JULIAN He raises a hand to signal the bartender and he comes running to our table, like a puppet tugged by invisible strings. He’s a little too eager as he converses with Nikolai who remains polite in contrast. “Something light,” he says. The bartender nods, his gaze lingers a little bit longer on him and then he leaves. Mild irritation courses through my body. Eager much? Is that how I look when I’m with Nikolai? I hope to hell not. I turn my irritation to Nikolai. “Do you always order for all your dates?” He raises an eyebrow, his gray eyes sharp. “I wasn’t aware we were on a date.” I freeze. I almost raise a hand to slap my own mouth. Presumptuous much, Julian? My mind mocks. And here I am, calling another man eager. I’m even worse than he is. This, right here, is why I don’t go on dates. I always end up saying something embarrassing. Something that makes me want to crawl in a hole and die. Like now. “I’m sorry—” “If you were,” Nikolai interrupts, “would you be offe
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