Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📕

Bill gives me a warm smile, and I realize he only said what he did out of his interest for me. This discovery should make me joyful, but it doesn’t. Instead, it awakens some guilt.

I should tell Bill that he has no reason to worry. That Wyatt and I always stick to a strictly professional frame no matter where we are. But Friday night comes to mind, and I can’t bring the words to my tongue.

There was nothing professional about how I felt when Wyatt leaned in to kiss me.

I keep my eyes on the tablecloth as my hands automatically adjust the champagne bottle, until it sits directly in the middle of the table. “I believe that Wyatt has a hard time accepting his anger. Having a more neutral ambiance allows for his guards to stay down.”

Bill nods. “It’s your call.” He clears his throat. “I don’t want to talk about Wyatt Harrison. He’s a flipping good quarterback, but I’d rather learn things about you. There is so much I don’t know. Like, why did you just move that bottle?” An eager glint shines in his eyes like I’m an interesting case study.

I shift in my chair. “I don’t know. I guess I just like it more this way.”

Bill chuckles and taps the glass. “You just couldn’t accept that it wasn’t where you wanted it to be, right? The geometrical middle of our table?”

I shrug. “I like symmetry.”

Though I know that external order gives me a sense of inner control, I have no desire to discuss the relation between my quirks and insecurities.

Especially not on a first date.

Bill gives me a knowing glance that somehow annoys me immediately. “An obsession with the place of physical objects could be a leading sign for—”

“Bill,” I snap, “are we here so you can analyze me or to have dinner?”

He shakes his head. “You’re right, sorry. I’m just always observing these details. I guess it’s hard to take off my analyst’s hat.”

I know the feeling. I can’t stop pondering about Wyatt when our sessions are over, either.

I flash Bill a smile. “Our profession is dealing with people, so it easily pervades our lives. Nevertheless, let’s just act like we’re on a date, shall we?”

He nods, grinning. “I like the sound of that. So, tell me, what did you do yesterday?”

“My roomie Cora and I went to the market to buy ingredients for a tandoori dish she wanted to prepare.”

“You like Indian food?” he asks, his tone becoming enthusiastic.

“Yes, though not as much as Mexican.” Let’s hope he won’t interpret my statement as a weird revelation about my personality.

To my relief, Bill grins and says, “Mexican dishes give me heartburn, but I absolutely adore Indian food. I have a conference in Mumbai this autumn, and I can’t wait to hit the local places for some authentic taste.”

“Mumbai? I’ve never been there.” My shoulders start to relax. I’m happy our conversation flows smoother now. Even if I’ll never invite Bill to El Placer, at least we share a love for Indian cuisine.

“Really?” Bill’s brows round. “Then perhaps I could take you one day. It’s such a lively city, full of contradictions, of course, but still mesmerizing.”

Our dishes arrive, and we pause our conversation while the waiter places our plates in front of us.

The smell of steamed rice and grilled shrimp waft around us, and my stomach growls. This food promises not only to be high-quality but also incredibly yummy. The waiter refills our champagne glasses, then retreats.

He placed my flute beside the napkin I laid out previously, so I reposition it on the wrinkle-free paper. I’d hate for the beautiful tablecloth to get ruined.

Just as I pick up the fork, Bill says, “Many women I treat with anorexia have associated compulsive habits. I could hypnotize you if you want. I bet that after a few sessions, you’d get a grip on your symmetry quirk.” He winks at me.

I freeze.

I knew going out with a coworker could mean ending up in a discussion related to work. Still, I never imagined I’d become the subject of Bill’s zeal to cure people.

This restaurant might satisfy Cora’s requisites about where an ideal first encounter should take place, but I’m sure that even my roomie would object to the doctor’s small talk skills.

But I’ve already committed to making the best of this evening, so I pull my lips into a smile instead of telling him off. Likely, he didn’t mean it the hurtful way it sounded. “I’m fine the way I am, but thank you for offering your help. How is your shrimp?”

“Delicious. Want to try them?”

I shake my head. “No, but thanks.”

He studies me, then leans back on his chair. “You know, Ellie, I have wanted to ask you out for a very long time. I just never had the courage before.” He tops his puzzling statement with a boyish smile.

See? He’s redeeming himself. I knew he would…

Cora’s bragging voice resounds in my head, but I don’t feel any better at the realization that Bill is once more acting like he should on a date.

While I stay silent, Bill compliments my hair and my eyes, but his affectionate words do nothing except remind me of what I shouldn’t ponder.

Or whom.

I try to stop my thoughts from going where they don’t belong. Still, as Bill’s lazy drawl continues, my busy mind adds blondish curls behind his ears and switches the blue of his eyes into a mesmerizing toffee shade.

And soon enough, I’m back on Amp Island with Wyatt, and he’s leaning close to me, his breath whipping up a tempest of forbidden desires in me as it reaches my skin.

I dig my nails into my thighs below the table.

The pain jerks me back to reality just in time to realize Bill has stopped his monologue to ask me a question.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” I say.

“I asked which movie you would pick for a cozy Saturday night in November?” He shoves a pink shrimp tail into his mouth