A Night To Remember

23. burst into flame

Azrael Carmen

"I'll take fettuccine al burro and more water." Elliot ordered his dinner with a polite smile, gesturing to his now empty glass. He set the menu on the table and turned his gaze to me.

"And, my girlfriend will have your sharpest kitchen knife she can use to slice my jugular." He added, only half joking.

He was always grinning at me. Amusement danced to the storm of his eyes like I was the center of his sole entertainment. I scowled, flashing him a narrowed glare because I didn't know any better. I never really knew what to do with Elliot Salvatore. I might just kill him to save my sanity. It would be for the better good.

My blood was boiling over and my fists clenched around the menu when he cocked his head to shamelessly check me out. "I'm going to kill you." I mouthed and he grinned even wider.

His dimples were absolutely adorable. I hated it so much.

"I'd die a happy man." He mouthed back.

"Then, die." I glared.

It was then when his mouth turned upside down. He pouted, looking so pitiful. "Will you miss me?"

Our waitress for the night watched us with little mortification and too much interest. Her eyes bounced between Elliot and I. She rocked nervously on her heels as if not sure what to make do of this situation. Maybe I should tell her to bolt before the bloodshed started. It wouldn't be pretty. Even the huge tip he was going to leave her probably wasn't worth the trauma.

I scrunched my face at his absurdity. "You're so fucking annoying." I huffed, sulking into my chair and ordering the same thing he was having as nicely as I could.

Elliot chuckled while I gaped, watching her ran across the room. He watched me as he picked my hand from across the table and pressed each of my knuckles to his lips. I turned my eyes on his face and tried not to blink like a dumbass.

His kisses made my head swirled and sent my skin crawling with anticipation. Cold lips and lingering caress of his thumb. I told myself it was the dirty martini I had been sipping since the moment we stepped into the Italian restaurant. God knew I needed the alcohol to survive this evening without murdering my fake boyfriend.

"You're so pretty." He told me.

"Liar." I glared and snatched my hand from grip. His declaration was a bucket of cold water being dumped on my fucking head as I suddenly remembered our surroundings.

I was convinced he had made it his life mission to piss me the fuck off. The bastard had dragged me down the staircase and out the door after announcing that we were so late for our reservation. I barely brushed my hair properly and didn't even have a stitch of makeup on. I was still wearing the stupid tank top I always wore around the house for fuck's sake. I never wanted to act on my murderous thoughts more than when we pulled up into a five stars restaurant where the obnoxious rich people like us came to dine. Casual date my fucking ass. I was going to kill him. He did this on purpose.

I looked up to chandelier on the ceiling and took a sharp breath. At least I managed to change out of my sweatpants and into a pair of dark grey suit pants. But, I still stuck out like a sore thumb between the sea of expensive tuxedos and silk.

"I never lied. Not to you anyways." He said, dragging my chair across the floor until it was next to his.

I scowled, gesturing to the scenery around us and eyeing his dark grey T-shirt under a leather jacket. He looked decent. "You said it was casual. And, now we look like fucking clowns."

White gloved servers flew in and out the kitchen. They glided around the place like elegant dancers with trays after trays of champagne flute. The restaurant was over the top and in our faces. Live music streamed through the sound of silverware clinking into each other. Sparkles blinked in my eyes everywhere I turned whether from the extravagant chandelier on top of my head or the diamonds around someone's neck. He obviously lied to me. The bastard.