“Hello.” He puts his hand out to shake mine.
I look at his outstretched hand. Nathan has never shaken my hand apart from the first day we met. Oh God, here we go.
I shake his hand and fake a smile. “Nice to see you again so soon, Nathan.”
“Likewise, Eliza.” He smiles sweetly.
I take a seat, and he sips his coffee. “You ordered already?” I ask.
“Yes, ” he replies casually. “And I told them that we’ll split the bill.”
“Okay, good, that makes it easier.” I pick up the menu and look at my choices as I try to hide my smirk. This is him being friends. “What are you having?”
“The lasagne.”
Of course, he would have that.
I look through the choices. “I’ll have the salad. Lasagne is too heavy for me.”
“You don’t like lasagne anymore?” He asks dryly.
“Too heavy,” I repeat casually. “Leaves me with a bitter aftertaste.”
He stares at me flatly, and I bite the side of my cheek to stop myself from smiling.
Game on, asshole.
“Well, my taste buds haven’t changed.” He rearranges the napkin on his lap. “Obviously.”
“I can’t imagine they would with your gorging at the all-you-can-eat buffet.” I close the menu. “The germs in those places are off the charts… or so I’ve heard.”
He catches his bottom lip with his teeth to stop himself from saying something snarky. He sips his coffee, and I really have to concentrate on not smiling.
“How was your hotel?” I ask.
“Fine, thanks.” He sits back and crosses his legs. He’s wearing faded blue jeans and a navy jacket with a gray shirt underneath. His honey hair is messy and long on top, and his jaw is so square that he belongs on a modelling shoot.
Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
“Are you ready to order?” the waitress asks as she approaches us.
Nathan gestures to me.
“I’ll have the chicken salad and a Diet Coke, please.” She slowly writes down my order and turns to Nathan. She looks up at him, and once she sees his face, she smiles goofily and tucks her hair behind her ear as her cheeks turn to a rosy pink of flirtation.
Oh jeez….
A trace of a smile crosses Nathan’s face when he sees her reaction to him. “Hello,” he says in his deep voice.
“Hi.” She gushes.
His eyes hold hers intently. “What do you recommend?” His eyes glance to her name badge. “Tiffany, what a beautiful name. May I call you Tiffany?”
She smiles as if she’s just won the lottery. “Of course, you can.”
“What’s good here?”
“Um.” She hunches her shoulders in excitement that he wants to talk to her, and I roll my eyes. Dear God, nothing’s changed. He still has a fan club everywhere he goes.
Unable to help myself, “He’ll have the lasagne.” I cut in.
Oh hell, shut up.
Tiffany’s eyes flicker to me and then back to Nathan. “You want the lasagne?” she asks.
Nathan’s eyes hold mine, and he smiles like the cat that got the cream. Damn it, I just played right into his hands with my little jealous outburst.
“Yes, that sounds delicious.” He smiles. “I might have a glass of wine, too. Would you like a glass of wine, Eliza?”
“Nope.” I’m not drinking with him. That’s a recipe for disaster.
He smiles as he looks through the drink menu. “How sad that she won’t drink with me, right, Tiffany?” He peruses the choices.
Tiffany giggles on cue, and I want to vomit in my own mouth.
“I need to keep my wits about me.” I fake a smile at Tiffany.
Nathan’s eyes rise to mine. “Why is that?”
“Well, I’m going out tonight. I don’t need a head start.” That’s not actually a lie. I really don’t want to get drunk. I also don’t want to end up in bed with you… but that’s a secret I will take to my grave.
“Oh, I see.” His eyes scan the drinks menu. “I’ll have a glass of the Henschke, please.”
“Is that all?” she asks.
“It is.” He smiles. “Thank you, Tiffany.”
She goes up onto her toes, and then with a bashful smile, she takes off to the kitchen.
I stare at him flatly, don’t say it, don’t say it. “You’re very friendly today, Mr. Mercer.” I internally kick myself for saying it.
“I’m always friendly, Eliza, what on earth do you mean?”
“No, you are impatient and grumpy.”
He smiles. “I’ve changed since we last spent time together.”
“Oh, you have, have you?”
“Yes.” He looks around the restaurant like he’s Mary fucking Poppins and butter wouldn’t melt in his gorgeous mouth. Too bad I know that it does.
“Do tell, what’s changed?” I ask.
Tiffany arrives back with our drinks and puts them on the table in front of us. “Thank you.” He smiles as he raises his glass to me. “Bottoms up.” He takes a sip.
I raise my eyebrow as I watch him, unimpressed that he’s drinking our favorite red wine, and I’m not.
“I’m more empathetic now,” he tells me.
My eyebrows rise in surprise. “Really? Has this change happened today?”
“No, why do you say that?”
“Well, you were especially self-absorbed last night.”
“Hmm.” He sips his wine, and I can almost see his lips twitching as he tries to hold his tongue. “I’ve worked on that.”
“Who with? Your therapist?”
“Here’s your bread.” The waitress puts the bread onto the table, and she looks between us with a huge smile.
Oh, for Pete’s sake, get lost Tiffany.
Nathan butters his bread. “Do you want some?” he asks me.
Don’t say it… don’t say it… don’t say it.
“How many men have you slept with since we broke up?” I ask. Shut up, shut up.
“None.”
“None?”
“Nearly one, but I didn’t go through with it.”
“What does that mean?”
“We left a bar with the intention of having sex, but once I was outside, I realized I didn’t want it and I left. That’s not my… I’m not into it.”
“How many women?”
“None that count.”
“Nathan.” I snap.
“Why would you want to know that?”
“Because I need to know. I want to have all the facts in front of me.”
“Why?”
“I just do.”
His brow furrows as if doing an internal risk assessment. “Four.”
Hmm, not as bad as I imagined. “Who are they?”
“What the fuck does it matter?” He whispers angrily.
“You want me to process everything. This is me doing that.”
“I have no idea. They work at the strip club.”
I sit forward in disgust. “You had sex with prostitutes?” I whisper.
“You would rather have me spend the night sweet-talking someone?” He gasps as if outraged. “It was a physical urge I had to scratch, so I took care of it in the most mechanical way that I knew how to.”
“So, you went to the strip club on four occasions, and…”
“Twice.”
I frown. “You did the four girls twice?”
He looks around. “Keep your fucking voice down,” he whispers. “I went to the strip club twice and had a threesome with two girls both times.”
My mouth falls open and I sit back. “Wow. Go you.”
I stare at him for a moment, and it’s official. I must be tapped. A normal woman would be outraged, but this information has me strangely mollified. He wasn’t intimate with anybody. It was just sex.
“I nearly called your therapist last week,” I admit.
“Why?”
“I just wanted to check if you were okay.” Shit, shut up, shut up.