Page 23 of Truck Off
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just never been here before. It’s really …” I take a moment to glance around before I look back at him. “It’s nice.”
He stops just as he’s about to pull my chair out for me. “Is this okay? We can go somewhere else if you don’t like it.”
“No, it’s fine.” I glance around again and catch several people staring at us. They all quickly look away. “I don’t think these people are used to seeing someone like me here.”
His brow furrows into the bad boy look of his that I’ve swooned over for years. “What do you mean, someone like you?” His intense gaze rakes down my body again, just like he did when we were outside. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling my cheeks blush. Hearing him call me gorgeous makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I can’t recall the last time anything made me feel that way. “But I’m not so sure anyone else agrees.”
I wave my hand out, and his gaze follows the movement. The eyes are back to staring, causing his frown to deepen.
“Fuck them. They’re clearly blind.”
As if their looks and stares are inconsequential, he motions for me to sit. Once we’re both seated, I finally take in the view from our table.
The restaurant is on the river and the views are beautiful, though we won’t be able to enjoy it for long since the sun is already setting. Before long, it’ll be too dark to see anything.
As date spots go, this is very romantic. More romantic than I expected from someone like Christian. It both surprises and pleases me in equal measures.
When I look across the table, Christian is watching me with that same sparkle in his eye I saw earlier. His lips tick up into a smoldering grin that causes my heart to flutter, and then he says. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I stare at him, wavering on just how truthful to be. Will he be offended if I admit how surprised I am by this date? Or will he understand?
I take a fortifying drink of water before I clear my throat, deciding to be completely honest. “Well, this restaurant surprises me, I guess. This isn’t the type of place I thought you’d pick for a first date. Or any date, for that matter.”
His expression drops like I just slapped him in the face. “Would you like to leave? I was serious when I said we can go somewhere else. I just …” He runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. “I just wanted to take you somewhere nice. Is this all wrong?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. Just surprising. That’s all.”
He gives me a sheepish smile that makes me want to hug him. I don’t think any man has ever made me want to hug him before. “You sure? I don’t mind if you want to leave.”
“I’m sure,” I say, even though there’s a part of me that wants to say yes to leaving. I glance around and frown when I see several people still staring. But I shake that off and focus on Christian. “It smells too good in here to leave. Let’s stay.”
“Alright, Grumps. As long as you’re sure.” He winks as he picks up his menu and starts studying it. I open my mouth to object to the nickname but stop myself. I kind of like it that he calls me Grumps. It shows he sees the real me.
Instead, I follow his lead and pick up my menu. A few minutes later, a server comes by to take our orders. I try not to freak out over the prices of the items. Christian insists I should order whatever I want. So I do—steak with garlic mashed potatoes.
The server suggests a bottle of wine, and Christian says it’s up to me. I prefer beer, so I order a stout instead. He does the same.
After the server leaves, silence falls over us as if neither of us knows what to say next. I don’t date often, so this is all new to me.
I focus on my hands as I play with the straw in my water glass and try to think of something to say. Before I can settle on a topic, Christian speaks.
“Is it hard letting someone else do your tattoos? I mean, since you’re an artist, I imagine you’re picky.”
I nod. “It is, but I trust Felix. He’s my coworker, mentor, and friend. He taught me a lot and is a better artist than me. I designed my tattoos, but he put most of them on me. I did the ones I can reach myself.”
“They’re beautiful,” he says, his words sounding almost wistful. When I look up, he’s staring at my exposed arms. “Do they tell a story?”
“Some. They’re all meaningful to me in some way.”
He tilts his chin toward my right arm where I have feminine purple and blue feather surrounded by flames. The feather is delicate and beautiful, while the flames are hard and menacing. The two artistic features are in complete contrast to one another, which is entirely the point.
“Tell me about that one?” he asks.
Of course he’d ask me about the most personal tattoo on my entire body. I take a deep breath and run my finger over the edges of the feather.
“The feather represents my heart, and maybe even my looks to a degree. Not to sound conceited or anything, but it’s always irritated me that most people only see me for what’s on the outside. I know I’m easy on the eyes, as my dad always says, but I’m a lot more than a pretty face. And that’s what the flames represent. There was a time that I might have looked like a delicate feather, but I’m anything but. I’m strong and independent. There isn’t anything I can’t do if I set my mind to it. Just like a raging fire. Once I get started, I’m next to impossible to stop.”