Mike registered her look of disgust. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I got you covered.”
A bone-thin Asian woman with chopsticks in her bun led them to an intimate booth and poured them both cups of hot green tea. There was a gong in the corner and a large jade Buddha leering down at them from a high shelf. An elderly Chinese waiter appeared and handed them their menus. To Hanna’s astonishment, Mike mumbled a few words in Mandarin. He pointed at Hanna, and the waiter nodded and turned away. Mike sat back, smugly flicking the center of the gong with his thumb and forefinger.
Hanna gawked. “What the hell did you say?”
“I told him you were an underwear model and needed to keep your hot body in top shape, and we’d like to see the special healthy low-fat menu,” Mike explained nonchalantly. “They hate giving that menu to people. You have to know how to ask for it.”
“You know how to say underwear model in Chinese?” Hanna blurted.
Mike draped his arms over the back of the leather booth. “I picked up a thing or two during that boring-ass time I spent in Europe. The term underwear model is the first thing I learn in every language.”
Hanna shook her head, fascinated. “Wow.”
“So you don’t mind that the waiter thinks you’re an underwear model?” Mike asked.
Hanna shrugged. “Not really.” Underwear models were pretty, after all. And rail thin.
Mike brightened. “Sweet. I brought my last girlfriend here, but she didn’t find the whole special diet menu trick so funny. She thought I was objectifying her or some shit.”
Hanna took a slow sip of tea, unaware that Mike had had previous girlfriends. “Was this…a recent girlfriend?”
The waiter handed them their menus—the regular one for him, the diet one for Hanna. After he left, Mike nodded. “We just broke up. She kept bitching about how I was too concerned with being popular.”
“Lucas said that too,” Hanna squealed, before she could stop herself. “He didn’t like that I told everyone Kate had herpes.” She flinched, annoyed she’d said Kate’s name out loud—Mike would probably step in and defend her. But he just shrugged.
“I had to do it,” Hanna went on. “I thought she was going to…” She trailed off.
“Thought she was going to what?” Mike asked.
Hanna shook her head. “I just thought she was going to say something nasty about me.” Hanna had thought Kate was going to tell everyone that she used to make herself throw up, something she’d unfortunately admitted to Kate in a moment of weakness. And she was pretty sure Kate would have said it, if Hanna hadn’t said the herpes thing first.
Mike smiled empathetically. “Sometimes you have to play dirty.”
“Cheers to that.” Hanna raised her water glass and clinked it with Mike’s, thankful he hadn’t pressed to know what the nasty thing was that Kate was going to spill.
They finished eating their dinners and sucked on the orange wedges that came with the check. Mike suggestively complimented Hanna on her sucking abilities and advised her to save some sucking power for later. Then he excused himself to the bathroom. Hanna watched him snake around the tables, realizing her chance to get him back. Slowly, she stood, laid her napkin on her plate, and crept down the hall. She waited until the men’s room door swung closed, counted to ten, and burst inside. “Oops!” she called out. Her voice echoed throughout the shiny, empty room.
There was a line of urinals, but Mike wasn’t at any of them. Nor did she see his Tod’s loafers underneath the stall doors. She heard a small noise coming from the walled-off sink area and walked over. Mike was standing at the sink, a comb, a can of deodorant, and a tube of toothpaste on the counter next to him. He held a toothbrush in his hand. When he saw Hanna in the mirror, the color drained from his face.
Hanna bleated out a laugh. “Are you primping?”
“What are you doing here?” he croaked.
“Sorry, I thought this was a dressing room,” Hanna recited. It didn’t quite have the effect she was going for.
Mike blinked and quickly shoved his toiletries back into his Jack Spade messenger bag. Hanna felt a little bad—he didn’t have to stop. She backed out of the sink area. “I’ll be outside,” she muttered. She pushed her way out the door and returned to her seat, smiling to herself. Mike had been brushing his teeth. Did that mean he wanted to kiss her?
On the drive back to Mike’s house, they listened to “Whole Lotta Love,” again belting out the lyrics. She pulled up to Mike’s curb and turned off the ignition. “Want to walk me to my door?”
“Sure,” Hanna answered, realizing her heart was pounding. She followed Mike up the stone steps to the Montgomerys’ porch. There was a Zen rock garden to the left of the door, but it had frozen over by now, a thin crust of ice on the sand.
Mike faced her. Hanna liked that he was quite a bit taller—Lucas had been about her height, and Sean, her ex-ex, had been a tad shorter. “So this was almost as fun as when I go out with my hookers,” Mike announced.
Hanna rolled her eyes. “Maybe you can give the hookers a night off this Saturday too. Come with me to the Radley opening.”
Mike put his thumb to his chin, pretending to give it some thought. “I think that could be arranged.”
Hanna giggled. Mike touched the inside of her arm lightly. His breath smelled minty. Almost unconsciously, she leaned in a little more.
The door flung open. Bright light streamed out from the Montgomerys’ foyer, and Hanna shot back. A tall brunette stood inside. It wasn’t Mike’s mom, and it certainly wasn’t Aria. Hanna’s heart plummeted.