I've always been pitied by other people.

Poor tiny, clumsy Mila. Doesn't know how to dress, doesn't know how to walk properly, and has absolutely no idea how to behave in social activities.

Jas always had my back in high school; she helped me find the right thing to wear and never left my side at social events. Right now, I regret that I didn't let her give me the fashion tutorial, as she called it, because the second I regard myself in the mirror, embarrassment washes over me. I picked a white blouse, combined with a pair of black silk pants and my usual necklaces and earrings.

I feel underdressed as hell, but even if I wanted to change, I don't have the time. It's a quarter to seven by now, and the anxiety in my veins definitely doesn't help my already clammy palms, or the pounding heart in my chest.

"Don't be such a wuss, Mila." I do the breathing exercise my therapist showed me, and once again it works, my heart rate slowing down after a while, even though my mind still races at a hundred miles per hour.

"Worst case—you hate him. Then you can just grab your phone and walk away. Never have to see him again, anyway...God, I have to stop talking to myself."

I shake my head and grab the last things I need before rushing down the stairs, really not wanting to be late. It's not hard to find the soda machine Hayden was talking about, but just when I'm about to reach it, I suddenly run into someone, the impact sending my glasses to the floor.

"Ow! Shit!" I squint as I bend down, trying to find the glasses, which is damn hard when you're not wearing them.

"Can't you watch where you're going?" The annoying male voice echoes through the hallway as I finally feel out the metal frame between my fingers. I'm sure even without them I would've noticed that he's one of the footballers who hangs around here. They're all the same: arrogant, looking like they make more in a day than I did with my first book, sleek hair combed to the back...

"Hello?" he says, and I can't help but blink a few times before I answer.

"Hello."

"Well?" With the way he raises his eyebrow, I know he's the kind of person who would've bullied me as a kid.

"Uh...what is it?" The tremor is audible in my voice, and it transfers into my entire body the second he grabs my wrist, demonstrating his physical advantage on me. I hate myself for feeling like a little girl again, like the ten-year-old Mila who got beaten up on the first day of school.

"You could at least say sorry."

The way he speaks sends shivers down my spine; This man is obviously a grade-A asshole, and I'm sure he'd be able to kill me with his bare hands if we wanted to. And so I form the words, even though I really don't want to. But this, to me, is a situation that requires sacrifices, even if that sacrifice is the last shred of my confidence.

"I—"

"Hey, asshole!"

That voice makes me turn around, and I sigh in relief when I see Hayden walk down the hallway, his eyes full of fury as he comes to a stop right next to me.

"Oh, look who it is!" The mountain of a man laughs and focuses on Hayden and me, an amused grin crossing his face.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Hass?" Hayden still scowls at the man, and even though I'm curious why he knows this stranger, I push that thought away to watch him staring the other man down.

"Just teaching this girl a lesson."

But Hayden doesn't register him anymore; his extraordinarily green eyes simply find mine, displaying a hint of worry before they settle on my wrist, still in Mr. Asshole's firm grip. "You'd better let go of her."

"Or what?" Hass grins at him, his eyes full of malice and mischief.

Hayden takes another step toward him, inserting himself between us in the process. "Or I'll make you regret it. I promise."

After studying Hayden for a moment, the guy releases his grip, and I immediately rub my fingers over my burning skin. "I'm not the one regretting anything, Ice. Remember that," Hass says, and then he even has the audacity to wink at me before he disappears around the corner.

I always thought I could defend myself if it came down to it. I know all the moves, theoretically, but this moment showed I'm not able to take care of myself, and I hate it. The realization sends tears to my eyes, and I try to swallow the lump in my throat when I hear Hayden speak again.

"Mila? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" He gently takes my wrist in his hand, the movement such a contrast to the other man who just touched me that I can't help but shiver from the sensation.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I whisper. "I don't even know what happened."

"What happened is he's an asshole."

"I take it you know him, then?"

"I do, unfortunately. Are you sure you're okay?" he asks again. "You're shaking."

The worry in his voice makes me glance up at him, his gentleness delivering a striking contrast to his broad frame. "I'm sure. Sorry you had to come rescue—"

"Hey," Hayden interrupts, "don't apologize." He cups my cheek, and suddenly the contact of this stranger's fingers on my skin is all I need to feel safe again. "He's an asshole. That's not your fault."

I chuckle at his words, which seems to have some sort of effect on him, because he suddenly removes his hand from my cheek and clears his throat.

"I hope you're still hungry."

On cue, my stomach releases a rumble that resembles thunder, reminding me I only had a small breakfast this morning. I immediately cover my face with my hands, and once again I wish the ground would just open up and swallow me whole.

"I guess that's a yes." Hayden chuckles as he reaches for the hands on my face. "Come on, I'm starving." Interlacing my trembling fingers with his own, he leads me to a black sports car.

Soon, we're on our way to the restaurant, my eyes seemingly addicted to Hayden, as I can't stop studying him like a work of art. He looks like a chiseled god, and I can't help but feel so small, so replaceable and ordinary, compared to him.

