Page 22 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

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This was not a real date. I repeat…not a real date.

First of all, Vincento’s wasn’t the type of place you took someone you hoped to impress. It was ordinary and unpretentious, and it had zero aspirations of grandeur. The family-owned pizzeria knew their clientele, and let’s be real…college students were all about a good deal on a budget.

So if the red vinyl booth was a little sticky, and the bulb in the ancient stained-glass pendent over the corner table was on the fritz…so what? The pizza was amazing, the garlic balls were served warm and coated with olive oil and a fine layer of parmesan, and refills were on the house.

It was perfect for postgame celebrations or commiserations, perfect for pre-party meals, or study-break chow sessions, but not dates. Which was usually fine because I didn’t date. Or not often. And I’d never ever, ever gone on a date with a guy.

Ever.

Yet here I was, sitting across from Walker Woodrow, wondering why I’d thought this might be a good idea. And yes, it had been my idea. I wouldn’t have used the word “date,” but I’d gone along with it. Casually.

Problem: I was really fuckin’ nervous.

Christ, just look at him. Walker was hot.

Geeky hot, yes, but still hot. His crisp blue oxford shirt complemented his tawny eyes and his gorgeous hair.

I stared at the laminated menu I hadn’t bothered reading in years to avoid staring at him.

Then I swiped my clammy palms on my jeans under the table and internally chided myself for being a coward.

In spite of the fact that I was sweating through my T-shirt and actively hoping my deodorant didn’t let me down, I had no regrets.

Especially when Walker flashed a bashful half grin while perusing Vincento’s pizza selections as if the choice between the meat lover’s and the Sicilian with prosciutto was the equivalent of ordering the lobster or the filet mignon at an actual fancy restaurant with linen tablecloths and sturdy silverware I couldn’t easily twist into a knot with one hand.

If he was nervous, he was better at playing it cool.

A glass of Vincento’s weak-as-hell beer later, I removed my head from my ass and remembered that Walker was an actor. Well…sort of, anyway. He played a role in front of a camera that required a friendly demeanor and a congenial show of interest in topics he didn’t always care about.

Walker could fake his way through a pizza dinner with anyone like a fucking champ, but I didn’t want that. I wanted his genuine smile and his unrehearsed, easy conversation. It was up to me to coax it from him, because the real Walker had admitted that he didn’t know how to do this.

And I did? Yeah, fuckin’ right.

“The quattro formaggi looks good,” he commented, idly swirling his glass of house Chardonnay.

“ Meh . It’s just cheese pizza.”

“ Four cheese pizza. That makes it extra special.”

I rolled my eyes. “It makes it extra cheesy.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, but the meat lover’s is better.” I pushed the menu to the middle of the table, where the red-and-white plastic tablecloth was at its most faded, and froze. “Wait. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

Walker snickered. “You brought me moo shu pork and I ate every last bit of it, so I’m pretty sure you know I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I tried to go vegan once,” he continued, ignoring my awkwardness. “Unsuccessfully. The sausage substitute made me queasy and when I couldn’t pass a McDonald’s without drooling like Pavlov’s dog, I realized I didn’t have it in me.”

I barked a laugh that seemed to jostle the weight of expectation from my shoulders.

“Me either,” I admitted, blurting, “I’m nervous. Are you?”

He sipped his wine. “Very. We’ve had a few curious glances, but I’m not worried about an audience. If anyone comes by the table, I’ll tell them we’re brainstorming another guest segment for you.”

I wanted to argue that wasn’t necessary, but we both knew that wasn’t true.

“Ignore them. Let’s get two pizzas—the cheese and meat. Do you like their garlic balls?”

“Love them. We’ll need an extra order of the marinara dipping sauce. I’m a double-dipper.”

“No.”

Walker held up a hand and grimaced. “Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s a terrible habit, and I should be ashamed of myself, but I can’t quit. I need my own ketchup, my own tub of guacamole, and…my own marinara dipping sauce.”

My lips twisted indulgently. “Okay, but it’s not a problem for me. It’s like…French kissing.”

“Ew, that’s gross.” He snickered as he set his wineglass down. Before I could argue my point, he added, “Let’s order the mixed salad too. We can share if you want. It’s huge.”

“Sounds good.” I flagged a waiter to place our order along with another round of drinks. “Oh, and two dipping sauces, please. This guy’s a heathen.”

Walker snorted, kicking my shin as he shifted on his end of the booth. “It’s not too crowded tonight,” he said conversationally once we were alone again.

