Platonic people don’t kiss each other, my inner voice sang in an apparent bid to outdo the universe as my most hated incorporeal entity.
“Platonic, huh?” Clive’s eyebrows winged up. “Does Donovan know that? I thought he was going to punch me when I gave you my number.”
“I don’t know.” I forced a flippant smile. “You’ll have to ask him. From my end, we’re platonic.” The words tasted strangely like betrayal, but I swallowed nonetheless.
“That’s good to know.” Clive rubbed a thumb over his bottom lip. “In that case, would you like to get dinner sometime?”
“Are you asking me on a date?” I should’ve seen where this was going, but that didn’t stop surprise from bleeding into my tone.
“Yes.” He offered a crooked smile. When Asher did it, it seemed genuine, but for some reason, Clive’s looked a little put on. “I didn’t get a chance on Saturday, and I figure this is the universe’s way of giving me a second shot. I promise I’ll take you somewhere nicer than this.” He gestured around us.
I drew my bottom lip between my teeth. The conversation had already dragged on too long—I’d missed a good chunk of the film while we were chatting—but I was torn.
Asher and Vincent had both warned me away from Clive. What did they say? That he was a “fuckboy?” Then again, they were biased, and what good-looking professional athlete didn’t go through a player phase?
The important thing was, Clive wasn’t Asher. His smile didn’t make my heart flutter, his flirting didn’t get under my skin, and a dinner with him had no consequences beyond a few potentially wasted hours. If the date went south, I wouldn’t have to see him ever again.
Clive was still waiting with an expectant expression.
“In that case, yes,” I said. “I’d love to go out to dinner with you.”
I told Asher about my run-in with Clive and the story I’d concocted for Vincent during our next session. I doubted the party would come up between him and Vincent, but in case it did, I wanted to make sure our stories were aligned.
However, Asher seemed less concerned about my brother finding out we were at Poppy’s party together and more concerned about Clive.
“He just so happened to show up at the cinema you and Vincent frequent?” His nostrils flared. “That doesn’t strike you as suspicious?”
“We don’t own the place. He has as much right to be there as we do.”
“Have you ever seen him there before?”
“No,” I admitted. “Not that I remember. But that doesn’t mean anything.” He could’ve been in the area and dropped in, or we could’ve crossed paths there before but I didn’t notice.
No one paid attention to the random people they passed unless there was a good reason to. Asher was being paranoid.
“I don’t like it,” he said flatly. “You slipped through his fingers at Neon, and now he sees you as a challenge. I wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow figured out you liked that cinema and planned the ‘accidental’ run-in.”
I didn’t get a chance on Saturday, and I figure this is the universe’s way of giving me a second shot. Clive’s words echoed for a beat before logic took over.
“Okay, you need to ease off the thrillers because you’re entering conspiracy territory.” I crossed my arms. “Maybe he’s a player, but I doubt he’s a stalker. How would he know the exact date, time, and movie Vincent and I were going to see? It’s not like we broadcast that information online.”
Asher opened his mouth, then shut it without replying.
“Exactly. As for the other part…” I gripped the barre. “Do you think the only reason someone could possibly like me is if they see me as a ‘challenge’?”
Was that why he’d been so persistent in his flirting? To stick it to Vincent?
The prospect made bile rise in my throat. It was ridiculous. By now, I knew Asher well enough to know he wouldn’t do something so mean-spirited, but once the seed had been planted, it was hard to dig it out.
His mouth thinned. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Actually, I don’t.” I should’ve left it at that, but my mouth kept running of its own accord. “Also, player or not, I like Clive. He’s nice.”
“That’s what he wants you to think.”
I ignored the snark. “As a matter of fact, he asked me out on a date, and I said yes.”
The words fell into a pool of TNT-laced tension. Asher’s jaw ticked, and I instinctively braced myself for an explosion.
It never came.
After a beat of silence, he turned and jabbed the power button for the sound system. The faint strains of a classical hip-hop instrumental filled the room “Good for you,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Have fun.”
“I will.” Stop talking. But I couldn’t. It was like my mouth had a mind of its own. “He’s taking me to the Golden Wharf this Friday. It’s supposed to be one of the best restaurants in the city.”
“Great.”
“Afterward, we might head to this secret cocktail bar that—”
“I get it,” Asher bit out. He faced me again, his expression stamped with irritation. “Can we start training, or will you continue to regale me with unsolicited details about your love life?”
I suppressed a flinch, but he was right. Why was I provoking him? We should be working, not engaging in this ridiculous back and forth.
However, things had been so coldly civil between us that it was nice to see sparks fly again.
“I guess things didn’t work out with your West End suitor,” Asher said, more calmly this time.
