Page 12 of The Perfect Deception
His gaze shifted from the food in front of him, to the wall behind her ear, to the center of the room and he shrugged. “Some of us are exactly what we seem.”
“I don’t believe that. I think we all hide pieces of ourselves. No one walks around with a sign around their neck proclaiming this is the real me.”
He sliced another piece of steak, finished chewing before he spoke again. “And you? Who are you?”
Like she would tell him. “I’m a vampire,” she whispered.
“Ah, I guess seeing you out in the daylight and sharing this garlic bread with you really fooled me,” he said with a wink. His shoulders loosened and once again, he relaxed.
They finished their meal together just as the band took the stage. Intrigued, Dina watched as they tuned their instruments before beginning their set. The music was a mix of new age rock with a little jazz and funk thrown in. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed it. Before she knew it, she was tapping her hands on the table to the beat. The other surprising thing? Adam knew the music, even singing along at times. She never would have pegged him as someone who liked this music style—it wasn’t flashy or trendy enough. At least, she didn’t think it was.
Her nostrils filled with his spicy clean aftershave. Something about his scent made her want to move closer to him, which was insane. She barely knew him, they were in public and there was a table of food separating them.
“How do you like the band?” he asked.
She nodded her head. “They’re great. I’ve never heard of them before.” Of course, she wasn’t up on music, so that didn’t mean anything.
“They’re indie and fairly new. They’re originally from Chicago. Glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He shifted his chair closer and placed his hand on the table close to hers. Their fingers brushed against each other. The contact sent jolts of electricity up Dina’s arm.
He twined his fingers through hers and she stilled. Did he feel it too? Or was this how he acted with everyone? When the set ended and the lights came back on, she expected him and his supple fingers to move back to his side of the table. But he stayed where he was and took a dessert menu from the waiter. “We can share,” he said. The waiter walked away. “See anything you like?”
She had an insane desire to say, “Yes, you.” But he was talking about dessert. Her face heated as her mind wandered down a path it really shouldn’t go on a first-slash-second-date-that-didn’t-mean-anything-and-would-never-go-anywhere. She shook her head to clear it and tried to distract herself with thoughts of food.
Glancing over at him, she realized he was still waiting for an answer. Despite the fact she’d been staring at the menu, she had no idea what was written there. “I’ll just have some ice cream.”
He nodded, ordered for the two of them and fiddled with the silverware on the table.
“I never would have pegged you for someone who liked indie bands,” she said.
He gave a wry grin. “Me neither. It showed up on my Pandora one day while I was running.”
“You run?”
Nodding, he flipped the fork first one way then the other.
The motion of his hands mesmerized her—watching the play of the tendons as he spun the fork, seeing his fingers stretch as he strove not to drop the fork on the table, catching the light glinting off the silverware and the gold chain around his wrist.
“Five miles a day,” he said.
She started. Five miles…oh, yeah. Running. “Great exercise.”
“Do you run?”
“Only if someone’s chasing me. Even then, I’d probably surrender. I prefer walking, preferably in the woods.”
“Have you walked any of the county trails?”
She started to nod, but the lights dimmed. The band returned for their final set. This time, his nearness distracted her—the touch of his shoulder as he rocked in his seat in time to the beat, the thrum of his voice as he sang a private concert just for her. She remembered the first set for the music, but this second set was all about Adam. Spotlights from the stage glinted off his hair, creating streaks of white gold and copper. His silhouette reminded her of Greek sculptures in the museum—proud nose, firm chin, prominent cheekbones, wide forehead. Muscles in his forearms flexed beneath his black sleeve as he played air guitar or imitated the drummer.
When it was over, a breathless feeling constricted the breath in her chest. She took a hasty sip of water.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
When she nodded, he held out her chair and walked with her toward the door, his hand against the small of her back.
“Adam Mandel?”
He dropped his hand from her back. “Hey, Seth, how ya doin’?”