Page 36 of Fourth Base with the Alpha

“Then why did you choose it?”

“I didn’t know where else to suggest.”

“You’re not one of those guys who has his routine set up then?” She lowers her voice, making it all growly. “For date one I will take her to restaurant A. For date 2 restaurant B and date 3, restaurant C, and then hopefully back to my place.”

“Date three?”

“Isn’t that the rule? Three dates and then you can do the deed.”

“I have no fucking idea. I don’t date.”

“No, me neither, not recently anyway,” she says. Then whispers, “Only fake-dating.” She leans forward over the table. “We could ditch this place and find somewhere more … upbeat. As it’s not a real date, you don’t need to worry about impressing me with fancy places.” We both swing our gazes around the restaurant at the other guests, talking quietly and looking sophisticated. And dull.

“You have somewhere else in mind?”

“Hmmm, I think so.”

“Then let’s go.” I draw back my chair, pulling out my wallet and throwing a wad of notes on the table. I hold out my hand for her and we stroll out together, Isabella giggling by my side.

* * *

“So I warn you,”she says, from the passenger seat beside me, “if you don’t find this Cuban sandwich to be the best you’ve ever tasted, then I will have to fake-dump you despite what the contract says.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“If you don’t have good taste about this, how can I trust you to have good taste about anything else? And you may be a rock god or whatever, but I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“You have a reputation?” I ask, biting into the layers of bread, cheese and meat.

“Yes, for having good taste,” she smiles. “But don’t worry, fake-dating you is definitely helping my reputation. My mom approves.”

“Did she like the flowers?”

Isabella's gaze flicks down to the sandwich wrapped in paper on her lap. “Of course, they were beautiful.”

“I thought you might like them.” A sense of pride swells in my chest. “I’ve never been here before. The view is … I always forget that LA is pretty spectacular. If you can forget the traffic and the noise and the smog.”

“That's why I like it up here. Away from all that. I used to come here with …” She trails off and my eyes flick to her face. She’s picking at her sandwich, breaking off tiny bits of bread with her thumb and finger. “I’m sorry.” Her shoulders droop. “Maybe it’s too soon, coming here. I forget sometimes and then it hits me and …”

The air in the car seems suddenly cold and her voice sounds brittle, as if she’s fighting back a wave of emotion.

Who did she come here with? What’s made her so sad?

A past boyfriend?

I can imagine Isabella’s the kind to give her heart away with an unbridled passion. It doesn’t mean the recipient would be careful with her heart.

Has she been hurt? Or does she miss whoever he is? Is she still in love with him?

Suddenly, I’ve no appetite either.

“Would you like to leave, Isabella?” I ask her.

She jerks out of her trance and turns to look at me with a watery smile that has me wanting to wrap her in my arms. “I dragged you out of that restaurant and then all the way up here. I’m a really shitty fake-date.”

“It’s one of the best fake-dates I’ve been on.”

She laughs.