I absently scanned the nearby tables, noting a cluster of students, an older couple, and two families with small children. “Yeah, I guess not.”

“I wonder?—”

“How did your?—”

We spoke over each other and chuckled.

“You first,” he insisted.

I shrugged. “Nothing exciting. I was gonna ask about your interview with the retired librarian. You were all jazzed up about her book collection. Was it as cool as you thought it would be?”

Walker instantly brightened. Any trace of unease was gone in a flash of enthusiastic gesticulations as he gave an animated account of his visit with Mrs. Coleman.

“Her whole house could be a library annex. It has to be seen to be believed. Floor-to-ceiling custom-built bookshelves line the walls in two spare bedrooms, a dining room, and her formal living area…complete with multiple ladders on wheels. Just like Belle’s. ”

“Who’s Belle?”

“Who’s Belle? Is that a real question? Belle is…

Belle!” He scowled and it was cuter than it should have been.

“From Beauty and the Beast . Do not tell me you’ve never seen it.

Do not. I’ll get unreasonably perturbed, and we’ll be forced to abandon our pizza and watch it immediately.

Beauty and the Beast is a cinematic must. It basically shaped my entire personality and?—”

“Yo, untwist your undies, ya maniac. Of course, I’ve seen it…eighteen years ago or something, but yeah, I liked it.” I actually didn’t have a big opinion about it one way or another, and I’d wisely keep that to myself.

“Good.” Walker flashed a smile so brilliant, I was speechless for a beat.

I cleared my throat, hoping to shake off the effect. “How the fuck did a cartoon shape your personality? Is that even possible? If so, I should be an automatic member of the Justice League.”

Walker snickered, then sighed. “I was alone a lot. My mom was always gone on assignment, my dad wasn’t around. My mom didn’t encourage our relationship, which was confusing and left me with a lot of time on my own.”

“At home? She left you by yourself?” I asked incredulously.

“Boarding school. I had a few friends, so I didn’t hate it there.

And it was all I knew. But one year at Thanksgiving, Mom didn’t pick me up like she was supposed to.

I was ten and I was used to her being late, but this time she made the news.

Mom was stuck because her school had been surrounded by the Taliban.

It was scary. Not that I knew much about it.

They kept the reason she was a no-show from me.

I was alone and clueless during a long holiday break, so I watched Beauty and the Beast until I’d memorized every line. ”

I frowned. His story was so unrelatable. My family was tight to the point of being claustrophobic. There was no way one of us would have fallen through the cracks during a crisis.

I didn’t know how to respond, and settled on, “That sucks.”

Walker waved dismissively. “Old news. It might sound terrible, but it ended up being okay. My Aunt Kay came to the rescue. She’s my father’s older sister.

That side of the family is Canadian, so they weren’t celebrating Thanksgiving.

She’d heard what was going on and swooped in and took me home with her for the holidays.

I didn’t go back to school till after Christmas, and I loved it.

She and my Uncle Richard have a huge property on the outskirts of Toronto with an apple orchard, lots of animals and activity.

I met my cousins and…I saw my father again for the first time in years.

That part was awkward, but my aunt has a way of making everything okay.

She didn’t have much to say about my dad’s absence.

Neither did he. According to Aunt Kay, some people take a lot longer to grow up, and that wasn’t my fault in any way. ”

“She’s right.”

“Yeah, I know. Whenever something has gone sideways in my life, she’s been there for me.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

He twisted the stem of his wineglass. “Anyway, I have a vivid memory of Aunt Kay asking if I wanted to bring anything with me, and?—”

“You wanted your video,” I finished for him as our server descended with food for the table.

He delivered everything but our pizzas, which he assured us would be out shortly.

Walker divvied salad onto two plates and slid one toward me with the side order of dressing. “Yes, I wanted the video. Silly, huh?”

I thanked him, diving for the garlic balls and popping one into my mouth. “No way. Whatever keeps you sane.”

“Books are my great escape…and they probably always will be. Is hockey yours?”

I nodded. “Yeah, but it was a family thing. My dad teaches high school English and coaches. We all grew up at the rink where he had access to some equipment. Old sticks, used skates, ice time. There were so many of us that we could field a decent-sized team.”

“Your parents played with you too?”

“Oh, yeah. My mom has a wicked snap shot, and Dad likes to think he’s a beast of a goalie.”

“He’s not?”