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The waiter comes back around to check on us. “Have you chosen your main course?”
“Yes, the baked salmon for me,” I say.
“And the chicken parmigiana for me.” Wade tosses me a look, a glint in his eyes.
“Oh, changing your habits,” I say.
His face relaxes into a smile. “Since it is a date, I figured I’d switch things up.”
Instead of answering, I take another sip of my wine.
“So, anyway,” he continues, “since we are dating, I’d like to know more about you.”
“What, didn’t your publicist do her research?” I arch an eyebrow.
“She only gave me your name, date of birth, address, and job. She thought I could get to know you on my own. You know, keep the mystery alive and all that.”
I can’t hold in my chuckle. “Well, then you already know more about me than I know about you.”
He cocks his head. “Really? I figured you would have searched for me online or something. What if I’m a total psycho?”
“Right. Because they’d write that on your Wikipedia page.” I bark a laugh, rolling my eyes. “And anyway, I didn’t even think of that. Call me old-fashioned, but I think it’s more fun this way.”
“Touché. So, what would you like to know?”
“How long have you been playing football?”
“My entire life. Started as a kid, played in clubs through my younger years, and made pro when I was eighteen. I played for the national team that same year. It’s been ten years total. Five years in my current club.”
“Wow, that’s impressive. Are you from London originally?”
“Surrey, actually. I moved to London when I went pro. What about you?”
“I’m from South London, so I’ve lived here my whole life. My dad still lives there with my brother. He’s twenty-three.”
“Only one brother?”
I nod. “Yup. You too?”
“Yeah, just Andrew. Have you always been a writer for a fashion magazine?”
“I studied journalism in uni, and then I worked as a freelancer before starting at Fashion Warehouse. I’m now a senior writer.” I take a sip of white wine, and a silence settles between us. “So, this is a little awkward, I guess.”
He grimaces. “Yeah, I haven’t been on a date in—well—ever. So . . .”
“What’s up with that? You obviously could. I mean, you’re not bad-looking or a total moron, from what I can tell.”
His face splits into a grin. The kind that reaches your ears and crinkles the corners of your eyes. The devastating kind that makes other people stare and does weird things to their insides. “Thanks,” he says. “You have a knack for complimenting people.”
“I know. It’s a gift.”
His eyes flit to the table. “I could date, but I want to focus on football right now. I’m only halfway through my career—if I’m lucky. I don’t want to waste time. I’ll do all that later.”
“I can understand that, but celibacy must be hard.” I bite my lip as soon as the words spill from my lips. I can’t help it. I need to know.
“Well, I do see girls. I’m not completely celibate.” He breathes out a nervous laugh. “But it doesn’t go further than hooking up at a party and having a bit of fun.”
My brain instantly wanders to Wade and “a bit of fun,” and I suddenly wish I’d worn something other than a sweater. My body feels like a furnace. Note to self: only wear light clothing in Wade’s company. “Gotcha,” I murmur.
