Page 33 of Black Sheep
I nod in reply, and Drew’s dark eyes cut to the window. Once again, I swear I see something lighter flash in them.
Is she wearing colored contacts?
Before I have a chance to ask, she says, “I don’t really know how to be on a date. I’ve been pretty busy for the last few years. Not a lot of free time to just ... be.” Her gaze sweeps back to mine, and I forget my earlier thought because she looks so ...sad.
“Why not?”
Her chest rises beneath the low-cut neckline of that simple but fucking sexy-as-hell black dress, and I force myself to look away from the curves of her breasts because I want to focus on her answer.
Her red lips press together before she speaks. “It’s been a rough few months. Sometimes life just doesn’t give you many breaks, so you make what you can of it.”
“What happened?”
Drew shakes her head. “Nothing good. Let’s talk about something else.”
The sadness morphs her expression into one that grips my chest and squeezes.Why do I care?I shouldn’t.But I do.Probably for the same reason that I couldn’t let Dom come anywhere near her with ownership on his mind.
Fuck. She’s going to get me in trouble.
It’s an instinct I can’t ignore. Still, even knowing that isn’t enough to make me back off now. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve wanted something for myself, and if Drew is willing, this is happening between us.
The server and sommelier appear to take our orders for water, wine, and our dining selection for the evening. As plate after plate of tiny portions of food come out, part of me expected Drew to awkwardly assess each course, trying to guess what it is, but she does the exact opposite. She eats with aplomb, using the proper utensils, and never misses a beat.
That’s when I know for certain there’s a hell of a lot Drew Carson is hiding. She’s familiar with haute cuisine, including oysters with pearls, pâté, foie gras, and every other food I could easily avoid for the rest of my life.
When the veal medallions are served, she pushes her plate forward. “I’m going to pass on this course, if you don’t mind. Feel free to eat mine too.”
“You don’t like veal?”
An awkward expression crosses her face, her cheeks pinching and eyes squinting. “That’s not exactly it.”
“Then what?”
“It’s delicious. Seriously great. And I know that because I ate it by accident once without knowing what it was. But when I know ... I just can’t.”
Immediately, I know what her hang-up is. “You feel bad about eating it.”
She nods tightly, staring at her plate, and I have to believe that beneath her makeup, she’s turning green around the gills.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Drew’s face jerks up to meet my gaze. “Like right now?”
“Yeah. I already know I’m going to be fucking starving after we leave, and I’d much prefer to eat at the Halal Guys’ cart than finish whatever else we have coming, if you want to know the truth.” I wad up my napkin and toss it on the table beside my plate.
Drew releases a sigh that disappears into the clinking of silverware and china around us. “Oh, thank God, because I think I’m going to puke if I don’t get away from this veal, and I really don’t like foie gras. I’ve just trained myself to eat it without gagging.”
20
Drew
Cannon’s shoulders shake as booming laughter spills from him in a full-body laugh. The kind that reminds me of how my father would take every opportunity for mirth, not caring how many people would turn and stare, even when we were out in public. Hell, even in church sometimes.
Cannon’s the same. Totally oblivious to all the faces in the restaurant that have turned to stare at us as he rises, still chuckling.
There was literally no bad mood that my father’s laughter couldn’t bring me out of. It was a cure-all that I will never experience again. Tears spring up in my eyes and I try to blink them away, but Cannon’s laughter silences as concern creases his brow.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks as he holds out a hand.
