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I shrug. “I’m not interested in dating anyone either. Simple as that,” I echo back with a smile.
His eyes twinkle, but he doesn’t say anything, focusing instead on his meal. If he doesn’t share a little more background, why should I? In a way, it’s better this way. Just two perfect strangers about to get married.
9
Breaking the Ice
Colton
“Thank you for dinner,” Jane says as we’re getting up from our table. Overall, we had a nice time. I don’t go on many dates. At least, not at places where we actually have to talk to each other, but it was Max’s idea. He said spending some time together in a more relaxed setting would break the ice. I’m not sure about breaking the ice. Cracking it, maybe.
“That definitely was the best truffle pasta I’ve ever had.” She closes her eyes and licks her lips, as if savoring the memory.
My Adam’s apple bobs as I swallow hard, her earlier moan replaying in my head. My body warms at the thought, and I fight the urge to clear my throat.
“You’re welcome. So, I guess we should go.” I steal a glance outside. Paparazzi are waiting near the entrance, cameras at the ready, just like we knew they would be. This is a popular celebrity hangout, which is why we chose this restaurant.
“Um,” Jane says, twisting her mouth as she notices them. “Should we . . .?”
I scratch my head. “Yes, I suppose we could hold hands,” I state, but it comes out more like a question.
She nods and gives me her hand. It’s as soft as I remember, but colder than mine. With a frown, I turn to her. “Are you chilled? Do you want my jacket?” I know it’s the gentlemanly thing to say. She’s only wearing a dress. A tiny, drop-dead sexy, form-fitting dress that has been messing with my head the entire evening.
“I’m good,” she says with a sweet smile. “Let’s go.”
I open the door for her and catch her hand again once we’re outside. As soon as we step foot on the pavement, paparazzi swarm toward us. I’m not that big of a fish compared to all the actors and singers living here in LA, but for some reason, they always want to take my picture. I’m tempted to shield Jane’s face from their cameras and drill them with a death stare, as I usually do, but then I remember that we actually want this. So I pretend I don’t see them as they call my name and ask who I’m dating. Max already spread the rumors that this was serious, and that we’ve been seeing each other in secret for months.
As we wait for the valet to bring my car around, a cold gust sweeps past us. The crisp breeze is unusual for June. Typical LA summers are a lot warmer, but the temperatures have dropped these past few days. Without thinking, I step closer to Jane and rub her arms to warm her up. Goosebumps erupt all over her skin. I was right, she was cold. I don’t want her to catch something because she was out with me.
Her face flushes, and she raises her head to me. “Thanks.”
I find myself frozen, captivated by the unique color of her eyes and the way they’re gazing at me. I’m usually good at reading people, figuring out what they want. That’s why I created such a successful matchmaking program. However, when I look into Jane’s eyes, I see a lot of things, but it’s like I don’t have the key to decipher them. I can’t seem to crack her code. Okay, maybe I am a bit of a nerd. Though I’m beginning to rethink my ability to even program right now. Reading Jane shouldn’t be such a struggle.
“Here are your keys, sir,” the valet says, and I snap my head toward him.
“Thanks.” I slip him a fifty before taking Jane’s hand in mine again to guide her to my car.
I turn the navigation system back on to lead me to her place. The action reminds me she doesn’t have a car. “Do you have your driver’s license?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, shooting me a curious glance. “But I’m not driving your car if that’s what you’re thinking. This thing is an engine of death.”
I stifle a laugh. I’m not really that into cars, but I do love my Ferrari. Perfect for sliding into LA’s torturous traffic. “It’s not an engine of death. And that’s not where I was going. But you’ll need a car. You can’t live in LA without one.”
“Why not? I’ve lived in LA for five years without a car, and I’ve gotten by just fine.”
I shake my head as I shift the car into drive. “How do you get around? Some streets here don’t even have sidewalks.”
“I walk and use public transportation. Ever heard of those?” she teases with a note of sarcasm.
Clearly, she assumes I’m some silver spoon guy who’s lost touch with reality. If only she knew . . . Far from a silver spoon, I didn’t even have food on my plate every day growing up. “Well, you’ll still need a car. Unfortunately, my street isn’t covered by the LA transit.”
“I know. I’ve been there, remember? And I’m pretty sure that’s on purpose. You know, to keep the poor out of your neighborhoods.”
I scrunch my eyebrows. “Wait, how did you get to my house the other day?”
“Took the bus.”
“We just established that no buses stop in my neighborhood.”
