As if neon lights were flashing around him, as if every light in the restaurant were aimed at him.
My Tyrannosaurus rex, in the flesh, in the restaurant, heading toward a booth at the end with a candle, a candle reflecting very attractive shadows on his chiseled face.
His hair is in a state of subdued bed-head sexy. But it’s the cocksure fucking smile that suddenly curls his lovely lips as he answers the waitress that gives me a little uncomfortable pinch between my legs.
He’s with a group of guys. They’re all wearing jeans and comfortable shirts, Tahoe in a white polo.
His lacrosse team?
“…well they all seem to be looking in that direction…” I hear Trent say, shifting to take a look. “Ah, thank you!” He’s distracted by the incoming alcohol and delightedly watches the server pour.
Tahoe keeps flashing his beautiful smile, and when our eyes meet, his smile changes to a smirk as he glances meaningfully at Trent, then at me with a raised eyebrow.
He lifts his wine glass in a toast.
I can’t help but feel my body respond, as if something or someone flipped the on switch.
“Alright, so…” Trent says. “Tell me about you. Gina.”
I was going to ask him the same question. But with Tahoe in the restaurant, watching me with my awkward hair on an awkward first date, it’s like I can’t get my brain cells to cooperate.
I realize our eyes lock every time I glance in his direction. It’s like he knows when I’m looking and catches me. He frowns every time he glances at Trent.
I toss back my cabernet and then smile at Trent. He sits there, with his red hair and kind face, and this time, at least, he’s sober. He’s still the nice guy I met at Tahoe’s party, one of the only guys who wasn’t totally wasted—at least he could still walk without stumbling. He’s the kind of guy you could have a home and a dog with, not a threesome…like with Tahoe Roth.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” I tell Trent, all the while staring at Tahoe.
I have to pass Tahoe’s table as I head to the restroom at the end of a long hall, and I try to keep my eyes off him as I do.
I exhale when I finally turn around the corner, three steps away from the ladies’ room, when I’m grabbed from behind.
“Where are you going?” a low voice whispers near my ear.
I freeze and squeeze my eyes shut in dread. My wrist feels tiny in his grip.
Please let it not be true. I’m not standing in a liquefying state with Tahoe Roth’s body an inch from touching mine. I crack my eyes open and twist my body a little bit toward his. And it is Tahoe.
“Meet me outside,” he says, looking at me with a smirky smile, then a puzzled frown. He walks away—and I stare at his back.
I follow my curiosity and head after him.
Parked seven feet away from the restaurant entrance is a vintage yellow Hummer. I can’t see past the tinted windows but the passenger door flings open and T-Rex waits for me inside, behind the wheel.
I climb in, and then I slam the door shut and glare. “What are you doing here? Are you following me?” I narrow my eyes.
He narrows his eyes mockingly back at me. “Why? Do you need following?”
He looks boyish in those clothes, with a day’s scruff on his jaw, a light smile.
But the smile doesn’t last long.
Pretty soon he’s frowning at me again. I swear this man smiles at everyone but me.
“Is he one of the club?” His voice sounds full of annoyance.
“My one-night stand club is very exclusive, so no, not yet. But he’s hard for it; that counts for something.”
“Does it?” He still sounds annoyed.
“It’s a requisite for being in the club.”
His eyebrows rise. “Don’t be silly, Gina, he couldn’t get it up with a tow truck pulling it.”
“Don’t be jealous, T-Rex, you had your chance, and you declined. Which is good though. I’d drunk too much Benadryl, allergies and stuff. And it makes me woozy,” I lie. “But we don’t really want to fool around—we’d have to look at each other when we’re done, at all of Saint and Rachel’s events. I’ve got enough awkward with my hair.”
He looks at my hair, and I instantly drop my hand from the top of my head and become so self-aware and nervous. I’m not the type of girl to get nervous. But then he’s not the type of guy I’m used to. He’s like nothing I’m used to.
I end up studying him while he studies me.
“What’s with the scruff?” I point at the dark blond shadow on his tan jaw.
“Letting it grow until we win.” He sighs drearily and scrapes a hand over his stubbled jaw.
“Then I’m glad I haven’t gone there just to see you lose.”
“Gina Gina Gina.” He releases a cocky laugh that almost shakes the car. “If you came, we wouldn’t lose.”
“Your pride would save your losing team?”
“No, you would.”
I’m briefly taken aback by the comment then I make a brisk effort to dismiss it.