Page 115 of Relationship Goals

The Aces sports psychologist’s mantras echo in my head, and they’re maybe the only thing keeping me from reaching up and pushing Gerard as far from me and Abigail as I can.

I smile at him, and he flinches slightly.

I should probably work on that.

“It is not a joke,” Gerard says, pulling out a pocket handkerchief and dabbing it against his head. “We have a cow. We milk the cow. The cow says moo. We make the butter. That is not a joke.”

I glare up at him, and before I realize what’s happening, Gerard begins dabbing his handkerchief around my mouth.

“What the fuck,” I grit out, standing up so quickly that my chair falls over behind me. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Abigail gasps in horror, her mismatched eyes huge in her elfin face. “Luke,” she admonishes. “That’s just the excellent service here.”

“He put his fucking sweat on my mouth,” I argue. “What the fuck?”

“Monsieur is not used to the finer things in life.” Gerard’s tone is stiff, and I stare down at him until he backs up several steps.

I keep staring until he nears the door.

“Is there a hidden camera in here? What the fuck is going on?” I demand.

“This is why people come here, Luke. For the experience.” Her whisper is low and furious. Truly furious.

I’ve never heard her like that.

I hate that I’m the one who made her sound like that. I glance back at Gerard, who’s somehow looking down his nose at me despite being a foot shorter, then pivot my attention back to the strawberry blonde who looks like she might cry.

I wouldhateto make her cry.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her after a beat. “I shouldn’t have…lost my temper.”

My apology doesn’t seem to make a difference. In fact, she looks more disappointed than ever.

“Perhaps monsieur and mademoiselle should kiss and make up,” Gerard suggests.

To my surprise, it’s Abigail who skewers him with a look. “No.” Her tone is completely flat. “Perhaps you should take our order.”

“We haven’t looked at the menu—”

“I want the lobster and so does Luke. We both want lobster. Steak, too. Surf and turf. And mashed potatoes and some salad. Right, Luke? You want a salad?”

I shrug, giving up. “Sure. That sounds good.”

“Excellent.” Gerard, however, winces. “If you will both follow me to the kitchen to select your lobster—”

“That won’t be necessary.” I shake my head. I don’t want to walk to the fucking kitchen and pick out a crustacean.

“Luke,” Abigail says, and now, tears shine in her eyes.

“Fuck me.” I roll my own. “You want to pick out your lobster? Let’s go.”

“It is worth it,” Gerard assures me.

I assure my fist that it wouldn’t be worth it and fake a smile instead. “Do we get to pick out our own cow, too?”

Abigail sucks in a breath, and at first, I think she’s laughing at my joke, until I catch a glimpse of the horror on her face.

“No,” Gerard tells me. “No, you do not get to slaughter a cow. Barbaric.” He shudders.