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His voice is lighter than I expect. Deep enough to be masculine, but not that heavy baritone that makes it sound like a guy’s fightingnarcolepsy.
“That’s me.” I drop into the seat, grabbing the maître d’s arm before he can leave. “Can I get a glass of pinot grigio? A bigone?”
“Your server will be rightover.”
“Yes, but you’re here now. And you look like a guy who knows where they keep the wine.” Annoyance flits over his brow, but it’s gone as fast as itappears.
He leaves, and I turn back to mycompanion.
“I preferred dinner to drinks,” Wes says, shifting to lean his forearms on the table. “Getting to know someone takestime.”
“I look forward to it.” Because, God, he’shandsome.
Still, in this restaurant full of laughter and loud voices, his sculpted mouth and a square jaw are both set. It’s as if he’s facing a prostate exam instead of adate.
But hey. Given the day I’ve had and the volcano lurking beneath the tectonic plate of my sternum? I’m not at my besteither.
“Jake says you’re a friend who’s recently come back to the city?” Iprompt.
He nods. “I finished a postdoc at the University of Washington in April. Before that, I was at Johns Hopkins andCaltech.”
Fancy.
“I went to UPenn. First, second, only.” The waiter sets my glass in front of me. It’s at my lips the next second, the flavors of dry white with a kick of sweetness rushing over my tongue like a balm. That’s when I remember, wincing. “Ah. I have a slight issue with payingtonight.”
If it bothers Wes, I can’t tell. “I asked to meet you. I’d expected topay.”
It’s strange the way he says it, but I roll with it. “Thanks. But just so we’re clear, I’m not a woman who expects men to pay for everything. Something happened with my credit card, and I haven’t had a chance to straighten it outyet.”
“Noted.”
I glance down at the menu. “This reminds me of this great vegan place I eat atsometimes.”
“You’re vegan.” His nostrilsflare.
“No. But vegan places have the best vegetables. They have to, it’s all they’ve got. You want good vegetables? Order the vegan special somewhere and then ask them to add meat.” He blinks. “I couldn’t actually be vegan. Have you seen some of those people? They’re like, ‘OMG, this cauliflower with cashew cheese isdivine.’”
A brow lifts—or maybe two. I can’t tell under the thick fall ofhair.
“A person shouldn’t have an orgasm from a vegetable,” I explain. “Unless you’re sticking itsomewhere.”
The wine is doing itsjob.
“Well,” he says at last, “there’s lots of meathere.”
I let my gaze flick down his chest and back up. “I see that.” His hand stills with his glass halfway to his firmmouth.
“I can’t be the first person to tell you you’re good-looking.”
“When my mother does, I ignoreher.”
His low deadpan catches me by surprise, and I can’t stop the grin. Maybe he has a sense of humor after all. “Do you know how to take acompliment?”
“People should know who they are and not needvalidation.”
“So you don’t take compliments or you don’t givethem?”
Wes cocks his head, sending the fall of hair back over one of his eyes. “I suppose I give them better than I takethem.”
