Page 23 of Xander

“She thought we were together.”

“What?”

“Well, not anymore, obviously,” he said, irritated.

“Wow.” I considered her change in attitude. “Well, that’s flattering, I suppose—although cougar was never a career option that I brought up with my guidance counselor,” I added with a shudder.

“You’re not old.”

“I’m old enough,” I said aloud before catching my own grim tone.

“You do know that every man has been checking you out since we arrived?” His eyes darkened. “Our asshole host wouldn’t stop staring.”

I glanced around the restaurant. A couple of men here and there met my eye. Embarrassed at being caught staring, they returned to their meals.

“I think they are staring at the star athlete in our midst.”

“No,” he hissed, which I found oddly hilarious. “Only at you.” He muttered something else under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, I should teach all of them a lesson.

I laughed. “Are you sure you aren’t flattering me into paying for lunch? Because I was going to do that anyway.”

“I already did.”

“What?” My eyes widened. “How?”

“I gave the host my card and told him he could have a fifty percent tip if he kept people away from our table.” He added grimly, “I guess I should have specified that included staff, too.”

“I was supposed to treat you,” I protested.

The waitress arrived with our drinks. I noticed the stem of the cherry in his Manhattan had been twisted into a rather crude approximation of a heart. Amused, I watched him pluck it out of the drink in disdain and set it on the coaster while the waitress’s face fell. She walked away, defeated.

“That was rather mean.” I flicked some of the gold strands off my shoulder. “She’s a cute girl.”

“I’m not into cute.”

What are you into? I nearly asked before remembering who I was talking to. Sipping my gin and champagne cocktail, I leaned back in my seat instead, listening to the tasteful jazz piano. Sunrays warmed my face, drawing a smile to my lips. Despite being December, the sun was strong today, creating a pleasantly warm afternoon.

“Isn’t this nice?” I asked, basking in the rays of light and hoping my porcelain skin would finally catch some color. “This place reminds me of a café in Paris I used to frequent. In Le Marais, if I’m remembering correctly. It had painted shutters and a view of a building covered in ivy.”

He tasted his drink. “Why does it remind you of that café?”

Unthinkingly, I responded, “I suppose because it was the last place I was truly happy.” God, why did I say that? I was going to have to take it easy on the drinks to keep my wits about me.

“Good afternoon, folks.”

I looked up to find a muscular frame in a fitted chef’s coat towering over our table. He wore a charming smile on his lips, his toned arms flexing as he set down the charcuterie board. He appeared to be the head chef. If I were younger and unmarried, I would’ve considered him a sight to behold.

“Today, we have a selection of French cheese with our charcuterie board,” he explained. “The chèvre is my absolute favorite. I also recommend the whipped goat cheese. Make sure to try it with the jam. It’s got real lavender from Provence.” The man’s strong hand moved effortlessly as he pointed to each ingredient on the board.

“Wow. Look at this.” I marveled at the beautifully arranged board.

The tantalizing scents made my stomach growl in anticipation, but I hadn’t expected it to be delivered by the chef. I suppose I had Xander’s burgeoning fame to thank for the personal services, though the man’s eyes were mainly on me.

I cleared my throat upon catching a glimpse of Xander’s narrowed gaze.

“This arrangement is gorgeous,” I said, cutting into the thick, awkward silence that seemed to have settled over the table. “Thank you.”

The chef’s piercing blue eyes gleamed. “I can also bring over some seasonal fruits that’ll pair well with⁠—”