“You look fucking incredible,” he told me in a low raspy voice. “Maybe we can just stay in tonight. I’m not sure I want to share you with the rest of the world, after all.”

“Not a chance, cowboy. I got all dolled up, you’re taking me out,” I said and then stuck my tongue out at him, playfully.

“Alright, Solver, let’s go. But I have a few ideas for what you can do with that tongue later,” he teased.

The restaurant that Oakley took me to was considerably nicer than the first one. It was still dimly lit, but this time it was for the atmosphere instead of trying to hide dinginess. It was a Japanese restaurant with dark floors and walls with pops of bright color. It smelled so good I was basically drooling. Bonus, sushi was relatively low in calories.

The hostess sat us at a small quiet table away from the chaos and noise of the main section. I ordered salmon rolls, and Oakley ordered what felt like the entire menu. Damn, this man could eat.

“So tell me all about what Coach said when you told him you were open to being recruited,” I said, excited to hear the details.

“Coach was pumped. He’s been trying to get me to take my career more seriously for years. I don’t know, something about it just feels so right.”

“I’m really excited for you, Oakley. You’ve worked hard this semester both on and off the field.”

“Yes, well, there’s this girl I met,” Oakley murmured playfully.

“Oh? What’s she like?”

“She’s kind of crazy. Definitely doesn’t put up with my shit. She likes to set alarms on my phone that go off all hours of the day and distracts me with her feisty personality. I’m pretty much hard every second we’re together.”

“She sounds pretty high maintenance,” I replied with a smile.

“She’s perfect.” Oakley locked his eyes on mine. “You came into my life like a whirlwind and changed everything up. For the better,” he said. Aww shucks! Despite the verbal lashing I had gotten from my mentor, I was pretty damn good at my job. And it was paying off for my client.

We went quiet for a minute. I pushed around my sushi rolls, debating on indulging in another one. “Can I ask you something?” Oakley asked, nodding toward my plate.

“Sure, what’s up?” I asked.

“Let me preface this with something: I’m not even going to begin to pretend to understand your eating habits. I’m not a therapist, and I definitely am not entitled to an explanation. We’ve discussed it a little, and I’m not trying to be insensitive at all. I just...notice things.”

I chewed on my lip. “Spit it out,” I encouraged him.

“After every meal, you pick up your phone and calculate your calories,” Oakley said.