I rolled my eyes.

The hostess returned, attempting to smile-or not fart, judging by the look on her face.

With eyes only for Phil, she picked up a couple of menus with shaky hands. "Follow me, please."

She led us to a small table next to a window overlooking a garden of sorts. It was a private spot with a decent amount of space between the tables.

"Geoffrey will be your server this evening," she told us.

Phil pulled my seat out for me. She placed a menu in front of me, but her eyes were glued on him as he walked around and took his seat.

After handing him a menu, she held out another smaller one. "And this is a list of wines, beers, and our signature cocktails."

"Uh, thanks," said Phil.

"You're welcome," she replied, smiling at him before walking back to her station.

Unable to resist, the woman threw one last glance over her shoulder, which made him sit a bit straighter in his seat and cock his eyebrow. When she was out of sight, I busted out laughing once more.

"That was weird, right?" he asked quietly.

"Are you kidding? That was hilarious!"

Shrugging it off, Phil glanced at the alcohol list. "You want anything off this?"

Hmm...a little alcohol might not be a bad idea.

"Are you going to have a drink?" I asked.

Perusing the list, he bit his bottom lip, his even white teeth sinking into the soft flesh.

Shit, that's so hot.

My thighs clamped together in reflex. I prayed I wasn't leaving snail trails in my seat.

"I don't know. I didn't plan on it, but-"

"But what?"

He looked up at me and gave me a sweet small smile. "I'm a little nervous."

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. "Are you serious?"

His smile turned bright, and my heart and crotch melted simultaneously.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I want you to feel like you're special, Kenna. And I don't know what the hell I'm doin'."

I giggled. "Are you telling me that Phil fucking Deveraux, the madman who gets up onstage in front of thousands of people and can sing down a stadium, is nervous from taking a chick out on a date?"

"Not a chick. You," he stated. "And yeah, that's what I'm tellin' you."

I laughed. His dimples deepened, and his eyes sparkled.

"That's really sweet," I told him.

"I love listenin' to you laugh," he said with a sigh.

"The way this evening is going, you'll be hearing it a lot," I predicted.

Our server came up to our table just as Phil took one of my hands in his.

"Hello, my name is Geoffrey." He stared at Phil, a bit dumbfounded.

"Hi, Geoffrey," I piped up, trying really hard not to lose it.

It was becoming apparent that this classy, upscale restaurant employed only NOLA's Junk fans. For such a sophisticated place, the staff was nothing but a bunch of metal heads.

Geoffrey cleared his throat. "Can I start you off with something from our drink menu?"

Phil leaned back and wiggled the menu at me. "You want something, Baby Girl?"

Geoffrey twitched when Phil used my pet name, and he stared at me with a smidgen of awe.

"They got all sorts of fruity-lookin' shit on here," said Phil.

I grinned. He's still an uncouth caveman. "I think I'll just have a beer," I replied.

"Too fuckin' right," grunted Phil. "Make it two."

"Bottle or tap?" squeaked Geoffrey.

"Tap," I replied.

Geoffrey scampered off to get our beers, and when he returned, we ordered an appetizer of steamed mussels.

"Excellent choice." Geoffrey attempted a pompous professional air. "We've got the best mussels in town."

"Sweet," said Phil.

While waiting for the appetizer, we looked through the menu. I was torn between the blackened red snapper or the grilled lamb.

"What are you thinking of getting?" I asked him in case that would help me make up my mind.

"The veal looks good," he replied.

Before I could stop myself, I pulled a face. Ugh, veal.

"What's wrong with veal?" he asked.

"Do you really want to know?" Raising my gaze from the menu, I looked into his warm eyes.

"Oh God, you're going to ruin veal for me, aren't you?" he asked, looking alarmed.

"It's a strong possibility," I replied.

He heaved a sigh and looked back down at the menu. "You know, the lamb looks pretty good, too."

"I was looking at that one," I said. "It does look good."

