“Never figured you for a wine guy.” Julia set the glass down and started moving food onto her plate.
“Why? Because I use words like dude, shred, wicked, and sick as everyday vocabulary?”
“No, because you’re so casual. I just figured you for a beer-and-hard-liquor sort of guy.”
He grinned. “I like those too.”
She matched his smile. “Clearly.”
“So,” he said, setting aside his wine and forking up a heap of quinoa, “this torture device…”
“Is an ultrasound machine. No electrodes, absolutely no pain, and lots of great benefits.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“From a physical therapist who’s retiring and selling off his equipment. Found it on eBay. Man, what a steal. I want to start using it tomorrow, so add thirty minutes to each therapy session.”
“Yippee,” he said, deadpan. “I’m not sure I want you using another random secondhand gadget on me. Besides, another half hour morning and night will eat into your mandatory eight hours of sleep.”
She huffed a laugh, a tingle of annoyance crawling along her neck. “You don’t sleep eight hours anyway. You’re always on the—” Computer died on her lips. As smoothly as possible, she turned the conversation ninety degrees. “This isn’t some second-rate POS. It’s top of the line. You didn’t want me to touch you with electrostimulation either, and look how much that’s done for you.”
“I’m always on the…what?”
Figured he’d pick up on her slip. She chose one of the lettuce cups and curled the leaf around the chicken salad. “How was your morning with Rafe?”
“Okay. I’m still having trouble with a couple of the advanced moves. After my third face plant, Rafe cut me off. Pushed me back to the ordinary stuff—none of which will be winning any medals.”
“Baby steps. You remember we’re going to the doctor tomorrow, right?”
“Uh…” His spoon froze in the middle of transferring food. “What time?”
“Ten. I sent Rafe a reminder text.” She frowned at him, thinking about their schedule. “Why? Did you have some other big plans I don’t know—”
Wings event. Saturday.
Her words died. Anger spiked. What had he been planning on doing? Skipping out to Los Angeles at the last minute? Or maybe simply leaving and not even telling her? Then her mind turned to the mysterious Mandy, Monica, Misty, whoever he Skyped with every night, and hurt pierced her inflated anger.
She dropped her gaze to her plate. Keep it together. Let go. This isn’t a big deal. “This is really good.” She cleared a sudden thickness from her throat and picked up another asparagus spear. “These taste different from my regular recipe. Better. What did you do?”
“Chopped up some pistachios and added them to the dressing.”
She lifted her gaze to his and found him watching her like he was trying to get inside her head. Julia smiled. “Look at you, altering recipes and keeping it healthy. I’m impressed.”
His look of confusion dimmed. “I had a good teacher.” He set down his fork and picked up his wine. “About tomorrow…”
Julia’s abdominal muscles tightened for the blow.
“I know I’m bringing this up really late,” he said, “like really late…but there’s a sponsor event tomorrow in Los Angeles that Drake really wants me to go to—”
“Right.” She nodded and picked up her glass. “He mentioned it to me. I agree. It’s a great idea. You deserve a break.” The words rushed out of her mouth. “Why don’t you take the night off and go. Have fun. Relax. Blow off some steam—all in moderation, of course—but, yeah, you should go.”
She put the glass to her lips and took two deep gulps, wishing the alcohol would go directly into her bloodstream. The silence that followed felt heavy and tense, making Julia want to run. But he’d gone to all the trouble to make this great dinner, and now she felt trapped.
She took another big drink, then slipped a forkful of quinoa into her mouth even though she’d lost her appetite. “Wow,” she said, then finished her bite, distracting herself from the tightening twist in her gut with the full flavors and pleasant texture. “I think you’ve really got a future with this cooking thing. Who knew, right? And to think how resistant you were to cook for yourself. You’re not going to get this kind of healthy, tasty food at any restaurant.”
Noah pressed his forearms to the table, leaning in and meeting her gaze deliberately. “I was hoping you’d go too.”
She picked up her glass, a little stunned, a lot confused. “Why?”