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“Just two?” the hostess asks us.
“Yes. If we could have a corner table, that would be great. Thank you,” Wells says, putting on the charm and winking at the poor girl. She blushes, nods, and grabs us two menus with clumsy, flustered hands. I try not to laugh–that is just the power of Wells’ charm, I guess–as she leads us toward the back of the restaurant. Wells pulls my chair out for me and takes a seat with his back to the corner so he has a clear view of all the patrons, entrances, and exits.
“Your waitress will be right over,” the hostess murmurs and then hustles back to her stand like if she stays any longer, she’ll melt into a puddle before Wells. He watches her go just a little longer than is polite, staring hard at her ass.
“She’s pretty,” I grin at him, picking up my menu nonchalantly. Ever since he’s been assigned to my security detail, I’ve tried to get him to spill about his love life. To no avail. The man’s lips are sealed tighter than the pickle jar I tried to open the other day. Only about his love life, though. Anything else, and I can’t get him to shut up long enough to get a word in edgewise.
“Very.” His eyes trail back to me long enough to show me he’s rolling them, and then goes back to scanning the room.
“Maybe you should ask her out.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Maybe you should focus on your own love life.” He raises one right back, and I chuckle.
“My love life is great, thank you very much. That’s why I’m focusing on yours. I need a hobby.”
“Try knitting,” he deadpans.
I laugh, “Okay, fine. I’m done. Be lonely forever for all I care.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey there, my name is Crystal, and I’ll be your server today. Do y'all want to start off with some drinks?”
I order two waters and a steak with asparagus for myself. When the waitress looks at Wells, he sticks with water, no food. I ask if he’s sure, but he insists he already ate a packed lunch. So I shrug and hand our menus over to the waitress before she walks off.
“This is weird,” Wells mutters.
“What’s weird?” I frown and resist the urge to pull out my phone and send flirty texts to my pack. I’ve gone love-drunk.
“Being in this fancy fuckin’ place with you. We look like a couple. It’s gross,” he grouses, folding his arms across his chest and scrunching his nose like he smells something sour.
“What?” I laugh, shoulders shaking at his comment. “We’ve eaten together before.”
“Yeah, but at like… your office or grab-and-go spots. This is where I’d take a date or something.”
“Speaking of dates…” I start to say, latching onto the slip-up.
“You know what, forget I said anything,” he hastily tacks on. The teasing grin I’m giving him does not ease. I do throw him a bone, though.
“Or it could be a business lunch. Just pretend I’m your boss. Oh wait… I am.” My eyes pop open wide in a mocking sort of surprised way. Not that I think of him like an employee. A brother more like. Plus, it still feels weird to openly say the pack’s money is mine now, too. In my head, I’m still clinging to the notion that Brooklyn hired him with her money, notours.
“You’re such a smartass, you know that?” I shrug. Truthfully, I never really have been. If anything, people have always told me I was too shy or reserved. Awkward. But it’s easy to tease Wells.
His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out to look at who texted him. That gives my addicted self the justification I need to take mine out, too. When I see Brooklyn’s name on my notifications page, it makes a goofy smile spread across my face. It’s nothing salacious or really flirty. A simple ‘I miss you’ text, is all. But butterflies still dance in my stomach every time I see or think of them.
I send her a text back, telling her I miss her, too. Then I snap a quick selfie and send it in the pack group chat.
Me
*picture* At RJs for lunch. Wish you guys were here. <3
The texts come in back-to-back right away.
Hudson
Jealous! Bring me home a steak, pretty girl! Please, please, please.
Brooklyn
