“I like to sew,” I declare. “Not really the same thing.”

“I’ve never attempted sewing,” he says. “What do you like to sew?”

“Costumes,” I answer. “I like to Cosplay.”

“So you’re one of those people who go to Comic Con all dressed up?” There is amusement in his voice, but it’s not judgmental.

“I am. It’s so much fun.”

“I’ve never been to Comic Con.”

“Wizard World in Chicago is coming up at the end of summer,” I tell him. “My friend Erin and I are going. We go every year.”

“Are you dressing up?”

“Of course.”

The smile is back on his face. Before he can ask me anything else, the waiter comes over to take our order. I hadn’t looked over the menu at all, so I order the same thing Ben does.

“So,” I start once the waiter leaves. “What do you do other than paint?”

“Hang out with friends, work out.” He shrugs. “Usual stuff. I’ve been going to a lot of galas and art shows lately,” he says almost like it’s a surprise. I nod like I have no idea either, although his pictures came up when I searched him on the internet, smiling next to one of his paintings, with the buyer on the other side. And the buyers ranged from politicians to CEOs of huge companies. He hasn’t said it out loud to me—yet—but I know he has a piece in the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Once that went up, his popularity increased tenfold … and then he moved here. Weird. Or at least that’s what the research says. “And I like to read.”

“Me too. I read a lot. What do you like to read?”

“Anything, really. I’ve been into the classics lately. You?”

“I love paranormal romance.”

“I’ve never read that,” he muses. “Is it like that Fifty Shades stuff with vampires?”

I laugh. “There are some like that.”

Ben wiggles his eyebrows. “Then maybe I will read it. I do like to be bitten.”

My cheeks flush at his blunt confession, and I’m not sure if he’s joking or telling the truth. I think he’s telling the truth. If things get hot and heavy tonight, should I go in for the kill and nip him with my teeth? The extent of my BDSM knowledge goes so far as tips from Cosmo, and after that last article about poking a man’s tender regions with a fork—don’t break the skin, they said, like that was even a question—I’m doubting all their advice.

No surprise, my brain gets ahead of me again and I get a flash of flesh and see Ben on top of me, thrusting those glorious hips into me, and I gently clamp my teeth down on his neck. Blood warms my cheeks, going through me and making me feel hot between my legs.

The waiter brings us more bread and refills our wine glasses. I pick mine up, fingers trembling slightly, and take a big sip. I set the glass down and look at Ben, unable to get the image of him naked and on top of me out of my head.

We keep talking about normal first date things, like our families and work. The food comes and we get words in between bites. The silence isn’t awkward, but I’m so worried it will be I keep saying stupid things, things no one cares about, like how long it takes me to clean my house. I like talking to Ben, and the more time that passes, the more comfortable I feel. There is still a formality in the way he talks to me, like he’s not really being himself. He’s “on” and his game is good.

Suave, smooth, confident. Yep. He’s got it all.

I get sauce on the side of my mouth when I take a bite of cheese ravioli. Some splatters on my shirt. Thank God the fabric is dark and you can’t see the stain. I don’t have it all. And I never will.

I mentally sigh.

When we’re done with the main course, Ben orders two pieces of cheesecake without asking me what I want. Should that bug me? Or should his dominance turn me on? (Because it does.) And I like cheesecake. Pick your battles, right?

I’m nowhere near drunk after the wine plus all the food, but my mind is a little buzzed and it helps me relax. I slowly eat the cheesecake, legit full from filling up on so much bread—but it was so good! Whoever doesn’t fill up on bread, or chips and salsa, or whatever you get before a meal at a restaurant has no soul, I swear—and feel Ben’s eyes on me.

I look up and smile. “Do I want to know what you’re thinking?” I ask and pick up my water.

He gives me a wicked grin. “You might be interested in it.”

“Then you better tell me.” I slowly run my finger down the stem of my wine glass.

His eyes drop to my chest then go back to my face. “I don’t see how you weren’t the popular girl in high school, like you said. You look like you would be.”

I drop my gaze. “Looks can be deceiving.” He’s meant it as a compliment, but his words make me feel self-conscious. Damn it.

“They can.”

“I didn’t always look like this,” I offer and know I should just shut my stupid mouth and stop talking.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “I didn’t know you then. And I like the way you look now. A lot.”

I can’t help the smile that pulls up on my lips. “Yeah, it’s not so bad,” I say back. The waiter brings us the check; Ben grabs it before I can even look at it and pays, leaving a rather large tip.

I waited tables in college. Ben just earned major bonus points from me.

He takes my hand when we leave the restaurant. The night is still warm, and a light breeze rustles my hair. Stars do their best to shine above us, despite the light pollution. It’s perfect.

“I don’t know about you,” Ben says, “but I’m not ready not to call this a night yet.”

“I’m not ready either.”

Hand in hand, we slowly walk to his car. He opens the door for me again, then gets in the driver’s seat. “What do you want to do?” he asks as he pushes the start button. “We could get drinks at Stacks.”

That’s another place I’d never been but had heard of. Stacks is an upscale bar that caters to white-collar businessmen. So not my thing.

My nose wrinkles and Ben laughs. “You have another idea?”

“It’s so nice outside. We could … uh … go mini golfing and ride go-karts,” I blurt, saying the first thing that comes to mind. Plus I rock mini-golf.

Ben’s face goes slack and I’m sure he’s thinking that’s the stupidest thing in the entire fucking world to suggest we do on a first date. We’re adults, after all. He puts his hands on the steering wheel. “That sounds awesome,” he says and the smile returns to his face.

I sit back in the seat, grinning ear to ear.

*

“You’re cheating!” Ben laughs after I get my third hole-in-one. “I don’t know how, but you’re cheating!” He sets his beer down on the bricks that outline the eighth hole and drops his ball, using his foot to line it up with the hole.

I grab my ball and hop off the AstroTurf, piña colada sloshing down my hand. “Yes, cheating with my telekinetic powers,” I laugh back.

Ben hits the ball. It bounces off the side of the little brick path, rolls halfway up the slopped course, and comes back down. We both laugh. It takes him five more attempts before we can move on.

“I didn’t know these places served booze,” Ben says, grabbing his beer. “Well, the last time I was at one, I wasn’t old enough to drink.”

“I assume they started doing it for the parents who come with small children,” I say. “You know, the ones that take even longer than you. They have to drink to keep their sanity.”

He takes my arm as we walk across a wooden planked bridge. It’s not the easiest thing to do in heels.

“You’re probably right.”

We stop at the next hole, and I step aside. “Go ahead. Let’s see if you can get it in the hole on your first try.”

Ben turns to me, a devilish glint in his eyes. “I always get it in the first try.”

Oh boy.

I open my mouth, wanting to say something sexy and witty back to him. But only a garbled, “I bet” comes out. He flashes me his bedroom eyes and sets the ball down.