Until today. The gift he'd given me had been thoughtful, and I already knew he didn't normally go for thoughtful gifts. That had to mean something, and I wasn't going to ruin whatever that was by ordering plain buttered noodles and a chocolate milk.
Did they have chocolate milk at a place like this? If they did, it was probably gourmet…
No. I would just have to miss out.
Or go back when Professor Crawford wasn't with me.
"You are thinking very hard over that menu," Professor Crawford said after the host left us. "It's your birthday, so order whatever you heart desires, but I'd be so relieved if you included vegetables somewhere in there." He slid his hand over the tablecloth to his water and took a drink.
I gawked while he took a drink, my eyes bobbing in time with his Adam's apple. Mesmerized by his neck muscles, I stared openmouthed.
"Shiloh." Professor Crawford said my name quietly. "Why is your heart pounding?"
That wasn't the first time he'd asked me that question, and I would've begun to suspect that Professor Crawford was truly oblivious to my feelings for him if it weren't for his husky tone.
I could've lied, but I didn't want to. And Professor Crawford would know if I did anyway. The few times I'd tried fibbing, he'd caught on immediately. "Because I'm here with you." I looked down shyly and scratched at the white linen tablecloth with my index finger.
He settled his warm palm over my fidgeting hand, his touch sending a wave of calm, of peace—but also desire. "We're together all the time. Every day, I believe, since you started helping me."
"It's different today," I protested. There wasn't a force on this earth strong enough to make me pull my hand out from under his. The warmth of his fingers crawled up my arm, promising to reach every nerve ending if he touched me long enough. I took a deep breath. "I'm eighteen now."
Professor Crawford's chest rumbled in a low growl. "Shiloh—" He sat forward, cocking his head to the side at the last minute. "Our waiter is approaching."
Smooth as anything, he slid back so his spine was against the back of his seat, removing his hand, his heat, and his familiarity before the waiter could slowly pull open the curtain.
"Good evening, my name is Chauncy, and I'll be your server tonight." He looked between us, attempting to sort out why two extremely different people were sitting here, at this restaurant together. "Do you have any questions? Shall I offer you suggestions? I know the menu can seem daunting." He faced me while he spoke, and I got the feeling he was talking down to me like I was a nervous kid trying to order on his own for the first time. It was a steakhouse menu, not Ulysses.
Professor Crawford hadn't picked up the menu, for obvious reasons, but he'd mentioned how he had a regular table here, and I figured that meant he knew what he liked. "Do you know what you want, Shiloh?"
Yes. Him. I wanted him. But that wasn't what he was asking. Truthfully, while I had been looking at the menu, I hadn't been reading it. But I wasn't about to ask for more time now. I glanced down, choosing the most adult entree my eyes landed on. "I'll have the twenty-four ounce T-bone, rare."
Professor Crawford's eyebrows briefly lifted.
"And a salad," I added hastily, making Professor Crawford's lips twitch.
"Certainly. A salad comes with your meal. Would you like the rice pilaf or baked potato?"
The meal came with more than just the steak? I might have eaten like junk, but I didn't eat a lot at one time. I'd be stuffed. Still, I wanted so desperately for it to seem like I was in my element here, with Professor Crawford. "Baked potato, please."
Professor Crawford ordered after, a New York strip steak, and then we were alone once more, the intimacy that had built between us before the intrusion of our server now completely evaporated.
"Thanks again for taking me out," I said. "I thought I'd be spending the night of my birthday alone."
"Your mother isn't back yet?" Professor Crawford frowned.
"No, it's a pretty long conference. I think she had to do presentations for the first couple of days anyway. I don't mind, though. I'll be stuffed and have this night to think on." I grabbed my water and took a big drink to get my lips to stop moving.
That had made me sound crazy, but Professor Crawford didn't act like he'd noticed. He kept one of his hands on the table, palm up, his fingers half-curved like they were waiting for a hand to hold on to. I sat forward. Did he want me to hold his hand?
Our meals came entirely too quickly for my liking. Their arrival marked us one step closer to the end of this night, this dinner. The end of my time with Beckett Crawford. What was he thinking? Was he counting the minutes until he could drop me off at home? He didn't look impatient. Just relaxed and so sexy it made my face hurt to look at him.
While inside, I wasn't a different person than I'd been the day before, I did feel different. Tenser, wound tight. It was as if I'd woken up on my eighteenth birthday finally realizing I was a coiled spring.
"You're being very quiet, Shiloh. Are you enjoying yourself?" Professor Crawford asked.
"Yes, so much. This is amazing."
"My food is good as well. I'm relieved you ordered a salad, but it will do little good unless you eat it."
I set my fork down, eying the small plate of salad that I hadn't touched since the server had set it down. I guessed growing up really was hard to do and speared several lettuce chunks, dipped the forkful in the glass ramekin of ranch dressing, and put it in my mouth.
Professor Crawford grinned and covered his mouth. His face looked lighter off-campus, like there wasn't as much to keep his expression stern. "Good boy."
Oh, holy crap on a Triscuit. My gut tightened as my dick twitched. I inhaled on instinct, the animal in me wanting more of the man in front of me, but as always, he had no scent. He smelled like his surroundings. For a selfish moment I wished he wasn't so undetectable. But then, I realized that was exactly the reason we were doing the work we were doing, to give shifters the choice on what sort of information they passively conveyed.
I stabbed another chunk of steak, but before I could bring it to my mouth, my stomach throbbed. I'd been full a few bites ago, but there was still so much more left. I brought the bite to my mouth anyway, but my lips refused to open. But if I stopped eating, the night was even closer to being over.
"You can ask for a container to go. They do that here," Professor Crawford suggested gently.
Except if I did, then we'd get the check, and then Professor Crawford would walk me home, and I'd have to go a whole night without seeing him again. "I'm not quite finished," I said stubbornly, wincing as I chewed the bite.
His hand covered his lips, and I wondered what expression he was shielding from me. "When you are finished, would you like to come to my house for some coffee?"
My brain short-circuited, and I dropped my fork. "I'm done."
Chapter Eight
Beckett
The blast of pheromones, made more concentrated by the curtain blocking our table from the rest of the dining area, covered my face like a second skin. The animal part of me wanted to roll in it, covering my body with Shiloh's sweet scent of desire. I'd been breathing it in for days and had gotten to the point where it was an expected scent, rather than an unusual one. But the new wave that settled on my skin was so much stronger than normal. Perhaps that was because I'd never asked Shiloh to my home before.