Shanna and I sit down next to each other, and I’m doing everything but clutching her hand under the table. I didn’t just bring Shanna along to sample Nate’s largesse—heh. Large. Stop it—I’m bringing her along to act as something of a human shield. Because now that I’ve started really remembering last night’s encounter in the closet, I find that I’m . . . kind of excited to see him again. A little nervous as well.
Basically, I want someone familiar sitting next to me, someone to keep me grounded. Something that’ll stop me from lying on top of the table screaming, “Do me now, again, harder.”
That kind of thing can put people off their Panang curry.
“Julia, look. Sit down over here,” Stacy says, patting a chair right next to her. “I want to talk a little more about your books.”
Sure she does. Because sitting right on the other side of this chair is Nate, studiously avoiding my gaze. I hope he’s memorizing that menu, because he barely looks up from it. I already know it wasn’t his idea to bring me; my stomach sinks a little at the thought. I get the feeling Stacy is good at getting what she wants. Shanna gives me a wink.
“Go ahead. Sit with the bride,” she says, flashing me a smile. Ugh. Traitorous friend. Et tu, Shanna? With no one else to turn to, I walk around the table to take my seat.
“Hey stranger,” I say to Nate, keeping my voice light and bright. He finally tears his eyes away from the Thai peanut chicken lunch special. Good. I know how riveting it must have been.
“Hey,” he says, gazing at me. An involuntary thrill runs up my spine. Why didn’t I ever notice how sexy his voice is? It’s like baritone scotch, rich and smoky. His eyes, still that perfect dark blue, seem to pierce me.
Heh. Pierce.
Shut up, David Tennant.
I’m out of my mind. I clutch my napkin, determined to keep my raging hormones under control. But I can’t help how my eyes travel down his body, remembering the silk and steel feeling of him beneath my hands, and I imagine him naked. Despite how, er, intimately we know each other, so much of him is still a mystery. Didn’t see much in all of our action last night—at least, not that I can remember. I want to see him laid out under soft lighting, maybe in that lush hotel bed from last night. And while we’re dreaming, maybe I’m on top, riding him, taking him between my . . . .
“Are you drooling?” Nate sounds kind of mortified.
“Nothing. Er, the medication,” I lie, wanting to slam my own head against the table. I discreetly wipe my mouth. “My medication, for. Stuff.”
Shut up, Julia.
He hands me the menu.
“See what you like,” he says.
Oh, I think I do see something I like, you magnificent, arrogant jerkface.
I am not using my grown-up words today. Instead, I look over the menu and finally settle on some chicken satay skewers. I’m not that hungry. I ran out on a mostly eaten club sandwich and salad back at the hotel restaurant.
Now there’s nothing for Nate and me to do but . . . talk. Stacy, for all her pretense of wanting some girl chat, is talking with Mike and Shanna about something.
Stacy. You tricksy little hobbit.
“You made it back to the hotel okay?” I ask Nate, taking a sip of ice water. Ice. Ice is good. Ice cools down the throbbing libido.
“No, I was stranded. Left alone to fend for myself in the desert,” he says, his voice so cool and under control I nearly take him seriously. This man has an expert poker face. “So I opened up this restaurant, built it with my own two hands. At least now we can get quality Thai in the desert,” he says.
I laugh, and the lines around his mouth and eyes ease. He never seemed to like my laugh before. But then again, I never used to fantasize about him fucking me senseless, so there you have it. His sarcasm doesn’t bother me. Well, not as much as it did yesterday afternoon.
Sometimes you have to get to know people. Even if it’s biblically.
Nate pulls out his phone, buzzing in his pocket. He frowns.
“Shit. Work. Excuse me,” Nate says, pulling out his chair and getting up. He heads off, probably to go stand outside. Stacy winks at me.
“You two had fun last night,” she says.
Would it be really wrong to grab her, shake her, and scream, “Tell me what we did because I remember almost nothing except doing a stripper dance and then fucking in a closet with a neon condom”? I think it would be wrong.
“I’m glad you guys have been, y’know, seeing so much of each other.”
Oh hardy har.
“Nate’s been a grouch for too long.”
“He was ever a not-grouch?” I ask. I’m trying not to sound as intrigued as I feel. The food arrives, and Stacy twirls some pad thai onto her fork. “I mean, you must’ve known him way young.”
“Pretty much. We all went to college together. Northwestern. Go Wildcats.” She grins. Oh man, I went to University of Wisconsin. We can discuss Big Ten rivalries later. “We graduated a decade ago, we were all friends since sophomore year. And I’m only now getting this one to commit,” she says, grinning across the table at Mike. He puts a hand over his chest, mock-wounded.
“I just wanted to wait until we could afford a condo. Was that a crime?”