Chapter 4

four

ISLA

This place is fancy .

"I'm so jealous you get to eat here," Jess whines. "The waitlist to get a reservation is like six months long."

I could never afford dinner somewhere like this. I have no idea how long their waitlist is because places like this aren't even on my radar. Every once in a while, Nevaeh and Jess will try to talk me into letting them take me out somewhere fancy, but I always decline. I'm a simple girl. I like good books, pizza, movie nights in, and driving far enough outside of the city that I can find a nice trail to hike. It's not that money makes me uncomfortable , it's just that it's never mattered all that much to me. As long as I can pay my bills and the stress of being broke doesn't eat me alive, I'm happy. I grew up solidly middle class. We never went on extravagant vacations or had brand-new cars, but we also never went without the necessities.

I don't need more than that. In fact, I've seen too much money turn people into miserly, unhappy shadows of themselves.

No, thanks.

"Are you ready for this?" Nevaeh peers back at me from the driver's seat. They insisted on taking me to the restaurant. Apparently, they didn't trust me to drive myself. They said I would be more likely to take my e-reader and park in some random parking lot and pretend to go on the date than actually show up at this place.

For the record, I wasn't planning on doing that.

I was going to read on my phone.

"I think I have the bubonic plague." I dab at my tear ducts. "Am I crying blood yet? Pretty sure that's one of the symptoms."

"Oh, for the love of Chris Hemsworth." Jess must really be irritated if she's invoking her sex god's name. It's a silly thing she started back in college, and it's stuck. She climbs out of the passenger seat, opens my door, and drags me out by my wrists. "Get your gorgeous butt in there and let yourself have some fun for once." She cocks her head to the side. "You remember what that is, right? Fun?"

Rolling my eyes, I let my head fall back. I say a little prayer to Chris that the sky will open up and swallow me whole. He doesn't answer. "Yes. Fun. Because all of this screams Isla's idea of fun ."

"If you stop being so uptight, maybe the night will end in some fun screaming." She waggles her eyebrows at me.

"Sure." Listen, I'm happy with how I look today. My hair falls in sleek, shiny waves around my shoulders and down to my mid back. My makeup is perfect thanks to my friends, and this dress does wonders for my body. I feel beautiful .

But I'm not the kind of woman men like Maddox Graves go for. I'm not supermodel tall and leggy. I'm petite and a little too curvy outside of my flat butt. My face is pretty, but there's nothing all that special about my features. I'm the girl you date in high school. The one you think back on fondly and wonder where she is and what she's doing when you hit the end of your thirties. I'm not the woman you plan your dreams around. And if you do, one day you wake up and realize you could do better, and you call those plans off.

"Hey." Jess gives my hand a quick squeeze. "It's just a date. Let yourself have fun. Give him a chance. But if it's terrible, walk."

"But you guys paid so much money…"

"To help you get out of your head. Not to force you into spending an entire night with a guy if he's an asshole. Get your selfie, pretend you had fun, then bolt if you want."

My chest deflates, and some of the anxiety that's been giving me heartburn all day eases. "You guys really wouldn't be mad?"

"No way," Nevaeh says from the car. "But you owe it to yourself to give it a genuine chance. Promise?"

"Promise." I can do that. I can give this a chance. Who knows, maybe it'll be fun, even though it's never going to lead to anything. And you know what? That's okay. This could be the start of a new Isla. One that can be flirty and casual and not care what a guy thinks about her or whether he could see her being the one .

"Good. Now get in there and make a hockey player fall for you."

My spine straightens and I stick out my boobs a bit. I'm under no delusions that he'll fall for me, but wouldn't it be fun if he wanted me a little? "Keep your phones on you?"

"Always," Jess promises. She hugs me before pushing me toward the double doors leading into the restaurant. A mama bird shoving her baby out of the nest.

"Have fun," Nevaeh calls. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Considering she once slept with a waiter in a restaurant's walk-in cooler, that's not promising much. I give them both one last wave, suck in a deep breath, square my shoulders, and head inside.

"Good evening." A pretty young woman greets me from a large mahogany hostess stand. "Do you have a reservation?"

I could say no and bolt. Except Jess and Nevaeh are still sitting in their car out front, idling at the curb. They give me little waves that say they know exactly what I was just thinking. Sucking in a deep breath, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Uh, yeah. Hi, my name is Isla Harding. I'm supposed to be meeting?—"

"Oh, of course!" The hostess's eyes light up. "I know exactly who you are. Right this way, Miss Harding." She extends a hand, gesturing for me to follow her. It feels like every eye in the room is on me as we wend our way around candle-lit tables and shoulder-height walls that create private little dining nooks. It's stunning.

I don't belong here.

"I hope you don't mind, but I just have to say that I am so jealous of you right now. Mr. Graves is already seated, and ohmygod, he's even better looking in person."

There's supposed to be a smile on my face, but I have a feeling it looks more like a grimace. "Uh, yeah. It's crazy. "

The hostess glances back at me and gives me an encouraging smile. "You're going to have so much fun. Anything you need, just ask. My name is Kacey."

