unexpectedness of the joke, or maybe it’s simply the name Claudette, but I can’t stop laughing and I don’t know why.

When I finally calm down, I blink the amusement from my eyes to find Lucas smiling at me with pride. I immediately smother the smile from my face — I don’t want to encourage him — but I know the damage has been done.

Our meals arrive: chilli crab for me, a laksa for Lucas. We dig into the food without waiting. I spoon up some of the sauce my crab is bathed in, and as soon as the burst of flavour hits my mouth, I sink into my chair. I should’ve gone out for food earlier, back when I was mopey and depressed. I should’ve eaten my way through Melbourne.

Later, when I’ve demolished half of my meal and finished all the water in my glass, I reach out for the jug of water, but Lucas grabs it at the same time. Our fingers brush, and it sends an electric bolt through my body. I would’ve thought that the fact Lucas was pressed against me earlier today would temper the power of his touch, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s only amplified it.

“Let me,” Lucas says, and then he tops up my glass for me.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

After he finishes filling up his own glass, he looks up and our eyes lock. I’m reminded that despite how normal this dinner feels, there’s still something under the surface, something that I don’t want to acknowledge.

I clear my throat. “If you don’t like girls, why did you have so many girlfriends in high school?”

Lucas’s expression tightens ever so slightly. “Why not?” he replies, and his voice is nonchalant. Too nonchalant.

“Give me a proper answer.”

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