Page 29 of Devil's Queen
I shake my head.
Peering into my full-length mirror, I stare at my reflection. The black catsuit I’d chosen hugs me like a second skin. Normally, I’d wear something a little less form-fitting, but with riding my Harley to dinner, I had to pick something more practical. I reach down to grab my cut and layer it over the catsuit.
“So, where are you going?”
“I’m going to dinner with a friend.” I leave off the who intentionally.
“You don’t wear stuff like that when you go out with your friends.”
“Enough about my outfit already. Don’t you have some homework to finish?”
“Probably.” He shrugs.
“Go do it. When I get home tonight, I expect it to be done.”
“Fine…” he scoffs before sliding off my bed and heading toward his room, his feet shuffling the entire way. With one long, last look in the mirror, I head downstairs, grab my keys from the hanger by the back door, and slip outside before my mama catches one look at me. I had told her a little white lie that I had a meeting regarding the bike tonight. I just didn’t mention who it was with.
Sliding onto my bike, I start her up and pull out of the driveway. The restaurant Rex picked is only a ten-minute ride away and happens to be one of my favorite places to eat. Part of me wonders if he intentionally picked this place because of that or if it was a completely random pick. There’s no way he could remember something as trivial as which restaurant was my favorite. Could he?
I shake the thought from my mind. It has to be purely coincidental. Instead, I focus on the night ahead of me.
The sign for Muriel’s comes into view a few blocks later. Parking is always a pain in the ass, but I manage to find a spot around the corner on Royal Street. Securing my bike and placing my cut into one of my saddlebags for safekeeping, I walk to the restaurant and find Rex waiting outside. He’s staring at his phone when I approach. My heart stops at the sight of him.
Rex’s broad, defined chest stretches the fabric of his black-collared shirt to its limit. The rolled-up sleeves reveal two intricately tattooed forearms, each telling their own story. His powerful legs seem even longer and more muscular in his tight-fitting dark jeans, accentuating every sinewy muscle. A chill runs down my spine as I realize the depth of trouble I’m in just by agreeing to dinner.
As soon as his gaze falls upon me, my throat tightens. Desire fills his deep blue eyes, and they seem to darken in intensity.
“Hey,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. His eyes never leave mine. “Fuck, Rem. I think you’re trying to kill me with that outfit of yours. It has me reconsidering dinner altogether.”
“This was your idea,” I remind him.
“That’s before you showed up like that. Every man in that room will be fixated on you, and I’ll have to do my best to tune it out. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined our night going, but at this point, I’m not opposed to a little mass murder.”
“A little male attention isn’t all that bad,” I tease.
“It is for me,” he mutters as the hostess calls out his name.
As we step inside Muriel’s, I can’t help but notice the romantic ambiance of the place. Soft candlelight flickers on the tables, casting a warm glow that adds to the cozy charm of the restaurant. The scent of delicious Cajun cuisine fills the air, making my mouth water. It’s been years since I’ve come here. Between the shop, Beaux, and the club, luxuries like this have been pushed to the wayside.
The hostess leads us to a private table near the back of the dining room—a table for two nestled in a darker corner. Rex moves to hold out my chair for me, and as I settle, he shifts to his own. After putting two glasses of ice water on the table and leaving us with our menus, the hostess returns to the front of the restaurant.
I take a moment to flip through the menu, my eyes staying glued to it instead of the man across the table who can’t seem to keep his gaze away from me.
“What?” I ask when I force myself to peer up.
“Being back here with you is fucking with me more than I thought it would.”
So, he did remember Muriel’s was one of my favorite places to eat in the French Quarter.
“It’s just dinner.”
“It’s more than that for me, and you know it, Rem. I’d planned on proposing to you here,” he mutters quietly.
“What?” I choke out. I can’t possibly have heard him correctly. We’d never once mentioned marriage in our time together. We were still babies. Marriage wasn’t even on my radar then or now. I am like my dad in that way. I didn’t need a ring to be committed to someone.
“Shit, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Sure did,” I mutter, dragging the water glass from the table and drawing it to my lips to hide my reaction to the thought of him proposing. The cool liquid does nothing to quell the heat burning inside me. Attraction had never been the hard part of our past relationship. Honesty and loyalty were.