He only smiles smugly and shoves another fry into his mouth. “What? You can’t tell me you actually like those movies.”
Too far. “Take that back. Take it back now, or I am never speaking to you again.”
His brows lift. “You’re serious?”
“Dead.”
“Fine.” He holds up his hands. “I am sorry I don’t like Batman.”
“Batman! Do you know nothing? I thought you were successful!”
He chuckles and swipes one of my fries.
“Hey.” I tug my food closer to my side of the booth. “Next you’ll tell me you’re one of those adults who doesn’t dress up for Halloween.”
A laugh bursts from his lips, lighting his entire face with his smile. God, he’s beautiful. Even if he’s mocking me. “I haven’t dressed up since elementary school, maybe? I don’t even hand out candy.”
“Bah humbug. Aren’t you the regular Mr. Scrooge?”
“I think you have the wrong holiday.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head and level him with a mock glare. “Do you decorate for Christmas?”
“No comment.” He holds his smile, but for a split second he almost appears sad. Or maybe I only image it, because as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. “I don’t put up a tree for Christmas, but I do give really good gifts, so that has to count for something.”
It does. Though I’m not surprised. He’s been more than generous in our interactions, and I’m practically a stranger. Knowing he takes pride in his gift giving makes my heart warm a little more toward the man. “Okay, you get a point for that. But I’m still not over the fact you don’t share my love of Thor.”
His brow crinkles and he shakes his head, sending a few locks forward on his face.
I almost sigh. Speaking of Thor. If Jude lightened his hair just a shade he’d make the perfect one. I don’t imagine he’d be caught dead in costume, but a girl can dream.
“You’re fun to tease, you know that?” He leans back into his seat.
“Don’t mess with my movies. Holidays. Or my fries.” I take another bite of food, covering my mouth as I chew because he’s staring again. It’s a penetrating gaze in which he’s the match and I’m the kindling ready to be set ablaze. Unnerving. Knowing. As though he’s prepared to peel back all my layers, whether I want him to or not. And I kinda do. I divert my gaze back to my mostly eaten meal, because if there’s one thing I don’t need right now, it’s to lose control.
“Noted.” Jude takes a sip of his drink, and then slides it to the edge of our table. I watch his hands as they play with the end of a napkin. He finished off his burger and fries ten minutes ago. Since arriving, we’ve filled the minutes with conversation, avoiding any awkwardness or lulls. Now, with only the sounds of the restaurant to fill the space, I discover an ease and comfort falls between us. It’s unexpected and nice. A little bit like home. Which is ridiculous, really, because we only just met. But I miss these kinds of moments so much that this one stands out. I don’t feel I have to pretend, or impress, or “be on” with Jude.
“I’m going to grab a to-go box.” As much as I don’t want to be the one to end this, it is getting late.
“Let me.” He drops his napkin to the table and hops up before I can argue. He spends a few minutes chatting with the manager on duty. I wonder exactly what about, but unfortunately, lip reading has never been my forte. He slips the guy his business card, shakes his hand, and heads back my way with a container in hand. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” I pack up my food, and a server comes by to clear our empty plates from the table.
He already paid for my meal when we ordered, and he drops a few bucks next to our empty milkshake glasses. “Shall we?” Jude slides out of his seat again, and gestures for me to lead the way.
“Thank you again for dinner,” I say over my shoulder as we exit the restaurant.
His palm brushes against the small of my back and my body zings with awareness from his touch. Innocent as it is, I relish in the possessiveness. Warm under the illusion. As if we’re together, and this is a real date. A stupid, childish thought because I am not the woman a man like Jude Lawrence dates. I know, because I Googled him again during one of my breaks. He’s not so famed as to have his own Wiki page—a shame for my research purposes—but there were hundreds of photographs, all from different high-end Hollywood events and galas. Him with a different woman each time from what I could tell, and all of his dates skinny and rich. Both of which I am not.
I’m also not naïve. If I encouraged his advances, flirted and sent all the right signals, I’m certain he’d fuck me. But it would be just that. I’m not the woman for Jude. And it’s a good thing, because I’m not looking to focus my energy on anything other than my career. I don’t need a man-project, or a savior.
He walks me to his car and drops his hand to open the passenger door.
Sigh. Of course he has to be a gentleman. A cocky, self-assured man who still opens doors.
Now. Now, I can’t help wondering what his hands would feel like on my bare skin. Squeezing my thighs. His face between them. That know-it-all-smirk heading straight for my center.
I bet he’s good at oral. He smiles with the confidence of a man who makes a woman come with his tongue.
“Rachel?” he says with a soft chuckle. Still holding the door. Smirking. Waiting. Because I’ve been lost in a dirty daydream for God knows how long.
My face heats with embarrassment. I can’t even look at him. I slide into my seat wordlessly and wait
