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“Have a seat.” I nod at the chair across from me.
I’ve never been one for romance or romantic gestures. Just the thought of putting in so much effort, time, and money for a girl who only wants to use me for my dick or status was always enough to make me want to gouge my own eyes out.
But Atlas isn’t just any other girl. She doesn’t give a fuck about someone’s status. That much is obvious in the way her eyes flick over the table with honest shock and then disinterest.
“What is this, Rowan?” she demands. She sounds so offended. My fingers tap against my leg once more, and I resist the urge to crack my neck to the side.
“A date. Sit.”
“A date?” she echoes with disbelief. “I’m confused. What–”
“Sit down, Atlas.”
I don’t snap at her, but I put a lot of force into my tone, brokering no room for argument. She does as I ask, reluctantly taking the seat across from me. When she does, I push a menu in front of her. “Pick whatever you want to order when the waiter comes.”
She doesn’t even glance at it. “Rowan, what the fuck is going on?”
I curl my fingers into fists. Was this a bad fucking idea? I thought my intentions would be obvious here. “This is a date,” I clarify.
Her brows furrow with confusion. “A date?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
A war of emotions rages inside my chest. I’m offended that she’d even ask that question, humiliated that I put this together only for her to glare down at it, amused that she finds my efforts lacking, and determined to make her smile at least once.
This obsession is consuming me. I need to take a breath.
“I figured you’d be hungry after following me around all day.”
She blanches, jerking back in her seat, and begins stammering, stringing syllables together incoherently.
“I–I wasn’t...” She clears her throat, her pretty eyes drifting to the waterfront view from the window at our side. “How did you know?” she asks instead.
“You trail someone with as much finesse as a tow truck dragging away a car accident.”
Her eyes close against a soft smile that’s threatening her full lips. The taste of her flares back to life against my tongue, and I swallow hard at the idea of spreading her across this table for dinner. I wonder if the owners of the restaurant would kick us out for that?
Probably.
“I thought I was doing a good job.” She still sounds offended, almost hurt, by what I just said.
“Little Bird, I’ve been in the game far longer than you have. Don’t take it personally.” Besides, my body is so attuned to her very essence, I knew the moment she was behind me. It didn’t matter how much of a distance she placed between us. It didn’t matter how well she was able to blend into the crowd. I knew where she was at all times. I could feel her. It was fucking addicting.
That explanation seems to placate her, at least momentarily. She sighs quietly, looking down at the table. “I haven’t been on a date in years.” Her fingertips skim the edge of the sleek black menu like she isn’t quite ready to commit to having dinner with me.
I’ll persuade her. I’ll make this a fucking dream come true for her.
“What was your last date?”
Her lashes flinch and she replies so quietly. “It was a high school dance. I’d just come back from... everything and... I couldn’t do it. I left. I broke up with him that night. He was so furious. Cruel even.”
Fuck dreams coming true. I’m a goddamn nightmare of a date. Could I fuck this up any more?
I was there that night. The school threatened to flunk her for missing so many days while she was in the institute against her will.
She dropped out that week.