"You'll eat a baby sheep but not a baby cow?"

"Baby sheep aren't inhumanely treated. They feed and live with their mothers until they're big enough to be slaughtered."

"How do you know this?"

I shrugged. "I like to research my food."

"What else are you thinking of having?"

"The blackened snapper."

"You get the snapper, I'll get the lamb, and we'll share," he stated.

Geoffrey returned with our mussels and a basket of sliced French bread. After taking our order, he disappeared.

Around us, the restaurant buzzed with subtle energy and low conversations. No one else seemed to take notice of the giant couple enjoying themselves-or that one of them was a heavy metal celebrity.

"Shit, he wasn't jokin'. These are really good," Phil said, sucking down the mussels.

We polished them off, and Geoffrey magically reappeared to whisk away our used dishes.

Phil took my hand again, rubbing his thumb across the tops of my knuckles. "You really do look beautiful tonight," he told me softly. "I mean, I always think you look beautiful, but you totally floored me when I first saw you."

That prompted me into a brilliant smile, and he blinked. It was just too incredible to comprehend that I had the same effect on him as he did on me. I knew he thought I was attractive-obviously-but he really did think I was as amazingly, breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful as I found him.

"I think you look pretty hot tonight, too," I told him. "You've always been the epitome of male beauty for me."

He grinned and cocked an eyebrow. "Epitome of male beauty, eh?"

"Don't laugh!" I admonished lightly. "How else can I describe it?"

"I don't know." He laughed. "But give it a try."

Taking a few glugs of beer to loosen me up a bit, I told him, "Everything I have ever found attractive in the opposite sex, you have all of it. Sometimes, I find it hard to look at you. You're that beautiful to me. And it's not even the most beautiful part."

"And what would that be?" His voice went low, hushed.

"The man you are. When I see him shining through those gorgeous maple-sugar eyes with that smile when you're seriously happy...I love that," I said softly. "When I see him-that loyal, kindhearted, generous man-all your good looks don't matter because he blinds me to everything else."

He was giving me a fiercely hot look, and I thought that my confession was too intense for him because he closed his eyes. That was saying something.

Tightly squeezing my fingers, he whispered, "Damn it, Kenna."

"What?" I asked.

He swallowed thickly and opened his eyes. "I don't know. I'm a fuckin' lucky man-that's what."

"And I think I'm the lucky one. Since I was sixteen, I've dreamed of this very night. I think it's so bizarre. I'm actually someone who can say her wildest fantasies have come true."

"That makes two of us."

Geoffrey materialized with our main courses and then disappeared once more. Happily, we started to dig in.

"I was thinking-" Phil started to say.

"Uh-oh," I joked.

He glared and pointed his fork at me. "Oy, woman! That just earned you a spankin'."

That actually made my nipples tighten and my crotch throb.

I wonder what it would be like, having him spank me.

I saw his brain catch up to my train of thought. His eyes darkened, and his breathing grew shallow.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You want me to, don't you?"

I felt myself blush, and his brows rose.

This was something new, some strange territory I'd never considered before. Sure, having my ass smacked during sex was one thing, but just the thought of Phil punishing me, holding me down, and- Clearing my throat, I said, "You were thinking?"

He just stared at me, at my mouth, and then his gaze slipped down to my chest. Yeah, he was thinking the same exact thing.

"Phil?"

He replied to my chest, "I was thinkin' of checkin' out some of the jazz clubs around here. Dad said the Three Muses was pretty good."

"All right," I replied, squirming in my seat a little.

My snapper was to die for. A part of my brain did in fact register this. But my poor crotch was hot, damp, and throbbing something awful. Most of my brain was focused on that.

"Cool," grunted Phil.

"Do you want to try this?" I asked, spearing a large piece of the fish and holding it out for him.

He leaned across the table, his eyes on mine, and he took the fork into his mouth before slowly sliding back.

Shit, he has the most amazingly sinful mouth a man could possibly have.