I spend most of the day trying to console her and wiping away her tears.
“Why are you going out with Carson? Don’t you like Bear anymore?” she asks.
And I have to tell her, “He’s your father, please don’t call him Carson. And I’m not dating him, we’ve just got grown up stuff to discuss.”
“Why can’t you discuss it here?” she asks right before wiping her nose on her sleeve.
“I don’t know, honey.”
Out of the mouth of babes, I swear.
By the time Carson shows up I rather just call the whole thing off. Especially when he looks me up and down and does that little sniff, like he’s not impressed with what I’m wearing. Donasto’s is more of an upscale Italian dining place, but I just threw a simple black slip dress on and twisted my hair up in a messy bun. My way of making it clear that despite what everyone else thinks, to me this is not a date and I’m only putting in minimal effort.
He doesn’t even try to hug Hope or anything before we walk out the door which just rubs me wrong. But what bothers me more is that she didn’t try to hug him. Usually she’s all over Max before he even makes it through the door.
The car ride to the restaurant is long and miserable. Carson drives an Audi with a stick shift. When he reaches over to throw the car into gear his hand brushes against my knee. The first time I give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it was just an accident. But when it happens a second and then a third time, I scoot myself as far away as possible. Squeezing myself into the corner next to my door.
It’s a struggle to remain in my seat as he pulls up in front of the restaurant. A valet opens the door for me and I practically jump out of the car, mowing the poor guy down. Pausing to smooth down my skirt, Carson comes up behind me and places his hand against the small of my back, guiding me forward.
Straightening, I try to step to the side to escape his touch but he decides to wrap his arm around my hips, pulling me closer.
“Carson,” I say calmly through my clenched teeth.
Looking down at me he arches a golden eyebrow.
“Please remove your arm,” I say quietly.
His arm drops away reluctantly and his lips pull into a frown.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d— “I start to say but the hostess cuts me off.
“Good evening, Mr. Hilton. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” the brunette smiles at him in greeting from behind the podium. She’s pretty and kind of reminds me of Deedee, young and fresh, probably just out of high school.
“Thank you, Lindsey,” Carson says and flashes her his dazzling smile.
Lindsey blushes and fumbles with our menus, eyes dropping shyly down to the floor. I feel a bit of… pity? That she’s falling victim to the old Carson charm. But then again, I know better by now.
“If you’ll follow me…” she stammers.
Carson’s arm snakes around my back again as we follow after her, hand resting on my hip like we’re a couple or something.
Lips pressing together, I decide to save what I wanted to say until we reach our table in the hopes of avoiding a scene. The restaurant is packed to near full capacity tonight and buzzing with noise and activity which just feels strange to me for a Sunday night.
Carson’s arm remains firmly wrapped around me until we reach the table, only dropping when he pulls out my chair for me. I shoot him a glare before sitting down. He scoots my chair in and then his knuckles are brushing against my shoulders.
I jerk away and open my mouth to reprimand him but he’s already coming around the table, ordering our wine.
When Lindsey finally nods her h
ead and wanders away, after explaining all of their many specials and their wine menu, I can bite my tongue no longer.
My voice coming out a low, angry hiss, I ask, “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” Carson asks innocently, eyes flicking up from his menu for only a second to regard me.
He knows exactly what I’m talking about but he’s playing dumb.
Picking up my glass of water, I take a quick sip to calm myself. Then I tell him, “I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself.”