"Everything okay?" He obviously noticed my stares.

Good job at trying to be normal, Mila. "Um, yes, I was just, um..." I clear my throat, trying to hide my clumsiness somehow. "Is this a new car?"

"Well, kind of." He chuckles. "It's a rental."

I want to facepalm myself for not thinking before I speak for once. What the hell is wrong with me? "Of course it is. Because your car is in L.A., you wouldn't bring that with you to New York..." I sigh, but he simply responds with a warm smile.

Hayden stops the car in front of a small but fancy-looking restaurant, his gaze almost insecure when he turns to look at me. "Okay, I, uh... I figured we could go for something a little quieter. I know it might not be what you expected, but I wanted to speak to you properly this time, without all the music blaring in the background."

Even though my nerves are on high alert from the sight of this high-class restaurant, his sudden nervousness sends a smirk on my lips. For someone looking so buff, he definitely is very sweet. "That sounds amazing," I answer.

"Okay, then." Shooting me a wink he steps out of the car, only to appear right in front of my door seconds later. "Shall we?" He stretches his hand out to me after he opens the door, and I instantly mirror the smile on his face, interlacing our fingers with a nod.

I feel his eyes on me when we enter the restaurant, the dim light and Frank Sinatra's smooth voice in the background heighten my comfort in a matter of seconds. A waitress approaches us as we step into the room, her gaze filled with disbelief when she studies me, blatantly disapproving of my presence next to Hayden.

"You know why she's looking at you like that?" His whispered words travel down my spine, and I shiver the second his eye meet mine, a playful but mischievous smirk dancing on his lips. "It's because you look absolutely breathtaking tonight."

I almost stumble over my own feet at his words when we reach our table, but Hayden still has his hand firmly tucked in mine, steadying me before helping me into the chair. "Thank you," I mumble, feeling the heat in my cheeks as he takes a seat opposite to me.

"Welcome to DiMarillo's." The same waitress from before suddenly stands next to us, but Hayden doesn't even seem to register her, his eyes still trained on me when she rambles on. "These are your menus for tonight. Can I get you anything to drink? We have a 2003 Sauvignon Blanc, straight from a sweet little vineyard in the south of France..."

I can't even listen properly anymore. Every nerve ending in my body feels electrified by the eyes of this man in front of me.

Hayden shoots her a quick and polite smile, so quickly that I almost don't see it, and then redirects his attention to me. "I think I'll just go with water for now. I'll be driving this beautiful woman back later on, and I want to be sober for that."

The waitress seems as startled by that statement as I am, her eyes wide as she stumbles over her words. "Oh, yes, uh, of course. What about you, miss?"

I want to look at her, really, but this stranger's eyes have caught mine like a hunter catches his prey, and I'm the deer that's about to be devoured by a lion. "Same for me, thanks," is all I get out before the waitress walks off. Hayden's green eyes settle on mine, and my heart instantly hammers in my chest, anxiety creeping into my bones with every second that passes. God. I don't know how to do this. I don't even know the guy.

"So, Mila." His eyes sparkle with mischief when he leans back a little, not breaking eye contact for a second. I don't think I've ever regarded anyone for so long without wanting to look away. "What's your meal of choice?"

He gestures to the menu in front of me, and somehow this change of atmosphere has me laugh out loud. First, he's staring at me like I'm his next meal, and then he asks me what I want to eat?

"What's so funny?" Hayden asks.

I avert my gaze to cover my mouth with my hand, trying to stifle the giggle bubbling in my throat. But the second I glance back at him and see the amusement dancing in his eyes, I can't help but give in, and I end up snickering like a teenager while trying to catch my breath. "I'm sorry, I just..." I laugh once more before dabbing the napkin around my eyes, catching the happy tears that fell a second ago. I'm glad I didn't use too much makeup today—otherwise, I'd look like a panda already. "Sorry. I, uh, I don't know. Do you have any favorites?"

He smirks when he picks up the menu, his eyes only leaving mine to study the different meals. "Well, I've been here once before. Had the lasagna—that was fantastic. But I might go with something different today," he says, amusement audible in his voice.

"And why's that?"

He glances back up at me, any hint of amusement now replaced by a fire that's igniting my entire body, and I have to catch my breath when he shoots me a crooked grin that could be one from the devil, because everything around him simply screams darkness and danger. But I can't tear my eyes away from him, no matter how hard I try. "Because today seems like a day that's made for trying different things." His eyes fill with mischief again, the fire still raging beneath it when his voice drops about two octaves, the echo resembling one of a bass singer. "Trying new things."

And once again, I realize two things. One, I feel completely and utterly out of place, like someone grabbed me instead of Scarlett Johansson to have dinner with this god of a man. And two, I am different. New. Like this pair of eyes, as soon as they settle on me, ignite and drown me at once, because that's what I do. I'm gasping for air and burning at the same time, trying to keep my head above water to survive this date.