“Seriously, Ari, you gonna split the tomahawk steak with me?” he asked.
“No, you ate almost all of it last time, and I was starving.”
“You don’t look like you’re starving,” he muttered, and she kicked him under the table.
The band was on break, and someone put a loud dance song on. Ariella didn’t mind, but she knew George hated just about anything other than rock music. She grinned and shook her head, bopping to the beat.
“Get your own dinner, dork face,” she replied.
"Fine.”
The server returned for their entrée orders, and Ariella tried to appear nonchalant about the whole thing. She wondered if Brock was even in the kitchen tonight. So far, she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the blond giant. George was rambling on about something, but she was too busy wallowing in self misery to pay any attention.
Stop it.
"Hello? Earth to Ari. I am talking to you. Why are we here?”