He was dressed up too, in a black suit with a charcoal shirt underneath. No tie, and the top two buttons were undone, giving him a less polished, more bad-boy appearance that made me almost suggest we skip dinner entirely, and head into my place.
I'd cleaned it before work that morning, changing the sheets, tucking anything embarrassing away, setting a scene in case he was right and we ended up back at one of our places.
"Do you need to grab anything? Purse? Sweater?" he prompted, hungry eyes roaming over me one more time, making me feel warm all over.
"Fee would kill me if I covered this dress with one of my sweaters," I told him, reaching for one of the pretty wraps she'd picked out for me at the shop. "This will have to do."
"That's practically a piece of a silk bathrobe," he objected, shaking his head.
"It'll be okay," I insisted. "You have heat in the car," I added.
With that, his hand pressed into my lower back, making my belly wobble happily as he led me down the stairs and through the front doors, walking me toward his car—a black sports car with square features, the kind of car that likely got him pulled over all the time.
"What's the matter?" Rush asked, sliding into his seat, looking over at me.
"There's not a speck of dirt... anywhere," I said, looking in the corners of the center console, sure I would find a speck of dust wedged in there. But nope.
"I can be a little anal about my car," he admitted, pushing the start, making it rumble to life. "I have reasons," he added, tone getting a little guarded, which felt wrong for him. "We'll get into that later," he assured me, reading the question on my face.
With that, he pulled out of his spot, driving out of my lot.
At the stop sign that led to the main street, though, his free hand moved out, grabbing my thigh just under the hem of my skirt, staying there until he needed to shift, but going right back again.
It was a chaste touch, by almost anyone's standards, but my heart skipped at it, realizing no one had ever touched me just because they wanted to touch me before, without any expectations, without it leading to something else.
It was a somewhat possessive gesture that I was eating up, leaving me disappointed when we finally pulled up to the restaurant, and his hand slid away so he could get out of the car, getting to my side before I could reach for my own handle.
Famiglia was a staple in this town, a big building set on pillars over the ocean with a large wrap-around deck for amazing views during the good weather. Even in the chilly fall, there were a few souls gathered there, stubbornly holding onto the disappearing traces of summer.
The stairs were slippery, even under my ballet flats with their grippy soles, but Rush was every bit the gentleman, reaching out to grab my hip, hauling me against his much more solid body as we made our way up the steep steps to the front doors.
Famiglia was almost exactly how I remembered it. Upscale, a little dim to give it the appearance of intimacy without stepping over into creepy territory.
"Rush Rivers," Rush said when we got up to the hostess stand.
I don't know why—though I planned to ask- but at that name, the hostess immediately straightened, sent him a warmer smile, grabbing menus out of the side pocket on her stand. "Right this way, Mr. Rivers," she said, leading us down the line of tables toward the back.
I'd never been able to sit in the booths in the back. They were the most sought-after seats in the place, given the way the sides curved inward, almost making little rooms for the diners sitting there, giving them privacy.
"I figure you'd prefer a booth," Rush said, reading the situation perfectly. "More private," he added, giving me a smile.
"Okay, spill," I demanded, lips curving up. "You're in the mafia or something, aren't you?" I teased.
"Or something," he grumbled under his breath, making my stomach tense.
"Wait... what?"
"We'll get into that, baby," he promised. "But pick out a drink first," he told me, pressing my menu open.
"I've never been much of a drinker," I admitted. "I kind of only like the super girly things full of sugar. And they're embarrassing to order."
"Like this apple drink thing?" he asked, pointing toward it on the menu, making me look it over.
"Exactly like that."
"Two of the girly apple drinks," he told the server after greeting him, getting a smile from her before she moved off to the bar. "You don't have to be embarrassed about what you like, Katie. And the girly drinks are usually pretty bitchin'."
"Do people still say 'bitchin'?" I teased, getting a wink from him.