Erasing Faith(35)

“Yes, you are.” Wes’ tone was suddenly sharper than a razor blade. “I don’t know who put the idea in your head that you don’t deserve to have the world on a f*cking string. I don’t know who convinced you that you’re not worthwhile. But if I ever meet them—” He inhaled deeply and his voice went cold as ice. “I’ll make them regret it.”

Startled by his harsh words, I glanced up to find his eyes burning into mine. The look swimming in their depths was one no man had ever given me before — a swirling combination of stark anger and pure desire. It caught me off guard, sent my thoughts whirling in a kind of panicked anticipation. A blush stained my cheeks under the heat of his gaze and I resisted the urge to hide behind my hair.

When the waiter suddenly reappeared at our table, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. His presence was a welcome reprieve from the intensity of Wes’ stare. Unfortunately, after handing us menus and topping off our wine glasses, he disappeared once more, leaving me alone with a man who had me squirming in my seat with a single heated glance.

I immediately took several fortifying sips of wine — liquid courage was better than no courage at all.

Wes grinned knowingly as he watched me drink. I pointedly ignored him.

For the next few minutes, I pretended to read the options on my menu but, really, all of my attention was consumed by the man sitting across from me. I listened to each breath he took, heard the light scratch of his fingertip against linen as he traced absent circles on the tabletop. I let the calligraphy blur before my eyes as I peeked around the leather-bound edges of my menu, watching the way the flickering light made shadows dance across his features.

When our waiter reappeared, I’d barely scanned the options. Flustered, I ordered the first thing my eyes landed on, not even bothering to read the English description printed beneath the foreign dish title. Taking another gulp of wine, I raised my eyes to Wes and found him staring at me again. He had one eyebrow quirked up and the left corner of his mouth was twitching.

“What?” I asked, a little defensively.

“Nothing, nothing.” His crooked grin was back. “Just surprised you ordered a rib-eye.”

Shit, I’d ordered steak?

My parents had been all-organic, animal-loving, California-crazed heath freaks — in their eyes, red meat was the devil. I don’t think I’d ever eaten steak in my life. But I wasn’t about to admit that, unless I was also prepared to admit why I’d been so distracted while ordering.

I was so not prepared for that.

Burying my embarrassment, I set my shoulders stubbornly. “Why are you surprised — because I’m a girl? Who says girls can’t eat steak? What, was I supposed to order a salad with a side of air? A gust of wind, perhaps, accompanied by a plate of peeled grapes?”

Wes choked on his wine.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You know, in the olden days, plenty of women ate red meat just as often as their menfolk.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Wes interrupted, holding a hand up to stop me. “Did you just use the word menfolk in casual conversation?”

I buried my laughter beneath a glare as I tried to conjure an argument consisting completely of bullshit and bluster. “As I was saying, it wasn’t always a big deal that women ate a steak every now and then. Historically there’s no basis for these women-should-only-subsist-on-light-and-air shenanigans. It’s biologically biased and, frankly, rather sexist.”

Wes’ eyes crinkled around the corners but his voice was deadpan when he responded. “God, I love it when you talk nerdy to me.”

Half a giggle escaped, but I managed to rein it in. “You’re a barbarian.”

“I’m not the one who ordered a huge-ass steak.”

I sighed. There was no winning with him — but it was fun as hell to try.

Our meals arrived a few moments later and I tried desperately to mask my horror when the waiter placed a sizzling hunk of meat down in front of me. The smell wafting from it should’ve been appetizing, but only succeeded in stirring up the mental image of guileless cows frolicking in the pasture. I stared down at the colossal slab, filled with revulsion. There was no freaking way I could eat that.

“What’s wrong, Red?” Wes’ voice was thick with mirth. “Aren’t you gonna eat your steak?”

I looked up at him, my face a little pale. “Um…”

“Because, I mean, if you don’t eat it… aren’t you just reinforcing the meat-shaming stereotypes perpetuated by a male society?”

He was mocking me. I wish I didn’t find that so sexy.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m going to eat my damn steak — it looks delicious,” I lied through my teeth. Taking a deep breath, I picked up my knife with shaky hands. I’d rather plunge it into my stomach samurai-seppuku style than consume this chunk of baby bovine.

“Whatever you say,” he murmured.

I could feel his eyes on me as I cut into the rare beef. Red juice seeped from the middle, flooding the bottom of my plate and absorbing into the mountain of mashed potatoes sitting beside it. Totally nauseated by the sight, I tried my best to keep from puking.

“That looks juicy,” Wes commented happily, taking the first bite of his chicken.

I looked up at him and tried to glare, but couldn’t quite muster the strength. One more glance at my plate, and my facade cracked completely.