Can you bring me a Xanax? Because I'm pretty sure I'm about to have a panic attack.

"Thanks, Kacey. I appreciate that."

She leads me to the back corner of the restaurant, where there's a gorgeous table covered with candles and flowers. It's not in a private nook like I'd hoped—nothing like the threat of public humiliation to help set the mood—but there is ample open space around it. Hopefully, that means we won't have people eavesdropping. The last thing I need is some superfan posting play-by-plays of my horrendously awkward first-date conversation on social media for all the world to see.

And it will be awkward. Because Kacey is right. Maddox Graves is positively panty-melting in person.

I take a moment to study him before we're introduced. He leans back in his chair, long legs extended out to the side. His maroon suit pants fight a valiant battle to contain his muscular thighs. His jacket hangs on a coat rack against the wall, and he's rolled his shirtsleeves up to just below his elbows. Muscular forearms ripple as he types away on his phone, a deep scowl on his chiseled face. If the ticking of his jaw is any indication, whatever he's looking at on the screen isn't good news. That, or he's just as unhappy about being here as I am.

There's no way in hell I'll get through this dinner without making a fool of myself. Maddox Graves is completely out of my league. He oozes confidence, and mine evaporates out of my very pores with every step toward him I take. I can feel my spine softening and my shoulders curling.

"Here you are, Miss Harding," Kasey says as she pulls out the seat across from Maddox. "If you need anything, just let me know. Have a lovely evening." And with that, she gives me a subtle wink, and I'm left alone with a gorgeous, brooding stranger.

A stranger who doesn't even bother to stand and shake my hand. He just sits there, his eyes making a lazy perusal of my body as I try not to fidget like a spider monkey on ecstasy. His eyes flare for a moment with what I swear is interest, but it's gone in another instant, and they turn glacial again. I wait for him to speak, but when it's obvious that won't happen, I clear my throat and re-tuck my hair behind my ear.

"Um, hi." I wave like I'm riding on a float in a parade. Smooth. "I'm Isla. You must be Maddox?"

He grunts. "Yup."

Okaaaay. What an ass.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I sink into the seat across from him. If I'm lucky, this place will be haunted, and I'll be swallowed whole by a cursed chair. A woman can hope. "This place is nice," I stammer.

Here we go. An uncomfortable Isla is an awkward Isla.

He shifts in his chair. "It's fine."

"My friends have been dying to eat here, but apparently, it's next to impossible to get a reservation. I wonder how they were able to fit us in?"

One dark eyebrow arches. "I'm the captain of the Minnesota Rogues. I'm sure they were more than happy about the publicity they'll get by having us do this here." He thinks I'm an idiot .

"Right," I say, forcing out a fake, breathy laugh. "Of course."

We fall silent, and I wrack my brain for something to say. Luckily, a middle-aged gentleman glides up to our table in a black suit. There's a white towel draped over his forearm, and he carries a bottle of expensive champagne.

"Good evening. Welcome to Rêveur. My name is Gregory, and I will be taking care of you tonight. Can I pour you both a glass of champagne?" He looks at Maddox first, who waves his hand over the champagne flute as if he can't be bothered to utter the word yes . He picks up his phone and types something on it as Gregory looks my way. "Champagne, miss?"

"Yes, please," I murmur, ducking my head. I want to tell him to leave the whole bottle because the only way I'm getting through this dinner is by turning it into a drinking game.

Maddox grunts? Drink.

He rolls his eyes? Drink.

Looks at his phone? Drink.

Answers a question with a single word in his best caveman impression? You guessed it. Drink.

Gregory pours us both a glass as he recites the specials, but I hardly hear them. My ears roar with static, and my gut fills with acid. All-too-familiar feelings of inadequacy writhe like snakes in the pit of my stomach. Can Maddox tell I'm nothing more than a broke English teacher who doesn't belong here? Jess and Nevaeh claimed I cleaned up well, but apparently not well enough. Do I smell poor or something?

What would poor even smell like? Ramen noodles and student loan debt ?

"I'll give you both a few moments to look over the rest of the menu," Gregory says. And then he's gone, leaving me alone with Captain Grump-ass.

I steal a look at my phone before setting my purse by my feet. I've only been here for five minutes, and it feels like an eternity.

I'm tempted to text the girls and tell them to turn around and come get me. I didn't ask them to spend thousands on this stupid dinner. But I swore I'd give this a chance. Besides, if I leave now, I won't have anything to show for it.

That selfie I've been promised at the end of the night better make Alex so jealous he loses the power of speech.

The painfulness ramps up after Gregory takes our order.

"So," I say with an awkward giggle. "Do you auction off dates often?"

Maddox Graves looks up from his phone with raised brows. "No."

"Right. That would be weird. How would you even set something like that up? You'd need an assistant to handle everything. Or a website where women could bid. Or men. I'm sure there are plenty of men out there who would want to date you, too. But I guess if you ever need some quick cash, you've got options." Sweet baby Chris Hemsworth, someone stop me.

My date looks at me like I've grown a second head. He doesn't dignify my verbal vomit with any kind of response, and I think that's worse than if he just came right out and called me an idiot.

