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“Since we?—”
“Don’t!” I can’t let him push me into that territory. “Don’t complete that sentence.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, settling into his chair. “How’s your week been? Counting down the minutes until you could see me again?”
“You wish.” However, there’s a grain of truth there, buried deep. I have been thinking about him. More than I’d like to.
Luckily, I don’t have to admit it because Marcus, our usual server, strides over with menus.
“We’ll start with the calamari and the bruschetta board,” Brandon says. “And some of those spicy chicken wings. And for the main… I’ll take the beast burger. What do you like, cupcake?”
“The caesar salad, please.”
“Why not try the burger?”
“I had a late lunch,” I lie.
“Did you?” His eyebrow arches. “With who?”
“Does it matter?”
“Everything about you matters.” His words turn soft. “Besides, I’ve got your schedule memorized. You had meetings until four, then budget reviews.”
“Stalking me now?”
“Just keeping tabs on my girlfriend.” He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine. “Someone has to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
Girlfriend. This is exactly what I was afraid of this softness, this care. It makes everything messy. Complicated.
“That’s not part of our arrangement.” Weekly dinners out, public appearances, maintaining the illusion of a relationship, that’s what we agreed to.
“I think our arrangement had an important and long-overdue upgrade.”
What if we made a mistake?
I glance at the menu, my stomach… also not twisting at the thought of a greasy burger? It’s been days since I last purged. What if I do try it?
“Burger it is.” I snap the menu shut. “But I’ll keep the salad as an add-on please.”
“Atta girl.” His grin widens. “And bring us the ’82 Bordeaux.”
Marcus nods, taking the menus and leaving us alone.
“How was your week?” I ask.
Brandon shrugs. “Paperwork, meetings, conference calls, more meetings.”
“You hate meetings.”
“I hate a lot of things.” His fingers tap an erratic rhythm on the table. “Doesn’t mean I can avoid them forever.”
“Since when are you so… committed to it?”
“Since my brother won’t shut up.” His fingers go rigid. “Or maybe since a certain someone made me realize I can’t keep living in misery.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did. And you were right.”