Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(12)

“Actually,” Josh says. “Liking things a certain way is the definition of fussy. But let’s be honest. You take fussy to a whole new level with your food ratios.”

“Ratios?” Liam asks, and nudges my foot under the table. “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Aw, come on.”

Josh chuckles. “I think she’s concerned that if we tell you about her obsession with food proportions, you’ll run a mile.”

My face heats. Yes, he probably would.

“Not likely. I’m too hungry to run anywhere.” Liam tries to catch my eye. When I look up at him, he smiles. “Please. I want to know.”

I sigh and put my menu down. “When I eat, I like the ratios of all the ingredients to be equal. So, if there are four things on the plate, say, meat and three veggies, I need a little bit of each of them in every mouthful.”

“She calls it ‘The Theory of Yummability,’ ” Josh says. “It’s fascinating to watch. She carves everything up with surgical precision, then loads the tiny pieces onto her fork. It would be artistic if it wasn’t so fucking weird.”

Liam shrugs. “I don’t find it weird. I think it’s cool. I have a similar thing with chips and dips. I need to have exactly the right ratio of dip on the chip, otherwise you can’t taste them equally.”

“Yes!” I say, and sit forward. “That’s my point. It’s all about subtle combinations. Why put something in your mouth unless you’re really going to enjoy it, right?”

The way Liam’s eyes widen makes me realize that statement could be taken a whole other way.

He gives me a slow smile. “I totally agree.”

I take a sip of water to cover my sudden blush, and thankfully, Josh swoops in to change the subject.

“So Liam, the question we really need you to answer right now is this: Are you legal?”

Liam moves his attention to Josh. “As in . . . ?”

“Over twenty-one?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Why?”

“Because I need you to order us some beer while I drain the lizard. Pretty sure we all need a drink.” He mutters under his breath, “Before we all choke on the sexual tension.”

As Josh gets up and heads to the back of the restaurant, Liam looks over at me with concern. “Wait a minute. You guys can’t buy beer?”

“In two years we can,” I say.

“Two years?!” A nearby couple turns to look at him, and he leans in and whispers, “You’re only nineteen?”

“Yes.”

He rubs his face. “Oh, God. I’m bad. I’m a bad, bad man.”

“Why?”

“I thought you were older.”

“How much older?”

“An age that doesn’t have ‘teen’ at the end of it, that’s for damn sure. When I saw you tonight, I thought you were . . .” He looks me up and down, and the heat of his gaze makes me fan myself with the menu. “Well, you seemed way more mature than nineteen.”

“For your information,” I say with an edge of petulance that ironically makes me seem much younger, “I’ve always been mature for my age. How old are you, then, Father Time?”

He leans back in his chair, and I don’t miss the way his T-shirt strains across his impressive chest. “I’m a bona de adult, kid. Twenty-two. And three quarters.”

I feign horror. “Ew, gross! You seemed way younger. I can’t believe I’ve been having impure thoughts about a crusty old man.”

He smiles. “Are just saying that to show me how stupid I’m being about our age gap? Or have you actually been fantasizing about me?” He leans forward. “Because I’m really hoping it’s the second thing.”

I look down at my water glass and smile. “I have a feeling fantasizing about you would lead to nothing good.”

“Really?” he asks. I can feel him staring at me. “Because I’ve never had a single complaint. Well, apart from that one time with my ex-girlfriend, but it was an isolated incident and I’d had way too much to drink.”

I laugh and look up at him. He joins in with a low chuckle.

Great. His laugh is just as sexy as the rest of him. Not cool.

We’re still smiling at each other when the waitress arrives to take our drink order.

“Three beers,” Liam says as he looks at me. “Wait, scrap that. Two beers and a Coke. I need to make sure I’m in top form tonight.” When he looks into my eyes, I have that twinge of frustration again that his cockiness actually turns me on.

As the waitress leaves, I take a sip of water and study him. He meets my scrutiny without embarrassment. “You’re confident you’re going to get lucky tonight, aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “I figure you wouldn’t have asked me out to dinner if you weren’t interested.”

“Josh was the one who invited you, and I hate to break it to you, but he’s straight.”

“Uh-huh, but it was clear he was playing wingman. I saw how you looked at me. I liked it.”

I lean back and cock my head. “Haven’t you just broken up with someone?”

“Yes. Which is why you should take me to bed and nurse my shattered ego.”