Page 45 of The Knockout Rule

French music drifted through the room. She rolled out her shoulders, choosing to focus on the romantic vibe and delicious smells of hot bread and savory meats, not Preston’s strange comment.

The waiter returned with a notepad and smiled at Isla. “Have you decided what you’d like this evening?”

“I’ll have the frisée salad and steak frites. Steak well done, please.”

“Excellent. And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the tartare,” Preston said, scanning the menu. “But hold the pickled onion. If you can sub in the potato crisps for the bread, that would be great. For my main, I’ll do the lamb shank, but no cauliflower. I’d rather the beans from the chicken, if the chef doesn’t mind.”

“Of course.” The waiter left with their menus.

Isla did a crappy job of keeping a straight face. “Do you always rewrite the menu when you order?”

Preston smirked. “I’m particular with my food. What about you? Do you often eat shoe leather?”

She snickered. “Touché, sir. And yes, I’m a fan of well-done steak. I don’t need to see my food bleed.”

“Note to self: don’t take Isla to a slaughterhouse on our next date.” He grinned, his eyes playful, as though he enjoyed their sparring.

She liked their banter, too. Things were starting to feel less stilted between them, but the mention of a second date had her realizing fun didn’t equate to chemistry. So far, aside from the romantic flowers and that moment when he’d recited the poem, things between them had felt more friendly than intimate. She shifted on her seat and sipped a bigger mouthful of wine. She’d been timid before, uncomfortable with the price tag on each swallow, but wine might loosen her up for the rest of the night. Preston seemed slightly awkward, too, tracing the stem of his wineglass, then the rim, then the base.

When he moved to touch his phone again, Isla leaned back in her chair. “Am I that boring?”

He froze with his hand on his device. “What?”

“I know I’m not Taylor Swift and can’t entertain you with my dating history via song, but the phone-on-the-table thing is a tad obtrusive.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I just…” He let out a weird high-pitched laugh and removed the phone from the table. He put it in his jacket pocket, his hand lingering there like taking it out of eyesight pained him. “Just work stuff, and you’re right. It’s not gentlemanly behavior. No phones on tables and no boxing talk.”

“When you say it like that, I feel like I’m some awful date-zilla.” No wonder he’d been more interested in his phone.

He settled his forearms on the table and leaned in. “You say what’s on your mind, not what you think I want to hear. Honestly, that’s part of the reason I asked you out. Most women I’ve dated are the opposite.”

“So you like when I tell you your pick-up lines are awful?”

He grabbed his chest, feigning pains. “Low blow, Slade. But yeah. Hanging out with you keeps me on my toes.” He unleashed his smolder, and a lock of hair flopped on his forehead like he was a Disney prince. “Plus, I get to look at your beautiful face all night.”

The flirty compliment didn’t send a rush of heat through her. Certainly not like when she’d talked with Eric last night. The boxer’s rumbly voice uttering Japanese was the definition of sexy. Sexiness she should not be fixating on. This date was supposed to help her drown thoughts of Eric, but she found herself picturing Eric’s huge body relaxed on his couch while they’d shared poetry interpretations, Eric holding that baby, Eric in the gym, Eric’s biceps and deltoids and triceps glistening with sweat.

She took a cleansing breath and focused on her date. “You must travel a lot for work. Any favorite places?”

Preston talked about a trip to Portugal for a soccer client, drinking local wine and lounging on white-sand beaches, visiting Vancouver and Texas, and one hail-Mary trip to Belize, where he’d had to coax a client away from the beach and booze, back stateside, to uphold an endorsement contract. He boasted plenty, but he also asked questions about her work, what she was struggling with in the set-up, which aspects had been the most fun. She answered between bites of her delicious well-done, shoe-leather steak. Made a show of enjoying her food. He belly laughed at her antics.

Preston also pushed back while they talked, suggesting she not rely on her father for connections, after she’d told him about the Álvaro setup and landing her first client. She volleyed back about his need to buy the most expensive wine and show off his wealth, no longer shying away from the obvious.

Instead of getting defensive, he laughed harder and said, “Next time I’ll ask for a box of wine.”

At the end of the night, when he walked her to her hotel door, she felt happy and light. An easy smile lingered on her face. But every time she tried picturing herself kissing him goodnight, a fizzy rush didn’t spin her stomach. Excitement didn’t have her wanting to hold his hand or touch some part of his body just to have a connection.

They stopped at her door. His eyes dropped to her lips. He angled toward her.

Before he got any closer, she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for the evening.”

“Can we do this again?” He leaned his shoulder into the wall, his hands stashed in his pants pockets. “I had a nice time.”

She’d had a nice time, too. Although aspects had been awkward at the start, the night certainly hadn’t been boring, and the flowers and restaurant choice and poem had been lovely. She hadn’t even thought about Eric for parts of the evening. She and Preston might not be destined for coupledom, but another date wouldn’t hurt. One more night to test if attraction might bloom.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go for drinks in a few days. I’ll probably do room service this week—work on my accounting course while eating. And it’s my treat next time.”