Page 73 of No Longer Mine

Chapter Thirty-Three

Scarlett

Dimitri ordereda prime filet tenderloin while I ordered pasta, of course. I didn’t know how a man could crave Italian and then order a steak, but who was I to judge? This girl loved pasta and was glad he’d chosen this place because it wasn’t one I’d ever been to before. Oliver and I usually tried a new place out every few weeks, but never this one. I was glad for it but a little suspicious.

“Have you been here before?” I asked as I finished my delightfully incredible pasta.

He shook his head as he took a sip from his wine glass. I’d stayed far away from the alcohol. I didn’t trust myself buzzed around him. Hell, I didn’t trust myself sober around him. “No, I thought it might be a nice place to try out.”

I hummed as I watched him.

“Tell me about yourself, Scarlett.”

“Is this a real date?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

He licked his lips and I hated how I zeroed in on the movement. “It could be.”

“Oh?”

“Tell me about you.”

“I’m pretty boring,” I tried.

I failed. “I don’t believe that at all. You’re a little thief and you don’t have anything interesting about you? What do you do for fun?”

I cleared my throat. “I like to go to the gym. I take a few MMA classes.”

His eyebrows jumped. “My kind of girl.”

I would have been lying if I said his words didn’t give me butterflies. I hated it so much. “What about you?”

“I like kickboxing, but MMA sounds more my speed. I would love to know where you train.”

I shook my head. “No chance in hell.”

His lips kicked up in a smirk. “Fair enough. Though I will find out.”

“Just like you got my number?”

His grin widened. “Yes.”

“What else?”

His brows jumped, but he continued to grin at me. It was unsettling, gorgeous. “I enjoy painting and art. I frequent the galleries around here.”

I thought back to his apartment and all of the art lining his walls. It made sense. “Interesting.”

“Have you always lived in the city?” He asked before he took a sip from his wine glass.

I shook my head. Unsure of what to say. I hadn’t thought of this as a real date. I had never even been on a real date. All of the dates I’d been on were for heists and marks. When I did that, I always had a story. But this was different. He would know if it were a story. “No, I moved here when I was a kid.”

His eyes softened, and my nerves jumped. I didn’t like where this was headed, but I didn’t know how to stop it. “You still talk to your parents?”

I swallowed thickly, no longer hungry for any food or dessert. It would all taste like ash in my mouth. “They died when I was young.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” and he did sound apologetic, which I hated. “But then again, if your father was anything like mine… maybe you are better off.”

I blinked. “You don’t get along with your father?”