Stone (Obsessed Alpha 1)
I nervously play with the end of my sweater and confess, “I did read one article on my way home on the train today.”
He looks aghast, but I’m not sure why. “You don’t have a car?”
It’s my turn to smile. Then again, I’m not sure I’ve stopped smiling since he walked into the restaurant. “No, I do, but traffic sucks, and I hate getting stuck in it. Like road rage hate it. Plus, parking downtown for classes cost a fortune.”
“You’ve got that right, but it seems like a big hassle to get to the office. I can have you picked up. I know that it can be time-consuming to take the train,” he offers. I would love to accept, but it’s not like he offers a car service for all his staff.
“No, that’s fine. I don’t mind. It gives me time to read and study.” And here comes the waitress with the save.
“Here you are,” she says, setting our plates on the table. Both of our food looks delicious and smells fantastic. I moan as the scent hits my nose.
“Your food looks great,” he growls, drawing my eyes to his. His light-gray eyes darken as if he likes what he sees, but it’s not the food. He’s staring at me. I feel like he’s ready to leap over the table and kiss me.
The sound of glass breaks our heated connection. Someone dropped their drink on the floor. Seeing that there’s nothing to be concerned about, we focus back on us. The level of awkwardness is high, so I finally reply, “Another reason I don’t cook. I love Mexican food and cooking all of this for one person is pointless.”
“That’s definitely a setback.” I have a hard time eating in front of him until he does the most normal thing and gets some juice on his shirt. “Shit, talk about a setback. At least, this wasn’t too expensive.”
“Sorry about the shirt. It was a very nice shirt.” I’m hopelessly staring at his chest like a fool, but he’s too busy wiping it off to notice.
“Apparently, I need a bib to eat here,” he says, shaking his head. I love the way he can laugh at himself. A man like him doesn’t seem to be the type. I bet he never gets dirty, let alone eat in less than a five-star restaurant. I’m still shocked to see him in my neighborhood. I doubt he lives in this area. It’s not bad, but it’s definitely not billionaire territory.
“So what brings you over here?” I ask, wondering if he was visiting a girlfriend.
“I stopped by to see a friend.” A female friend, I bet.
“Oh, that’s cool.” I don’t want to pry but seeing as he’s sitting with me I can’t help myself. “Were they not home?”
“No, but that’s fine. That’s how I ended up here. My stomach was growling.” I can’t stop smiling at him. I must look like a total dork.
“Well, I didn’t expect you to be in my hood,” I remark, tilting my head toward the door.
“What? Don’t I look like I fit in?” He’s cute when he’s pretending to be offended.
I roll my eyes at him and shake my head. A girl could get used to how naturally charming he is. “Yeah, I suppose you do. Bridgeport is full of people dressed like you, but probably not as high of a price tag though.”
“You’d be surprised to know, but I grew up down the street.”
“Really? Now I am surprised and intrigued,” I put down my fork and lean in with my head held up by one palm, wagging my brows.
He takes a long drink of his beer and fills me in, “My parents raised us over on Racine. They’re both retired and living in Florida. They had enough of the public. My dad was a cop, and my mom was a teacher.” He’s even more amazing. He came from a very average background to becoming one of the youngest billionaires.
“Oh, that’s pretty cool. I bet they’re extremely proud of you.”
“Yeah, I suppose they are, but they’re really holding out their joy for grandkids. They want an army of them, and that’s the only way they’ll come back to Chicago. Boca Raton is so much warmer and made for them.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of pressure on you.”
“No, I have my sister to catch shit as well. I go down to visit them once a year. They can be very stubborn, but so can I when I know what I want,” he finishes that sentence with intent. I could swear there was a double meaning behind it. Instead, I shake it off and take a drink of my water.
“They sound fun,” I mutter. A memory of my parents and I sitting on the beach talking about the hot people on it and teasing me about marrying one and starting my own family. God, I can’t believe I’m doing it again.