The Way You Make Me Feel(38)

I cringed. “Are we listening to IMAGINE DRAGONS?”

Hamlet grinned, glancing over at me. “Yeah! Aren’t they great?”

“Um, yes.” I tried my best to keep my voice neutral.

His smile faltered. “Well, I can change it,” he said, fumbling for the phone while he kept his eyes on the road.

You are a butt, Clara. I took the phone from him. “Here, it’s fine. You should concentrate on driving. Sorry, I’ve got the worst poker face.” I snuck a glance at Hamlet, his profile lit from the side in two-second intervals by the streetlamps. His eyelashes were short but insanely thick, his nose straight, his mouth kind of perfect. And at the moment, he was chewing on his bottom lip, brow furrowed.

Pretty sure I was already ruining this date. “So, um, where do you live again?”

“San Gabriel.” His eyes stayed on the road—the wild curves of the 110 were barely lit by the headlights.

I raised my eyebrows. “Whoa. The SGV. Pretty far out there.”

“Yup.”

Monosyllabic and Sullen Hamlet was unnerving. “I guess there’s a lot of good Chinese food, though.” No duh, Clara. The San Gabriel Valley had a big Asian population.

His expression basically relayed the same thing.

“We could use better Chinese food in Echo Park.” The desperation was palpable. “Also Korean food. Actually, that’s kind of my dad’s dream—opening up a good Korean place in our neighborhood. Although, yeah, we’re so close to K-Town that it seems ridiculous. But, it’ll be like the KoBra, Korean with Brazilian influences.” I found myself unable to stop speaking, wanting to fix the jerkiness of my behavior. Again, something I didn’t usually care about, but suddenly did with Hamlet nearby.

My rambling worked.

“That sounds like a really good idea,” Hamlet said, a little cautiously. “Your dad’s a great cook; he could do it.”

And while I knew my dad was good at what he did, hearing Hamlet say it out loud warmed me up from the inside. “Thanks,” I said. Then flushed. “I mean, not that you were complimenting me, but you know what I mean…”

Hamlet laughed. “I love how you always have to point out awkward moments.”

Jeez. “Wow, and you like to point out stuff in general.”

“Yeah, I do!”

I couldn’t help laughing, and he looked over at me with the biggest, most genuine grin I have ever seen on another human. Sheesh, this guy. We got to the restaurant and were greeted by the hottest woman I have ever seen in my life. I am a straight girl, and my jaw dropped as she led us to our table, her long black hair swishing above a tiny leather miniskirt. I glanced at Hamlet, expecting a drop of drool to be hanging from his mouth, but he was looking around the restaurant, oblivious to the supermodel in front of us.

Point one.

Hot Hostess sat us down at a tiny marble table, like one you’d find in a Parisian café or something. Our knees were touching. Hamlet made a few not-so-subtle attempts to space us out a bit more, but he hit the back of his chair on the one behind him—which was unfortunate because the woman in it was wearing a giant hat, which toppled off.

“Sorry!” he said, reaching down to pick it up. She yanked it out of his hands and turned around with a terse little “God!”

Hamlet flushed.

Yeah, I don’t think so. The nervousness of this date melted away when faced with an opportunity to annoy someone who deserved it. I pulled a little leaf off the succulent on our table and tossed it over Hamlet’s head so it landed on the brim of the woman’s hat. Hamlet’s eyes widened. I grabbed a small handful of leaves off the plant (sorry, guy, but you’re tough, you’ll recover) and tossed them one by one onto her hat. It was dark enough in there that neither she nor her friends noticed.

“Can I take your drink order?” A server popped up next to us, and I tucked my handful of leaves under the table. Hamlet let out a snort of laughter, and the server was unamused.

Hamlet fumbled for the menu. “Oh, let me see if…”

“I’m assuming no alcohol?” Unamused Server interrupted.

“Actually, lots of it,” I said with a wink.

Still unamused. “Do you have an ID?”

“Yes, I do. I am a citizen of the United States.”

Hamlet stammered, “Ah, ha-ha. Um, we’ll start with water, thank you.”

The server shot me a dirty look before leaving our table.

When I looked over at Hamlet, his head was dropped into his hands. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, this is what I’m like in public.”

But when he looked up, I was surprised to see he was smiling. “You’re so funny.”

Again, just … announcing thoughts here. I reached for the menu so that I didn’t have to respond. As I strained my eyes to read in the dimly lit room (a tiny tea candle was the only light at our table), Hamlet’s phone rang.

He glanced down at it and looked up at me apologetically. “One sec, it’s my grandmother.”

Oh, a casual grandma call during a date. No biggie. He talked in a low voice, but I caught snippets of worried conversation.

I glanced back down at the menu. Everything was kind of expensive. I checked out the appetizers to see if they were any cheaper. Hm, the citrus salad or literally anything else for dinner? Choices, choices.