I almost exchanged a glance with Donovan about it but remembered he was an asshole so I exchanged one with Nate instead while Elizabeth climbed over to the open spot.
“Now. Next time the waitress comes by, I’m going to need a drink.” She put her arm on Donovan’s back and ruffled the hair at the base of his neck. “So. I’m here!”
Donovan responded by bending forward to take a bite of a dumpling, acting as though the hand on his neck didn’t have any effect on him at all.
I scowled. Elizabeth’s fondling of Donovan was irritating, even if she and Weston weren’t really a couple. No wonder he was having problems with her.
Weston seemed to find it annoying as well, if his actions were any indication. His hand found its way back to my knee, but only once he was sure that his fiancée was watching.
Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to scowl.
“You said you weren’t coming,” he said, low enough so that only those in our corner could hear.
“I hadn’t planned to. But.” She turned and looked at the man next to her. “Donovan called and told me I needed to be here.”
I clamped down so hard on the shrimp in my mouth that I bit my tongue. All the sound in the room seemed to whoosh by my ears, and my vision turned red.
Donovan called.
That’s what he’d been doing after I’d left him outside. When he’d realized I was going to come in and be with Weston, Donovan had called Weston’s fiancée.
“Wasn’t that thoughtful of him,” Weston said through gritted teeth, though I was sure he believed Donovan’s intervention was about looking good for business or about not losing a bet on whether or not Weston could keep his pants zipped.
He had no idea that the real reason his friend had interfered had to do with me.
God, I was so mad I wanted to throw something.
Or fuck something.
It was strange to be so angry and so aroused, but that was how I was around Donovan—always excited and ready to go off in any way possible.
Under the table, I wrapped my leg around Weston’s.
He took my cue. Or else he had his own battle to win. “Sabrina,” he said, scooting his chair closer. “Have you tasted the seared pork and shrimp dumplings yet?”
“No. Where are they?” I had barely tasted anything, but that was beside the point.
“Have some of mine.” He lifted his chopsticks to my lips, feeding me a bite of the morsel. I made sure to groan.
“Donovan, the pan-fried lamb—” Elizabeth started to say.
“You can have it,” Donovan said, picking up the dumpling on his plate with his chopsticks and dropping it on her plate before she could ask him for a bite.
She frowned but quickly recovered. “Guess that’s better than swapping germs.” More importantly, she finally stopped playing with Donovan’s goddamned hair.
“Elizabeth’s a germophobe,” Weston said snidely.
“I am not.” She moved a dumpling around on her plate, apparently struggling with her chopsticks. “Just because I’m concerned about the diseases that come into my house doesn’t qualify me as a germophobe.”
“She’s asked for a report of clean health.” There was no doubt as to what kind of clean health report Weston was referring to.
Elizabeth shrugged, chopsticks poised in the air with the small bit of food she’d managed to wrestle between them. “I think that’s reasonable.” She lifted the bite to her mouth, dropping the dumpling just as it reached her lips. “Goddammit.”
“Guys,” Nate hushed them, trying not to laugh as he did. “Lovers’ spats are fun and all…” He trailed off, probably figuring that Weston and Elizabeth would get the hint and remember that there were other people around.
Apparently, Weston didn’t. “Why do you even care when there’s no way I’m sharing anything I’ve got with you anyway?”
Nate winced.
Under the table, Weston’s hand moved farther up my thigh, as if to spite Elizabeth.
Donovan remained stoic, his gaze on me, reading me. Watching me.
Elizabeth was the only one who seemed unfazed. Reaching over to steal the unused fork from Weston’s setting, she said, “Big words, King. Just remember the thing you want out of this relationship isn’t as replaceable as the thing I want.”
That seemed to silence Weston. In fact, it silenced our end of the table for a few thick minutes, but then Nate told a story and soon everyone was laughing and smiling like a bunch of people out for a celebration.
Weston’s hand stayed on my leg though, brushing up and down my skin every now and again. Then, when everyone around us was preoccupied with other conversations, he leaned close and whispered, “In a few, I’m heading to the back of the restaurant. Toward the kitchen. Wait five. Then follow.”
He shifted to joke with Nate, not waiting for me to answer. If I showed up, that would be my answer.
But what was my answer?
I turned to my drink and noticed Donovan watching. Again. He’d probably seen the whole exchange. He couldn’t know what Weston was saying, but he had to guess the nature. There wasn’t much he missed.
As if confirming my suspicions, Donovan narrowed his eyes, giving me what could only be called a warning glare.
Fuck him.
He’d wanted me with Weston. So he could fuck right off.
I threw back my shoulders and threw back my drink and five minutes after Weston disappeared from the table, I followed.
The restaurant wasn’t large, and the kitchen was easy to find. I headed in that direction, even though Weston was nowhere in sight. I’d almost made it when, for the second time in one night, I was pulled unexpectedly off my path, this time into a cubby filled with shelves full of linens and table settings, closed off from the public by a thin curtain. Firm lips met mine, asking permission, as my body was pushed against the narrow wall.
I opened my mouth, letting Weston’s tongue meet mine. It was easy to kiss him. It was familiar and safe. He tasted like gin and curry sauce and misbehavior. Not the fun kind of misbehavior, but the kind of misbehavior that left regrets in the morning, if not even the night before.
He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine. “I’m going to be completely honest, Sabrina—this is a booty call and nothing else. You have every right to slap me and walk back out there. But I hope you don’t. I’m sensing you need a release right now too.”
It was what I’d come back for, but now that I was here, it felt wrong. Weston’s body felt staged against mine, as if we were two mannequins propped up in a window display. He wasn’t even pressed up all the way against me. His hand was caressing my arm, but it was awkward and mechanical. And while I’d been wound up for weeks, aroused and restless, I didn’t feel turned on now. I just felt tired.
And Weston seemed tense.
Outside our hiding space, a rustling caught our attention. He leaned away so he could open the curtain and peek out.
“What is it?” I asked.
Weston shook his head, but I’d caught sight of someone in a suit. It could have been Donovan, I decided. Because I wanted it to be Donovan.
And because I felt more thrilled wanting it to be Donovan than I did hiding in a makeshift closet with Weston, I knew it wasn’t where I was supposed to be.