Page 37 of Brutal Titan

He gives me a sincere smile as he says, “I hope so.”

“Your table is ready.” The hostess signals for us to follow. Thankfully, there’s some distance between our table and the party of idiots, but that doesn’t suppress the loud whooping and laughter floating through the otherwise serene restaurant. My guess is if it were anyone but dumbass Bass, they would’ve been asked to leave already, but his grandpa has more clout than all of us other patrons combined.

Once we have a seat at the table, I keep my eyes forward, ignoring the ruckus across the room. Striving to enjoy noncomplicated conversation with Dalton, I discover there’s only one thing we have in common—art. We’ve finally made it through the main course of our meal when Dalton reaches over, casually resting his hand on mine. He’s telling me about the time he unsuccessfully painted a picture of a bird that ended up looking like a blob instead. I laugh, genuinely enjoying talking everything and anything art related with him.

“Isn’t that right, Victoria?” a loud voice booms across the restaurant. I jump, reflexively jerking my hand away before turning to glare at Elliot, who is more than pleased with himself for interrupting my pleasant conversation. Thankfully, the server walks up to remove the empty plates from the table and asks if we want dessert.

Looking to me, Dalton makes the best suggestion ever. “Would you like something from here? Or, we can go to this fabulous ice cream shop just a few blocks down?”

“Ice cream sounds wonderful.” And so does getting out of this suffocating room.

Asking for the check, Dalton insists on paying before we make our way outside. After waiting a few moments for the valet to retrieve the car, I gladly drop into the tranquility of the car, dropping my head against the seat as Dalton slides into the driver’s seat and heads straight to the quaint ice cream shop just down the street.

There’s an awkward silence between us as we step up to the counter and order two cups of ice cream. Grabbing them, we step back outside to sit at an open table. Dalton makes small talk—he must be used to it with his job—and we enjoy our dessert in peace before tossing the empty cups and making our way back to his car. The awkward silence returned on the drive to my house, and as he pulls to a stop, I’m grateful to step out of the car. But not before he’s booked it to the passenger side, opening my door just as he’s done all day. His hand lightly grasps my arm as we walk up the stairs to the oversize red door of my house.

“I had a really great time today.”

“Me too,” I reply, guilt weighing on me since I know we both could’ve had a better time had the evening not been hijacked by a lunatic.

“I have a full schedule the next few weeks with classes and helping out at the studio, but I’d love to take you out again.” He senses my hesitation and continues graciously, “If and when you’re ready for a second date, just let me know.” He reaches up, feathering his thumb over my cheek, the same one that Grant had slammed into the locker. Thankfully, it hadn’t bruised too badly and only needed a thin layer of makeup to cover, but it reminds me of why Dalton deserves better than my partial attention.

“I’d love to, I just need a little time.”

“Take all the time you need,” Dalton whispers, bending forward to place a tender kiss on my cheek. “Good night, Victoria.”

“Good night,” I reply, watching as he gives me a reassuring smile before walking down the stairs. Sliding into the house, I head straight to the solace of my bedroom. Unfortunately, misery is perched on the end of my bed, waiting.

“Get. Out.” I step aside, pointing to the hallway, but Elliot just gives me a shit-eating grin.

“Back early from your date with art boy.”

“Dalton. And you had no right to show up tonight.”

He stands in front of me, his lips near my ear as I feel his warm breath on my skin. “Perhaps, but I doubt Dickie stood a chance either way. Or perhaps, he does because there’s no intense, red-hot appeal there. One that makes you want to fall apart by only the touch of his hand, coming undone before you leave him high and dry.”

Clenching my teeth, I turn my head looking to him, feeling nothing but disdain and annoyance, everything about him clawing at my nerves. “His name is Dalton, and he stands a much better chance than you ever will.”

“Never said I wanted one,” he snickers, strolling out of my room.

“Then it shouldn’t be that hard to stay the hell away from me.” I know he hears me because his posture stiffens as he walks away. Dickhead. Slamming the door behind him, I lock it and head straight for the shower, locking that door too. I want to have as many barriers between us as possible because the jerk is driving me insane.

I hurry through my shower, quickly pulling on a cotton tank and a pair of sweatpants. Grabbing a sketchbook that had arrived in the mail, I head to the balcony with my charcoal pencil in hand and earbuds in place. Cranking up the volume to avoid any likelihood of hearing a knock on my door, I hope to drown out my thoughts in the process.