Page 18 of Tripped Up

He has two turkey sandwiches for himself. One has a salad, the other has a plate of fries. He puts two-thirds of the fries on my plate, plus the pickle from each of his entrées. Mine already has a small container of potato salad.

I stare at him. “What are you doing?”

Wyatt cocks his head. “Do you not want fries?”

“They’re yours.”

“I can’t eat all of them. Not on my nutrition plan.”

My forehead pinches into a frown. I’m missing something. None of this makes sense.

“I want you to have them,” he continues. “Just because I have to be strict about what I eat doesn’t mean you have to, too.”

“Why would it?” It’s not like we make a habit out of eating together.

His broad shoulders lift as he shrugs, the movement serving to remind me how massive he is. “I thought you’d like them. That’s why I ordered them,” he says. “If you don’t want them, don’t eat them.”

It’s not about the fries.

Or maybe it is.

I don’t know.

“Do you have a tuxedo?” I blurt out.

Slowly, Wyatt swivels his head to look at me. “Yes?”

“What are you doing on Saturday?”

A Cheshire smile spreads over his face. “Elsy, are you asking me on a date?”

“No!”

He waits, his eyes bright. Is he mocking me?

I blow out a breath. “The symphony gala is Saturday and I have a plus-one.”

Wyatt waits patiently. When I don’t continue, he says, “And you want me to go with you?”

“I mean, you have a tux already.” It makes sense, in some weird, twisted, roundabout way.

Besides, he’s the only person I know in this city. And I’m not about to ask Luke Henry to go with me. No.

The air is thick with tension as I meet his eyes. It kills me to have to ask anyone for help. Of all the people in the world, the fact it’s him particularly rankles. Slowly, he nods. “I do have a tux.”

“And you don’t have a game,” I add.

“We play Friday night and Sunday matinee. So I wouldn’t be able to party too hard on Saturday night,” he drawls.

“Yes, because a symphony gala is probably on par with partying it up in a club until three o’clock in the morning.”

Wyatt grins. “I haven’t done that since my second year in the league.”

I roll my eyes. “So, will you do it?”

“Sure, Elsy,” he says, his voice warm and rumbly, making my heart rate ricochet sky high. “I’ll be your date to the gala.”

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