“What’s that?”
“We’ve both had a long week. Let’s go grab something to eat.”
My stomach practically gurgles at the very suggestion. It’s nearly six, and I haven’t eaten since noon. Hanger territory is looming in plain sight. There’s one tiny snag with his plan, however.
“It’s Valentine’s Day, Hades. All the restaurants will be packed.”
He lifts a broad shoulder. “Yeah, but how often do we get the chance to do things together?”
True. It’s a lot harder to coordinate hanging out in or out of the house during the week, whether it’s due to our schedules, living situation, or all the other things standing in our way. Weekends are even less workable because he always has games both nights. This weekend is one of the only breaks they have.
Lately, I’ve been wondering if it would be simpler to bring our friendship out of the closet to everyone. There’s a risk they might do the math on the rest. It’s not that I think we’re doing anything wrong, it’s that I don’t think my brother would understand. Nor does he need to.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to get a table unless we’re talking about something like McDonald’s or Chipotle. But I’m good with something like that too. Anything works.”
“Let me see. I’ll check OpenTable to see what’s available.” Broad hands shift me on his lap, readjusting us. He grabs his phone and enters the passcode to unlock it, then taps at the screen. Brow furrowed, he scrolls with his thumb. “No… All-you-can-eat sushi sounds dicey. No… Definitely not. What the fuck is Bob’s Pancake and Taco Bar? Wait… There. We can get a table at Rouge. There’s one reservation for two open at eight o’clock. Someone must’ve canceled at the last minute.”
“Rouge?” I echo. “Isn’t that really fancy? And expensive?” I’m vaguely familiar with it because Chase took Bailey there awhile back and while it was reportedly amazing, she confessed to me over Christmas that she’d had sticker shock at the prices.
Then again, money isn’t an issue for Tyler, and we both know it. His father is one of the most famous sports agents in the entire country. Chase knew who Tyler’s dad was from hockey industry news long before he ever met Tyler.
“Here’s my take,” he says. “You’ve been working hard at school, you haven’t been out much lately, and I think you’re due for some fun. And I’ve been killing myself with hockey. If you ask me, we both deserve the break.”
“Gotta admit, I like your logic.” I’m a big fan of treating myself. If anything, I do it a little too much. Did a page of homework? Chocolate. Went to the gym? Celebration smoothie on the way out. Passed a final? Sephora time. I can justify anything. And it’s especially hard to turn down doing something with Tyler.
It does sound an awful lot like a date, though. Is that against the rules? I guess the nice part of our arrangement is we get to make our own.
“Unless you don’t want to be seen in public with me,” he says, teasing. “In which case we can order a heart-shaped pizza and it should arrive in approximately three to five hours according to the internet.”
“Going out it is.”
CHAPTER 23
VALENTINE’S NIGHT
SERAPHINA
I change a grand total of seven times before deciding on a dress to wear out for dinner.
Extra? Fully, and I’m embracing it.
Color is the biggest sticking point. I debate between pink and black for longer than any rational person should. Eventually, I settle on the quintessential little black dress paired with my black patent Louboutins. Can’t go wrong with either.
Then I pull up Rouge’s website on my laptop and scope out the menu to ward off decision overwhelm at the table. Agonizing over my wardrobe and menu choices doesn’t leave as much buffer as I’d hoped for makeup, but I’m already dolled-up from my primping session earlier. A quick sweep of some darker eyeshadow and a bit more blush does the trick, and I’m ready with one minute to spare until we have to leave. Impressively early in my world.
Inhaling, I give myself a final once-over in the mirror. I’m nervous, likely because I don’t have a lot of experience going on actual dates. College hookups really aren’t the same thing. Even with the rapport Tyler and I have, something about this feels like a big deal.
Ugh. I’m reading too much into it. We’re supposed to be having fun together, and we are. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.
I close my bedroom door behind me and turn down the hall. Tyler is sitting in the living room with his forearms resting against his thighs, his gaze glued to a sports channel on television. Part amusing, part exasperating. He’s never not in “work” mode.
Like me, he’s also changed his clothes. It’s like he’s identified every weakness of mine and exploited it accordingly. His black dress shirt stretches across his wide shoulders, the collar left open at the very top to reveal the edges of several dark tattoos, and his sleeves rolled up halfway to reveal even more. It’s harder to see his lower half but I already know whatever he’s wearing will be perfectly tailored to every inch of the hard-earned muscles that clad his frame.
My heels click on the hardwood floor as I draw closer. He turns to look at me and freezes. The remote slips out of his hand, landing on the couch. It’s difficult to interpret the expression on his face. I like to think I’m getting a positive reaction, but I can’t be sure when he isn’t blinking. He may not even be breathing. Did I break him?
“Ty?” I prod after another couple of seconds pass.
“Huh?” His eyes rocket up to mine, his voice hoarse. “You look…” Another stretch of stunned silence follows. He runs a hand along his jaw. “If I hadn’t snagged that reservation already, there’s no way we’d be leaving this house.”
My nervousness abates, and the energy coursing through me morphs into something closer to excitement. Note to self: when he glitches, it’s a good thing.
Pushing to stand, he picks up the remote and shuts off the television. Then he angles his head, studying my feet. “I’ve never considered myself much of a shoe guy, but those are fucking hot.”
See? My Round Chick Altas never fail. I’m convinced they have magical powers.
“Selfie?” I dangle my phone between my fingers. “You’ve gotta admit, we both look good.”
He hesitates for a second before agreeing. It’s not a huge shock that he’s not a selfie kind of guy. Sometimes he’s too serious for his own good.
We end up taking a few, ranging from goofy to kissing to a standard smiling shot. The goofy one is my favorite.
Tyler’s black Audi SUV is idling in front of the house when we step outside, which is a nice touch. With as cold as it’s been lately, it would be like climbing into an igloo if he hadn’t started it ahead of time. Probably wouldn’t bother the guy who spends nearly half his life on the ice, but I appreciate not freezing to death in my dress.
He opens the passenger door for me and waits until I climb in before he shuts it, walking around to the driver’s side. I’m convinced there’s something drastically wrong with me that I nearly salivate when his large hand wraps around the leather gearshift handle. It’s like a form of competence porn, the appeal of which I can’t fully explain. All I know is, he looks like he knows what he’s doing, and it’s hot.