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“Make it two,” Myles says, and I swear he’s playing a game, but I can’t quite figure him out.

The waitress disappears, and I’m not sure whether to be grateful it’s just the two of us or terrified that no one else is here for a distraction.

“No alcohol tonight?” I repeat. He made it quite clear in front of the waitress that neither of us are drinking. Honestly, it’d be easier if I could get a little tipsy.

“I’m taking you home sober,” Myles says, and his eyes bore into mine. He clears his throat, perhaps realizing his word choice as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Turns out, I’m not the only one finding tonight’s date a bit awkward.

Silence settles over the table for all of two minutes before there’s a handful of people with cell phone cameras who are hovering outside the restaurant window. The sidewalk is public property, so no one is telling them to get lost or shooing them away.

Myles reaches for my hand, and while I’m reluctant to give it, I sense he’s doing this for the media, for his PR and his image after the fiasco that went down at the gala.

While I didn’t see the punch that was thrown, at least not initially, I had caught a video of it on social media and the local news.

“Thank you,” he says, when I give him my hand and don’t pull it away. His fingers intertwine with mine. “This must be killing you.”

I force a smile. “You have no idea.”

His eyes twinkle and he tilts his head, staring at me. “Or maybe you’re lapping up all the attention. You did get the winning bid for a night out with me.”

“I was the only bidder,” I remind him. “If I hadn’t done that, you’d have been—” I don’t want to finish that sentence, because humiliated isn’t something I need to taunt him with.

I’d seen the discomfort when he’d returned to the table, when his brother had switched seats with his coach and the whispers and murmurs of the evening had taken their toll on him.

Myles releases his hand from mine as the waitress returns with our lemonades.

“The appetizers will be out shortly.”

She’s gone in a flash and Myles is staring at me, but I haven’t the faintest idea what’s running through his mind.

“I’m honestly a bit surprised you bid at all, even with Conrad’s money.”

“It’s a charity for sick kids.”

“Kids with cancer,” he corrects me. Like that makes it any different. “You could have done the starting bid…”

“Conrad offered me as much as twenty thousand. I went all in.”

A wry smile forms at the corners of his lips as he leans forward. “You really wanted that date with me.”

“No,” I say, correcting him. “I really wanted to spend twenty grand and help sick kids. That felt good. I’ve never done anything like that before. It made me feel rich and important.”

Myles chuckles, and I’m not sure he buys it, but he lets it go all the same.

There are a dozen more flashes of light as more people pile outside by the window, including a handful of photographers with professional lenses. Myles switches seats, sliding into the chair to my left, an arm moving around my shoulder.

I glance at him, sensing his motives. “What are you doing?”

The smile never leaves his face, but it’s not for me.

It’s for the cameras.

The press.

The PR that he’s doing to make himself look good after his massive blunder.

Assaulting his brother at the gala comes with consequences, and somehow, I’m wrapped up in those consequences.