“Donovan, the pan-fried lamb—” Elizabeth started to say.
“You can have it,” Donovan said, picking up the dumpling on his plate with his chopsticks and dropping it on her plate before she could ask him for a bite.
She frowned but quickly recovered. “Guess that’s better than swapping germs.” More importantly, she finally stopped playing with Donovan’s goddamned hair.
“Elizabeth’s a germophobe,” Weston said snidely.
“I am not.” She moved a dumpling around on her plate, apparently struggling with her chopsticks. “Just because I’m concerned about the diseases that come into my house doesn’t qualify me as a germophobe.”
“She’s asked for a report of clean health.” There was no doubt as to what kind of clean health report Weston was referring to.
Elizabeth shrugged, chopsticks poised in the air with the small bit of food she’d managed to wrestle between them. “I think that’s reasonable.” She lifted the bite to her mouth, dropping the dumpling just as it reached her lips. “Goddammit.”
“Guys,” Nate hushed them, trying not to laugh as he did. “Lovers’ spats are fun and all…” He trailed off, probably figuring that Weston and Elizabeth would get the hint and remember that there were other people around.
Apparently, Weston didn’t. “Why do you even care when there’s no way I’m sharing anything I’ve got with you anyway?”
Nate winced.
Under the table, Weston’s hand moved farther up my thigh, as if to spite Elizabeth.
Donovan remained stoic, his gaze on me, reading me. Watching me.
Elizabeth was the only one who seemed unfazed. Reaching over to steal the unused fork from Weston’s setting, she said, “Big words, King. Just remember the thing you want out of this relationship isn’t as replaceable as the thing I want.”
That seemed to silence Weston. In fact, it silenced our end of the table for a few thick minutes, but then Nate told a story and soon everyone was laughing and smiling like a bunch of people out for a celebration.
Weston’s hand stayed on my leg though, brushing up and down my skin every now and again. Then, when everyone around us was preoccupied with other conversations, he leaned close and whispered, “In a few, I’m heading to the back of the restaurant. Toward the kitchen. Wait five. Then follow.”
He shifted to joke with Nate, not waiting for me to answer. If I showed up, that would be my answer.
But what was my answer?
I turned to my drink and noticed Donovan watching. Again. He’d probably seen the whole exchange. He couldn’t know what Weston was saying, but he had to guess the nature. There wasn’t much he missed.
As if confirming my suspicions, Donovan narrowed his eyes, giving me what could only be called a warning glare.
Fuck him.
He’d wanted me with Weston. So he could fuck right off.
I threw back my shoulders and threw back my drink and five minutes after Weston disappeared from the table, I followed.
The restaurant wasn’t large, and the kitchen was easy to find. I headed in that direction, even though Weston was nowhere in sight. I’d almost made it when, for the second time in one night, I was pulled unexpectedly off my path, this time into a cubby filled with shelves full of linens and table settings, closed off from the public by a thin curtain. Firm lips met mine, asking permission, as my body was pushed against the narrow wall.
I opened my mouth, letting Weston’s tongue meet mine. It was easy to kiss him. It was familiar and safe. He tasted like gin and curry sauce and misbehavior. Not the fun kind of misbehavior, but the kind of misbehavior that left regrets in the morning, if not even the night before.
He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine. “I’m going to be completely honest, Sabrina—this is a booty call and nothing else. You have every right to slap me and walk back out there. But I hope you don’t. I’m sensing you need a release right now too.”
It was what I’d come back for, but now that I was here, it felt wrong. Weston’s body felt staged against mine, as if we were two mannequins propped up in a window display. He wasn’t even pressed up all the way against me. His hand was caressing my arm, but it was awkward and mechanical. And while I’d been wound up for weeks, aroused and restless, I didn’t feel turned on now. I just felt tired.
And Weston seemed tense.
Outside our hiding space, a rustling caught our attention. He leaned away so he could open the curtain and peek out.
“What is it?” I asked.
Weston shook his head, but I’d caught sight of someone in a suit. It could have been Donovan, I decided. Because I wanted it to be Donovan.
And because I felt more thrilled wanting it to be Donovan than I did hiding in a makeshift closet with Weston, I knew it wasn’t where I was supposed to be.
Now I just had to tell Weston.
I lowered my head and stared at the buttons on his sweater. He was solid and sexy and sweet, and still he wasn’t the guy I wanted, no matter how much I tried to want him. No matter how much I tried not to want someone else.
“I can’t do this,” he said.
My head snapped up. “I was just going to say the same thing.”
He let go of me and ran his hand through his hair instead. “I’m sorry.” My words registered a moment later. “You were?”
“Yeah. It’s not…” I’m not, was the better phrase. I’m not right for you. You’re not right for me. But maybe that wasn’t the kind of thing meant to be discussed in restaurant closets. “The timing,” I said.
“The timing,” he agreed.
“I’ll go out first.”
When I got back to the table, Donovan was gone. I didn’t bother pretending to myself that I didn’t notice. I was past that. After grabbing my jacket, I thanked Nate for the party, said goodbye and went home. There couldn’t be any more loneliness waiting for me there than there was here.
Chapter 18
I was exhausted by the time I reached my building, so I waved to the doorman instead of stopping to give my usual hello. Inside the elevator, I kicked off my heels and leaned against the back of the car and remembered the night I’d gone to Gaston’s with Donovan. Remembered being in an elevator with him. If I hadn’t pushed him away, would he have taken me home that night?
If he had, he’d have fucked me and been done with me. I’d still be alone tonight.
But maybe I’d be over him by now too instead of just finally realizing that I wanted him.
And, oh, did I want him. Like I hadn’t wanted anything in a long time. Like I hadn’t wanted anyone since I’d wanted him back then. Like I’d always wanted him but was too proud to admit.
Some fatalistic part of me was sure that it was a realization that made no difference. Whatever I wanted didn’t matter because I would do what was best, like I always did, and Donovan was not it.
The elevator opened on my floor before I’d reached any conclusions, not that there was anything to conclude, and I trudged barefoot out into the carpeted corridor and froze. Down the hall, standing by the door to my apartment, was Donovan.
For the smallest fraction of a second, less time than it took to inhale a full breath of air, I got excited. I didn’t care if he was there to tell me why Weston was the perfect guy for me or lecture me about not seeing him until he wasn’t engaged. I didn’t care if he was there to ask for my thoughts on Phoenix or the campaign. I didn’t care if he wanted to borrow a cup of sugar. He was standing at my door, and that was everything.