Can't Fix Cupid

What the fuck did I just get coerced into?

Chapter 13

Trix

“This is the place you’ve chosen for my date?” Warren asks, looking all pouty in his suit as he stares at the outside of the restaurant like it’s personally offending him.

“Yep. The ambiance is amazing, huh?”

If looks could hit, I’m pretty sure he just bitch slapped me.

“People sit on the floor. Which, quite frankly, can’t be sanitary. And they reach rudely across the table to share communal food,” he points out.

“I know, isn’t it great?”

I lead the way for all four of us go inside, and as soon as I step over the threshold, I take in a deep breath, a smile stretching across my face. It smells so good. Better than I ever imagined. I flew in here a bunch of times before, just because I liked the vibe.

Bright colors are everywhere, sheer drapery hanging from the ceiling, colored lights, steaming Moroccan food set on low tables where people eat perched on pillows on the floor.

I always thought that if I were human, this place would be one of the first places I’d visit. The ceiling is pink, and the pillows are silk, for cupid’s sake. It’s just meant to be.

“Oh, this place is killer,” Blue says beside me, taking it all in.

A beautiful hostess comes forward wearing a djellaba, her long robe adorned with bright red fabric and purple threads on the front in intricate embellishment. She smiles warmly at us as she leads us to a table. Instead of sitting down immediately, I wait off to the side, observing Warren.

Harvey plops happily down on one of the pillows and starts looking through the menu. Blue sits down next to him at the round table, and Warren sulks for a good five seconds as he stands over them both.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” I prompt.

He scowls at me. Not the best start.

A group of people at a table nearby notice Warren and start stealing looks and whispering. He tenses and then grudgingly sits down. It’s funny to watch this six-foot-something dude get on the floor and somehow fold his long legs to fit under the table as he rests on bright pink and teal pillows. This is definitely not his scene, which is precisely why I chose it. I wanted to shake him up.

Since he chose to sit next to Harvey rather than Blue, I fill the gap with a shake of my head. “That seating choice is gonna cost you,” I tell him as I sit crossed-legged beside him.

“In more ways than one,” he grumbles.

He looks so out of place here in his expensive suit, even sans jacket. At least Harvey had the smarts to roll the sleeves of his dress shirt up against his forearms. Not Warren. He’s full CEO mode still, in a room full of midriff tops and bright colors.

This is gonna be fun.

I pick up the menu and start perusing it at the same time that Warren does.

“This is all in Arabic,” he says, flipping through the laminated pages.

I squint at the pages. “Hmm. Maybe I can speak Arabic,” I say, letting my eyes trail over the words. Because I can definitely read English, so maybe in my former life I was a linguist or something. Crazier things have happened.

When I continue looking over the menu, Warren prompts, “Well? Can you?”

I close the menu with a little plastic slap and set it down. “Nope. Not at all.”

He mumbles something under his breath that I don’t catch.

“Okay, first lesson,” I announce, straightening up. “Mingle. So far, you’re terrible at mingling.”

“I don’t mingle.”

“You do when you’re on a date. Go on,” I say, waving a hand in Blue’s direction.