Good Game (The System, #1) (73)

TWENTY-SIX




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ALEKS




Stevie bats my hand away for the twentieth time.

“Aleksander, I’m serious. Stop trying to feel me up. I won’t have you ruining this dress by putting your hand up it.”

“But the slit is so accessible.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure that’s why you picked it.”

I grin at her.

Not only that, but I made sure it was a dress that Stevie would struggle wearing underwear with. The material is soft and clings to her body. She looks killer in red, like the Queen of Hearts. Plus, I love seeing her in my color.

I trickle my fingers along her thigh again, and she grabs my hands.

“I’m going to move seats in a second. Then you won’t be able to touch any part of me.”

We are huddled in the back row of seats of the Tesla, but if she moves to the second row, she’ll be in her own seat. Not completely unreachable, but I won’t be able to sit next to her.

“Fine. But you’ll pay for this later.”

“I like a good punishment,” she smirks.

My dick twitches, and I rearrange it quickly.

“We’re here, sir.” Francis announces, tapping the button on the touchpad to open the falcon doors. They lift, and I push out of my seat, crouching to walk to the doors and stepping out. I turn back, holding out a hand for Stevie to help her down.

“Thanks, Francis. I’ll text you when we’re ready to leave.”

“Sounds good, sir.” The doors descend, and he takes off.

I hold out my elbow for Stevie, but she bypasses it, grasping my hand and threading our fingers together. I lead her inside the restaurant, giving the hostess my name. The woman taps a few buttons, confirming the reservation before leading us to our table. I pull out Stevie’s chair, and she quirks an eyebrow, the corner of her lip pulling up in a small smile before sitting down.

“That was awfully gentlemanlike of you,” she teases.

“You’re forgetting that I tried to have a quickie in the car ride over” I muse, moving my seat from the opposite side of the table so I’m next to her. If the servers have an issue with me reconfiguring their placements, I don’t care. This way, I can rest my hand on her bare knee.

“Touché.”

We scan the QR code at the table, scrolling through the drink menu.

“Cocktails or wine?” I ask her.

She puckers her lips, shifting them side to side as she assesses the menu. I’ve come to learn it’s what she does when she’s thinking hard, trying to make a decision.

“What cuisine is this place?”

“Greek.”

Her eyes flash up, and she whips her head around, searching the restaurant for…honestly, I have no clue.

“Wait, what? What’s this place called?”

“Moira”

“Moira? Wait, this place just opened. My mother mentioned it.”

Score one for Aleksander.

Not going to lie, I was nervous picking this place. I had a feeling she would scrutinize any Greek restaurant I picked unless it was her favorite but thought I’d take a chance with this one since it was just opened by the granddaughter of the most notorious chef in Sifnos. There were a lot of high expectations surrounding it; I just hope it lives up to the hype.

“Did I tell you I was half Greek?”

“No, but the internet did.”

She laughs at me, and I nudge her knee with my own, “What, are you trying to tell me you didn’t look me up?”

“Not really.” She starts studying the wine menu with renewed interest.

I nudge her knee again. “What does that mean, huh?”

“Nothing. I just, like, watched a stream here and there.”

I’m about to push her further because there’s something under that, but our waitress interrupts. She inquires whether we want still or sparkling water and if we have decided on drinks.

“We should go with a white wine,” Stevie suggests, “the Gavalas.”

“Sounds good to me, I trust your choice.”

She beams at me while the waitress rattles off some of the specials. Stevie’s ears prick up when she mentions some honey ricotta cake, her eyes practically turning into little hearts.

“Oh! We have to get that for dessert, Aleks.”

I can’t help but grin back. I definitely made the right choice picking this restaurant. Stevie has a field day after the waitress leaves, scrolling through the menu, rattling off different dishes and speaking mostly to herself. I’d done my own research on the restaurant, which dishes would be the best, but I’m throwing it all out the window. Watching Stevie live her best foodie life is way more enjoyable.

“Do you want to order for us both?” I ask her.

“Really? You’d be alright with that?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugs. “Chase never let me order. He picked everything, from the wine to whether we got dessert or not.”

“Well, Chase sounds like an asshole and a dumbass.” He looked like one, too, from the pictures I found online. My internet deep dive might have been a little too deep—but Parker has quite the connections when it comes to information gathering. “Order whatever you want. If you want to taste everything on the menu, order everything on the menu. I don’t care how much it costs. Even if we can’t finish it, we’ll give the leftovers to the boys.”