“I’m afraid, sir,” the host said, his tone just shy of snide, “there are no exceptions at Montclair’s.”
Griff was about to turn heel when Kinsey reached out, her fingers wrapping around his forearm and sending jolts of awareness straight to his cock, which was already a little too aware of her already.
She smiled at the host. “Can he come out here to check his bid during dinner?”
“That’s, uh, w-well,” the man stammered, the tips of his ears turning red, “highly unusual.”
“I get that,” Kinsey said, squeezing Griff’s arm when he inhaled—as if he was gonna say anything. “But he’s waiting on something really important, and he’d only check it once or twice.” She looked over at Griff, raising her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you, dear?”
Really, what answer could he give except the one she wanted?
“Yes,” he mumbled.
The other man looked between Kinsey’s apple-pie-and-ice-cream smile and Griff’s scowl, obviously trying to process what was going on. “Okay, I can allow that just this once.”
Griff grunted his assent but made no move to reach for his phone.
And so they all three just stood there blinking until Kinsey hooked her arm through his, tucking herself in close against him. Then she reached in the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone, the feel of her fingers and the friction of the slide dissolving his brain into overcooked oatmeal—but not before he realized he wasn’t the only one feeling an unexpected rush. Kinsey’s cheeks went pink as she snagged her plump bottom lip between her teeth, but she brazened through and dropped his phone into her purse as if that solved everything.
“Excellent,” the other man said. “Let me show you to your table.”
The maître d’ led them into the dining room. They got three steps beyond the pale-blue velvet curtain that shut it off from the entrance before Kinsey tugged on his arm, jerking him to a stop.
“I’m sorry about that; I shouldn’t have”—her cheeks went from pink to red—“taken your phone out of your pocket like that. I don’t know what came over me, I just…” She looked around the room as if the rest of her response was hidden in the soft, dim lighting of the dining room with its private circular booths, curtained off from the rest of the diners. The second she very obviously clocked how weird the setup was, she turned to him, her blue eyes wide. “What is this place?”
Hell?
A matchmaker’s paradise?
The absolute worst place to go with the woman he loved who’d only agreed to go out with him because she felt bad for him?
“This,” Griff said, glaring at the obnoxious movie-set romance of the dining room, “is Montclair’s.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kinsey
Kinsey had never seen anything like this place.
Sure, it looked and felt high-end, but “opulent” wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t over-the-top or showy with gold chairs and crystal chandeliers. “Cozy” didn’t fit, either. Despite the comfy booth the maître d’ led them to with its velvet cushions, there was no way she would even think about slipping off her shoes and sitting cross-legged in this place, and it was way too fancy for leggings and her favorite cropped hoodie.
She sat down on one side of the small semicircular booth with Griff on the opposite side. Then the maître d’ left, and she realized that thanks to the curtains around the booth and the way the tables were situated in the dining room, it felt like they were the only people there. The word for this feeling was “intimate”—she just had to remember to stick with her plan. She was helping out her best friend’s brother win a bet.
That was it.
Of course, it would be a lot easier to remember that if her heart didn’t beat faster every time she was in the same room with Griff, let alone sitting right across from him in a booth—one that was so small, her feet kept touching his underneath the white tablecloth.
He was still in the suit he’d been wearing this morning, but his tie was gone, and he’d unbuttoned the top buttons of his white shirt, revealing just enough of his corded throat and the hint of his chest tattoo that her mouth had gone dry. At least he was still wearing the suit jacket. That meant he couldn’t roll up his shirtsleeves, which was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because Kinsey wasn’t sure seeing all that arm porn wouldn’t send her over the edge and she was trying to be a good person not someone who lusted after a man she couldn’t have. A curse because now she was zoned in on his strong fingers and couldn’t stop herself from imagining all the things Griff could do to her with those. Her nipples puckered against the smooth satin of her bra at the thought, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself before she did something really embarrassing like say what she was thinking out loud.
Good gravy, girl. You are so much of a mess that Marie Kondo would just love you.
This was what happened when lying about a fake fiancé had led to not dating for the past year. Even at a fake date, she was struck too horny for words. Okay, that wasn’t totally the truth. Not the not-dating part—her social calendar had been free pretty much for the past three eternities. No. She was all hot and bothered about Griff and his square jaw, dimpled cheek, thick thighs, and the look in his blue eyes that said he was solving eighty million problems at once. That mix of brains and brawn was turning out to be her catnip, and all she wanted to do was purr.
Before she could, a man in a winter-white sports coat with a gray shirt and a gold silk tie stopped at their table.
“We’re so glad you’re dining with us this evening. I’m Ganton, your guide for the experience.” He sat a small deck of cards down on the table. “Is this your first time at Montclair’s?”
Kinsey nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment.
“How wonderful,” Ganton said with a wide smile. “These are your conversation starters.” He gestured at the deck on the table. “You don’t have to go through all the cards, but any card you turn over, we encourage guests to discuss. Montclair’s prides itself not just on fine dining but on fine conversation as well.” He paused as if waiting for questions, and when there were none, he gave each of them a serious look. “Do you any questions?”
“No,” Griff said, his tone leaving no doubt that he meant it.
Ganton raised his eyebrows dramatically and put a hand to one side of his mouth as if he was about to whisper a secret, then said in a stage whisper, “He’s a chatty one, isn’t he?”
Kinsey bit back her chuckle. “You have no idea.”
Ganton gave her a dramatic and conspiratorial wink. “Well, let me get your drink order, and then you two can get to your first card!”