Rather than correct his assumption, I scowl at him. “Language.”
Looking into me with empty eyes, he utters distractedly, “Sorry. He was all cut, stab, and gouge, and I was just like what? And then he was all smiley again, like nothing happened, and I was seriously freaking out worrying.” His eyes meet mine, and Michael comes back from the trip delved deep into his mind. “But I think he likes me.” He smiles.
He looks so happy. But I’m still stuck on cut, stab, and gouge.
My blood runs cold.
Clearing my throat, I turn my back to him and ask in false cheer, “What are your plans today?”
I hear Michael stand. “Work. I should get going. Mr. T wouldn’t be happy if I was late.”
Pretending to fetch some books from the shelf at the side of the room, I call out, “Okay, Mickey. Be safe.”
The door closes behind him, and placing a hand to my heaving chest, I wonder how I’m going to get through dinner tonight.
Cancelling on Twitch is not an option.
Sitting in the back of the car, smoothing down my little black dress which doesn’t need smoothing, I hyperventilate a little more and think about how I bring up what Michael told me today.
Having decided I would wait until dinner is over, I do my best at placing a poker face on as the door to my side opens and the mature, greying driver holds a hand out to me. Placing my hand in his, I step out and come face-to-face with Twitch. His eyes crinkle in the corners, but then he loses his smile when he spots my dress and heels. His already hooded eyes hood a wee bit more, and he leans in, placing his lips at my cheek in a gesture of affection that takes me aback.
Breaking out into goosebumps, I shiver and close my eyes.
Twitch takes my small hand in his large tattooed one and leads me towards the front door of the quaint little Italian restaurant.
His choice of venue surprises me. This doesn’t look like something he would choose. He looks the type to choose fancy. Or expensive. And modern.
Not sweet, warm, and delicious.
We stand in line waiting to be seated when an older man comes towards us wearing a white shirt and a white chef’s hat, wiping his wet hands with a dish towel, and speaking rapid-fire Italian.
Twitch grins at the man before letting go of my hand and taking a step towards him. The older man kisses his cheeks, still talking up a storm. With his animated hand gestures and playful scowls, I can’t help but smile at him. He pinches Twitch’s cheek hard, shakes it a little, then let’s go, but not before slapping his cheek.
And the thought of someone treating him in such a way is a shock. So much of a shock that my eyes widen and I have to bite my lip hard to hold in my laughter.
When the man spots me, he does a double-take, and his enthusiastic speech halts. Smiling a sweet smile, he says, “Hello. I’m Joe.”
Holding out a hand to me, I take it and smile genuinely. “I’m Lexi. Nice to meet you, Joe.”
Twitch rolls his eyes at the man. “Just get us a table, old man. We’re hungry.”
Elbowing Twitch, he mutters, “I’ll give you old man.”
Escorting us to our table in the back corner, away from the other patrons, I look around and thank God for the privacy. I want tonight to be the night we finally talk about more than just business. I want to know more about him, but I have to do this in a sneaky way.
I have to make him answer questions without it seeming like I’m asking any.
Picking up my menu, Joe snatches it out of my hand with a heartbroken look. “No, lady. No. It’s your first night with us, so I get the honour of choosing what you’ll eat.” My heart sinks. What if he chooses something I don’t like? This could be disastrous. Spotting my anxious face, Joe smiles. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll like it. I promise.”
Looking across the small table to Twitch, he rests his elbows on the table, linking his hands together just under his chin. He lifts his brows in a way that says, “Don’t bother arguing.”
So I don’t.
Putting on a bright smile, I tell Joe, “That’s fine by me. But I should let you know, I don’t love seafood.”
Already walking away, Joe calls out, “Noted!”
Twitch utters, “Already told him about the seafood. And peppers. And peas.”
My brow furrows in confusion only a moment before I remember Twitch has a habit of watching me.
I blurt out, “Do you still watch me?”
So much for sliding the questions in there. My mind slaps its forehead.
Picking up a bread stick, he leans back in his chair and stares at me. Taking a bite of the carby goodness, he nods once. So I ask more gently this time, “When was the last time you watched me?”
Swallowing his mouthful, he sits straighter in his chair. “Today. You and Nicole did some shopping.”