Addicted to You (Addicted #1)(45)

“Why?” he asks, calming down. He scrutinizes my body language. “Is it turning you on?”

I glare. “No. It looks like you’re about ready to run into the kitchen and beat the crap out of our waiter.” Which is comical. Lo avoids most fights and would be more apt to scream in your face, verbally attacking, than throw a punch.

He rolls his eyes but stops messing with his sleeves per my request.

Only a minute passes before the manager returns with a gold bottle and the American Express card. Lo stands, gestures for me to rise, and he grabs both and shoots everyone a scalding look on his way out, even the manager who did nothing more than apologize and offer a grateful thanks.

I slip my hands into my long woolen coat. “Nola isn’t supposed to be here for another hour,” I tell him.

“We’ll walk for a while. The taco stand is ten blocks away. Think you can make it?”

I nod. My short heels already stick in divots along the cracked sidewalk, but I try not to fuss about it. “Are you okay?” I ask him. The bottle swings in his hand, but he reaches down for mine with the other, holding tightly and warming my chilly palm.

“I just hate that,” he says, wiping his sweaty brow. “I hate that we’re still treated like children even though we’re in our twenties. I hate that I had to pull out my wallet and buy respect.” We stop at a cross-walk, a big red hand flashing at us, telling us to stay put. “I feel like my father.”

His admittance takes me aback. And his cheekbones sharpen, making my stomach summersault. He looks far more like Jonathan Hale than I will ever confess.

“You’re not him,” I whisper. “He would have flipped that table over and then left the staff to clean his mess.”

Lo actually laughs at the image. “Would he?” The sign changes to walk, and we cross the halted traffic, cars lined on the street with bright headlights shining forward and backwards. Just like that, the mention of his father drops in the air, lost behind us.

I spot the taco stand in the distance, lit up with a string of multi-colored lights. A small park resides across the busy street, and a few college-aged kids surround a surging fountain, chowing down on burritos. I suppose we fit in with this demographic, but wherever Lo and I go, I always feel like an outcast. Some things never change past high school.

“Are you cold?” Lo asks.

“Huh? No, I’m fine. My coat is fur-lined.”

“I like it.”

I try to hide the smile. “Check the tag.”

He swiftly falls back with furrowed brows and takes a peek. “Calloway Couture?” He joins my side again. “Rose designed it,” he concludes. “I take it back. It’s ugly.”

I laugh. “I can get her to design you a sweater vest.”

“Stop,” he says with a cringe.

“Or a monogramed shirt. She’ll put your name right over the heart, L-O-R-E-N—”

He pinches my hips, and I shriek and laugh at the same time. He guides me to the taco stand, his lips by my ear the whole time, whispering some R-rated things that he would like to do to me for being so bad.

“Can we skip the tacos?” I ask, suddenly hot.

His grin lights up his face. He turns to the vendor, not feeding into my desires. Yet. “I’ll have three chicken tacos. She’ll take beef with extra lettuce.” He knows my order by heart, not surprising since we eat here regularly, but now that we’re together, it seems sexier.

“You want hot sauce on those chicken, right?”

“No, not today.”

I frown. “You always get hot sauce.”

“And you hate spicy food.”

WhaaatOhhhh. It clicks. He plans to kiss me sometime soon. That, I like. We pick up our orders, pay and settle down across the street on the fountain ledge.

He gently rocks the champagne cork from the bottle and it sighs once released. He pours each of us enough to fill our two flimsy Styrofoam cups.

Around the same time, I take a big bite into my taco, and sauce dribbles from the end and down my chin. Hurriedly, I find a few of the napkins that haven’t blown away, but I fear Lo has already witnessed my embarrassment.

He tries hard not to smile. “I do remember you being in cotillion. Or was that a dream?”

I snort, not helping my case. “Hardly. I had to dance with Jeremy Adams all night and he was a whole head shorter than me. Since someone chose to go to the ball with Juliana Bancroft.”

He takes a large bite of his chicken taco to suppress laugher.

“I still don’t understand why you did that to me. She was horrible.” I take a big gulp of champagne, the bubbles tickling my nose. I already feel more relaxed. Liquid courage, something Lo knows a little about, but I predict that he’d be just as brazen without the added consumption.

“She wasn’t that bad,” he says, scooping fallen chicken from the tray back into the tortilla.

“She filled my locker with condoms.”

“You don’t know that was her.”

“I slept with her boyfriend. If I had known she was dating some guy from a public school twenty miles out, I would have never touched him.”

I avoided sleeping with guys from Dalton Academy. I hardly wanted a slutty reputation, so I chose my conquests very, very carefully. But obviously not too wisely or else I would have noticed his lie when he claimed his single status. Lady Luck had been somewhat on my side, though. Juliana never told anyone what happened because she didn’t want people to know she was dating “lower” in the first place. A small plus to the horrible ordeal.