"But then again, you're Maddox Graves," I say a little too loudly. "You probably have plenty of money."

I know this isn't a real date and I should be happy my brain has picked this moment to get all the weird out, but holy hell, this is mortifying. If I was actually trying to impress this guy, I would have already slunk out of the restaurant on my belly like some kind of pathetic slug.

"Maddox Graves?" a feminine voice squeals. "Oh my god, I thought that was you."

I glance up to see a very excited teenage girl standing a few feet away from our table. I must have said his name a little too loudly. She's looking back at an older couple who must be her parents.

"See, Dad? I told you it was him." The girl has heart-eyes when she returns her attention to Maddox. "Could I get a photo with you? And an autograph?"

Maddox barely spares me a glance to gauge my reaction. Which is probably a good thing, because my heart is sinking into my stomach. His face transforms in an instant from one of bored disdain to a bright smile. He sits a little taller in his seat, and gives the girl his full attention.

That smile is an iceberg, and that it's so easy for him to pull it out for anyone but me scrapes along the hull of my heart. I'm the Titanic, and I'm going down. Cue the orchestra.

"This dinner is important for my career, Isla. The least you can do is stop babbling on like a bimbo every time you get nervous." Alex's grip on my upper arm bites into my skin. He hisses the words in my ear so none of his colleagues can hear. It takes all of my effort to keep tears from pooling in my eyes.

"You put me on the spot, Alex. You know this kind of thing isn't as easy for me as it is for you."

His scowl makes me wither. The way he looks at me makes my heart hurt. A man in an expensive-looking suit approaches and Alex's scowl instantly morphs into one of the charming smiles that drew me to him back in high school. The kind of smile that makes you feel you're the only one in the room.

The kind of smile that seems to be reserved for everyone but me.

I shake my head, dislodging the intrusive memory as Maddox's voice rolls across my skin like thunder along the plains.

"Of course, I'd be happy to take a photo with you."

"Honey," the woman who must be her mom says, "don't interrupt them. It looks like they're on a date."

Maddox waves his hand dismissively. "It's fine. You're not interrupting anything. I've always got time for my fans."

Ouch.

The girl barely spares me a glance as she jumps up and down, drawing attention to us. When she leans down to snap a photo with Maddox, people look more closely at what's going on, and I can hear the murmurs starting. These people might all have money, but there's a genuine celebrity in their midst. The women get hungry looks in their eyes, and the men are excited that one of their sports idols is sitting a few tables over.

None of them seem to register the red-haired woman sinking lower and lower into her chair .

After they take a photo, Maddox signs a piece of paper she scrounged up somewhere.

"Oh my god, thank you. I am such a huge fan. You're so hot."

Maddox chuckles as the girl scurries back to her parents' table. The dad gives him a nod of thanks, which Maddox returns with a smile. And suddenly we're surrounded by five more women batting their eyelashes at him and asking for photos.

Gregory rushes up to our table with an apology. "I am so sorry. This should never have happened." He shoos the women away, but Maddox stops him with a chuckle.

"It's all right, Greg. They just want a couple of photos. I don't mind at all." Never once does Maddox glance my way to see if I mind. And I probably wouldn't, if he'd asked. Or spoken more than a few words to me. Or made me feel more than an inch tall.

The waiter shoots me an apologetic look, which I return with a shrug. What am I going to say? That Maddox can't take photos and sign autographs for his fans? I have zero claim on the man. Heck, I didn't even want to come tonight. It shouldn't bother me in the least.

But after the fourth selfie and autograph, the line to greet tall, hot, and dickish shows no sign of dying, and I am feeling bothered. Bothered that Maddox has been such an absolute prick when I've done nothing but try to be nice. Bothered that he saw right through the expensive dress and the perfect makeup and decided from the first moment that I wasn't good enough for him. But most of all? I'm bothered that I've let all of this get to me. Even a little.

A selfie for my socials isn't worth this .

I don't say a word as I grab my purse and get to my feet. I don't spare a backward glance for Maddox or his adoring fans. Lifting my chin even though I feel like crying, I silently make my way to the door. Screw this. Screw my stupid ex, and asshole, Maddox. I may fight back tears, but a new determination fills me. I'm moving on. Kacey, the sweet hostess, frowns when I approach the exit.

"Miss Harding? Are you okay?"

"Oh, of course. I just had something come up." I'm sure my eyes are glassy, which is why she turns to look at Maddox and his entourage of adoring female fans. Her frown deepens.

The hostess returns her attention to me. "You know what? Maybe he's not that good-looking."

A watery laugh bubbles out of me. "Right?"

"Have a better rest of your night, Miss Harding." She offers me a conspiratorial smile that I return, then I push my way out of Rêveur.

Once I'm standing on the sidewalk, I suck in a few deep breaths and fish my phone out of my purse with a shaky hand. Jess and Nevaeh are going to be disappointed. They had such high hopes that tonight would remind me that dating can be fun. Unfortunately, it seems to have had the opposite effect.

I'm more certain than ever that I don't need a guy to make me happy. I need my friends, my job, and my books.

Because arrogant assholes are only attractive in works of fiction.