“And you?”
“Homework and research,” I mumbled.
“For your secret project?”
Blane was teasing me, but it only served as a reminder of how much jeopardy I was putting him in. I breathed a sigh of relief over my decision to stop filming. I crossed my right fingers near the passenger door, hoping this whole episode would pass without any detection. I could write my book as if I’d never starred in a porno.
“Yes, but you know, if I tell you, I may suddenly combust.”
“Really? We wouldn’t want that to happen.” A nearby streetlight illuminated the corner of his mouth turning up.
We finally pulled up at Geno’s. It was at the far end of town, past the agriculture school and at the bottom of a small hillside. Rumor had it that Geno grew a lot of his own vegetables and herbs right there behind the restaurant.
My dad had told me all about Geno; he was a bit of a legend. Food Network came here at least once a year, and Geno was frequently a judge on their cooking shows. A local, he’d graduated from Hafton’s ag school before he went to culinary school in Cleveland.
And then I remembered. Oh shit, this place is pricey.
“You sure you want to eat here?” I asked Blane as he reached to turn off the engine.
“Yeah, of course. Why not?”
“It’s pretty expensive.”
He gave me a pointed look. “I can afford it.”
“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise. Fuck!”
“I may be blue collar, but I have some money. And guess what? Soon I’ll be making a ton of it. Ball is life, and all that.”
“But I can’t go Dutch here,” I protested.
“I have class too, Cate. I wouldn’t bring you here to go Dutch. Come on, let’s go and forget this conversation ever happened.” He got out and ran around to open my door, and we quickly entered the warmth of Geno’s.
The smell of fresh garlic and tomatoes filled my senses as soon as we walked in.
“Smells amazing,” I said.
Blane leaned in and sniffed the top of my head. “I know.”
Good thing he had his hand at my lower back, because I almost tripped over my own feet at that comment.
We were seated at a corner table near the back window where sparkly lights twinkled over Geno’s garden, now bare for the winter. Tall torches ran around the perimeter of the garden, lighting up the hillside and sending smoke into the night air. A small pink votive cast shadows on our table next to a sectioned round dish with various dips.
Our server greeted us right away. “Welcome to Geno’s. I brought warm focaccia bread for dipping. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Blane raised an eyebrow at me, and I raised one back at him as if to say, What?
“Can you bring us a bottle of your house red?” he asked our waitress.
“Sure thing. Get started on the bread and dips, and I’ll be right back.”
When she was out of earshot, I leaned forward to speak in a low voice. “I guess they don’t card athletes.”
“It’s one of the fringe benefits.” He grabbed a piece of bread and ripped it in two before handing half of it to me. “Ladies first, and don’t be one of those I don’t eat type dates.”
“If you insist.” I plunged my bread into the fagioli bean dip and savored my first bite. “Mmm, this is so good.”
Blane tried it too and moaned with appreciation.
Our wine came, and I toasted to the upcoming away game. Blane toasted to what he called my 007 project. Heartburn raced up my esophagus at the mere mention of it.
We sipped our wine and dipped our bread while I smiled more than I had in my entire life. A few times, I pinched my leg under the table to make sure this was actually happening and not a dream.
He shot me a smile. “I think we’re set to take the team on the road. We’ve been playing well, and the team is really gelling. Plus, Coach banned Sonny from the locker room, so my promise to win him a championship is all but forgotten.”
“I doubt he forgot,” I reminded Blane.
“Who cares? It was worth it to be able to get to know you—”
“Stop,” I said.
“What did I do?” His fingers had been caressing my forearm, but he quickly pulled them away.
“Saying stuff like that, that I’m worth this or that.”
“You know, for some sort of macho feminist, you really don’t advocate for yourself, Cate.”
His eyes darkened with emotion, and I started to laugh.
“Jesus, what now? Didn’t you just hear me?”
I couldn’t stop laughing when the server came back, interrupting our awkward moment. Blane ordered us a brick-oven pizza and antipasto salad to share.
“Seriously, Cate, why do you do that? Put yourself down and then laugh.” His hand settled again on top of mine.
“You said macho feminist. It was pretty funny.” I stifled another giggle.
“And the other part? Putting yourself down?”