Birthday

9:12 p.m.

9:12 p.m.

Mila bites her lip nervously, not for the first time since the second she saw his face. She's been avoiding eye contact for the past five minutes even though the restaurant is starting to simmer down and the chatter around them is dying a little. They'll have to leave soon, she knows, for whatever Hartley—that conniving bitch—has arranged for them. She sighs. Well, this can't get any more awkward...

"Here," he says finally after sighing too. She looks up. He's offering her a bite off his decadent carrot cake...and of course, she can't resist, even if she does have an amazing birthday cake waiting for her in her refrigerator at home. But again, knowing who's still in her house, Mila thinks Hartley's eaten all of it. Her thoughts return to her best friend. Yeah, Mila's going to kill Hartley once she gets back.

She smiles as graciously as she can and reaches out with her fork. "Thank you, Luke," she says quietly. "I—I'm sorry for this mess, and—"

"No, it's fine." Luke's shaking his head, and his bright blue eyes focus on her. "Sorry on my part for being the guy you're spending your birthday evening with. You deserve more."

What the hell is he talking about? Mila takes a bite of cake, resisting the urge to groaning in appreciation, and glances down at her empty plate. "No, this is...kind of perfect. This must cost you a fortune."

"Oh, don't worry. Hartley and I are sharing the bill. You should have nothing to worry about." Luke raises his hand at a passing waiter and asks for the bill quietly. He turns back to her. "I have something arranged for you, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't," she murmurs. She hopes she isn't looking too desperate, glancing up at him through her long eyelashes at him. He inhales sharply and glances down at his plate, where there's still a half-finished piece of cake.

"Yeah," he says.

And there's another silence between them until the waiter arrives with the bill. It's the same waiter who led Mila to the table, and he smiles at them. "I hope you enjoyed your meal?"

"Definitely," Luke says before Mila can respond. He hands over the folder immediately. "Thank you. We'll be heading out now." He stands up and walks over to Mila's side of the table, offering her his arm with a devastating little smile on his lips. "Walk with me?"

Again, she makes her way across the restaurant, where there are fewer adults chatting and more people drinking, her heels sinking into the carpet. But this time, she's on his arm and she can't feel any more aware of his presence. Idly, she wonders what people at school would say if they saw the two of them—a lacrosse player and mousy, forgettable Mila Beauregard. She frowns.

Luke senses it immediately without looking down. "You all right there?" he asks, glancing down at her with those blue eyes. "I can take you home now; it's been awkward, and I don't really know what to do, and Hartley's being weird, and you should probably..." His voice trails off.

Aw, he's awkward, just like me, Mila thinks. She smiles faintly up at him. "No, I'm sure you shouldn't cancel whatever Hartley had planned."

He rolls his eyes as they walk out the door of the restaurant and he nods at the maître d'hôtel, who waves them off with an almost avuncular smile. "I guess you can tell her that I changed my mind; we're heading somewhere else."

They head for the car, the very car that Hartley took that morning to drive herself and Mila to the mall. "You can tell her yourself. And she finally surrendered the car to me for 'a worthy cause.' And I'm glad she did."

She's speechless. After all, she and Hartley did go to drop off the car at Hartley's house after their shopping trip...

Finally, they're at his car, and he opens the passenger door for her. She hops in, self-consciously pulling her black dress down over her thighs. Why did Hartley have to pick such a tight dress? To emphasize the few curves that Mila has? She forces herself to stop thinking once he's in the driver's seat next to her—not that she can usually think when she's around him anyway.