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“You seem tense.” She picked up her wineglass and tentatively took a sip.

It was obviously one sip too many.

Watching her try to hide her grimace, some of the tension eased. “What would you like instead?”

“No, no, this is fine.” She took a bigger sip, her face registering instant regret. She set the glass down far away. “I’m just not thirsty.”

“Everything okay?” the waiter asked as he dropped off a basket of fresh bread and butter.

Dahlia smiled up at him. “Yes, thank—”

“Can you bring her a cocktail?” I interrupted, trying to keep a straight face at the relieved expression on hers. “Something citrus.” I looked back at Dahlia, asking, “Anything else?”

“No cranberry juice, please. Thank you.” When he was out of earshot, she glared at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. When Faust says spicy, he means it. Were you just not going to drink anything?”

“No, I would’ve gotten used to the taste.” Her nose scrunched as she spoke.

Laughing, I reached over and tucked a section of hair behind her ear before she could. Seeing the waiter in the reflection of the window, I let my fingertips trail down the delicate curve of her neck as I sat back.

As much as I hated the fucking interruption, my stomach growled at the assault of mouthwatering scents.

I guess he doesn’t go through the window.

Yet.

“I don’t want to spill on my sweater, which I have to thank you for again because it’s so soft.” Arching her back, her tits pressed against her tee as she pulled the hoodie off her shoulders. The light color of her bra gave the illusion it was just skin against thin fabric. Once the sweater was off and she was sitting straight again, the rounded neck of her shirt still showed hints of cleavage.

There was nothing overt or indecent about it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t give me just enough to make me lose my mind picturing what was underneath.

And based on the way the waiter almost dropped the plates as he watched her mouth, he was thinking the same thing.

Okay, out the fucking window it is.

“Wow, that smells so good,” Dahlia said, cutting through my temper.

I snapped my eyes over to where the manager stood scanning the restaurant. When his gaze met mine, I let my jaw clench and my eyes narrow.

His face paled before growing red. His mouth moved quickly as he talked to the host.

Since Joseph was still only talking to Dahlia, I didn’t miss anything as he set a small plate in front of her. “These are balsamic and spinach stuffed black plum tomatoes. And this,” he paused, setting the plate in front of me, “is a caramelized shallot and three cheese risotto cake. It’s made with a blend of the house-made mozzarella, fontina, and goat cheese.”

Joseph’s attention was on Dahlia, so he missed my glare. I turned it to the manager, rubbing my hand across my jaw.

As Dahlia picked up her fork, I grabbed the plates and switched them.

She lowered her brows, but cut the cake and slid half onto my plate. Spearing a tomato with her fork, she popped it into her mouth.

“You’re willing to share cheese with me?” Bringing her hand to my lips, I kissed it and winked. “You must really like me.”

Her face lost some of the teasing humor but none of the softness. “I do,” she whispered, returning her attention to her food.

“Good,” I whispered back.

When Joseph opened his mouth, I cleared my throat. His eyes moved to mine, a cocky smirk letting me know he thought this was a game, and one he’d win. He was a fucking idiot for thinking Dahlia was nothing but a trophy he could walk away with.

And for thinking he should fuck with me.