Eve’s at Cam’s side, her brows pinched in confusion as she takes in my woman, who has just won over Raven and Layla.
My woman.
Sixteen
Mason
“How is it?” I fork a piece of steak into my mouth and chew through my smile.
From the second we entered Patrico’s, I’ve been captivated by her. At first, I could tell she was nervous, and when she whispered that she’d never been to a restaurant as nice as this one, I felt equal parts pride and anger. How a woman as beautiful and sweet as she is hasn’t been wined and dined to the point of boredom is beyond me.
She closes her eyes as she chews, and my gaze fixes on her long slender throat when she swallows. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I take a pull off my beer that’s in some fancy-ass frosty glass. “I can’t believe you’ve never had lobster before. Figured a San Jose girl would’ve at least given it a try.”
Her cheeks pink and she ducks her chin. “We were more of a bologna and mayo family.”
Dammit. I shove another bite of steak into my mouth to keep from reinserting my foot. Of course, she wouldn’t have had lobster.
She takes a long sip of her white wine and sets her eyes on me. “What about you? I bet you were raised on expensive dinners.”
I set down my fork and lean back in my chair, a little embarrassed that I’m that easy to read. “My dad’s a plastic surgeon, and after the divorce, my mom moved us to Santa Cruz. We lived more of a modest life there, but he was always good about making sure I didn’t want for much.”
“How old were you when your parents got divorced?”
“Four. Drake was barely walking.” I shift in my chair, suddenly feeling suffocated by the conversation. “See . . . Drake and I don’t have the same dad, but my own father didn’t know that until well after D was born.”
“Yikes, that must’ve been hard on your dad.”
“I’m sure it was, but he made her suffer for it. Always took good care of me financially, while my mom and Drake were scraping by. Kind of a dick move if you ask me.”
“Drake’s dad didn’t help out?”
“His dad is the reason my brother can’t keep himself out of trouble, and no, he never sent money for Drake. I funneled my allowance to them when my dad gave me one, but between that and my mom’s random part-time jobs, they struggled.”
“Gosh, that’s so sad.” She pushes around some food on her plate. “So, Drake’s dad and your mom didn’t end up together. I wonder why she did it in the first place.”
I grind my molars together. “Women can’t resist the bad boy.”
She nods and tilts her head, studying me. “Ya know, I’ve been around my share of bad boys, and they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.” A shy smile curves her lips. “I prefer the sweet ones who might knock you on your butt in dark hallways, but know how to apologize.”
My lips twitch with a goofy grin. “Yeah?”
“Yep.” She stabs another meaty piece with her fork. “Okay, so you may’ve had lobster in the past.” Her elbow propped on the table, she offers the bite to me. “But you’ve never had lobster fed to you by an exotic dancer, have you?”
I lean in, wanting so badly to knock the tiny table that stands between us away. “No, I never have.”
Her pink tongue darts out to moisten her upper lip, and she pushes the juicy piece toward my lips.
I take it from her fork and groan as the rich buttery flavor bursts against my tongue. “Mmm.” Delicious.
“Good, right?”
“Phenomenal, although it’s not nearly as tasty as you.”
Her lips part, and her chest rises and falls a little quicker.
“That spot.” I tilt my head and nod in the direction of her throat. “Right there just below your earlobe. It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”
“Mason . . .”
“I’m hoping, for dessert, you’ll let me—” We’re interrupted by a man who strolls up to our table. He doesn’t speak, but stares at Trix until she drops her gaze to her lap and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Is there something I can do for you?”
The guy is dressed in a suit, flashy watch, and if I had to guess, I’d say he’s in his late forties. “Excuse me.” His gaze finally swings to me. “I hate to interrupt.”
Maybe he’s a UFL fan? Someone in the business who recognizes me from my last fight?
I choose to ignore his greeting, because frankly, I don’t excuse his interruption.
“I was having dinner across the restaurant with a colleague of mine and thought I recognized . . .”
Yep, UFL fan.
His head swivels to Trix. “. . . your date.”
Trix’s eyes are like saucers as she stares up at him.
“You’re a dancer at Zeus’s, right?”
She flicks a peek at me, and whatever she sees in my expression has her curling in on herself. “Yes, I am.”