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“Do you like pizza?”
Again, I smile as I reply, “I do. I love it. Do you?”
He nods emphatically. “It’s my favorite.”
My grin is automatic. Heck, I’m not sure I’ve stopped smiling since I walked over here. “Let me guess: extra cheese?”
“And mushrooms! Lots of mushrooms!” he bellows with excitement.
“Shhh, inside voice,” Jensen instructs with a small grin, making Max sit back down in his seat.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask, leaning over to where the boy is sitting. When he nods and his eyes light up like little sapphires, I confess, “Mushrooms are my favorite too.”
“See Dad? Kate like mushrooms too!” Max tells the older version of himself across from him. My heart starts to jump in my chest when the young boy refers to me by the nickname no one uses.
No one but his dad.
I glance over to Jensen. He’s smiling softly at his son as he replies, “I know she does.” Then those blue eyes connect with mine and I feel it down to my toes. Jensen clears his throat and adds, “Do you want to join us?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Part of me is ready to decline. I don’t want to interrupt his dinner with his son. And besides, how awkward would that be? My vote is for pretty damn uncomfortable. But then there’s the other part of me—the one ready to say yes, to reconnect and enjoy a meal with an old friend and his son.
An old friend who’s seen you naked more times than you can count.
I’m still not sure which answer I’m going to give when I see the hostess approach. She’s carrying a small pizza box and a white paper bag, presumably with my salad inside. With a friendly smile, she hands me my order. “Here you go. You can pay at the front counter. Oh, are you joining them? Would you like for me to get you a plate?”
As I open my mouth to decline, I’m stunned by the response that comes from the table’s occupant. “Yes, that would be great,” Jensen says on my behalf.
When she rushes off to get me a plate, I turn stunned eyes toward the man at the table. “I don’t want to interrupt your dinner,” I tell him.
Instead of replying, he just scoots over in invitation. Something tells me this is a horrible idea, but that still doesn’t stop me from slowly lowering myself into the booth beside him. Heat radiates off his large body as our shoulders brush, igniting a fire deep in my blood that has been long dormant. This is most definitely a horrible idea, yet here I am, sitting beside Jensen Grayson after a twelve-year absence, and do you know what?
I like it.
A lot.
Max starts chatting immediately as the hostess returns with a plate for me and a large pizza for the rest of the table. I smile when I see the pie, half covered in meat and the other half in just mushroom. Funny, that’s exactly how we used to order it back when we were dating in school.
I try to focus on what the kid is saying, but it’s hard. He’s chatting a mile a minute, completely unaware of the tension that surrounds the table. I’m pretty sure a big part of it is sexual, but I’m not about to vocalize it. Instead, I watch as Jensen effortlessly places a slice on Max’s plate and cuts it into smaller pieces. Then, without breaking stride, he opens my box and pulls the small four-slice personal pizza out, placing it on my plate. Then, and only then, does he finally place two meaty pieces on his own plate.
“Do you like baseball, Kate?” Max asks, pulling my attention across the table.
“Oh, uh, I haven’t really followed sports,” I tell him with a sheepish grin.
“I love baseball. I got a ball from my cousin, Sawyer,” he says, producing a baseball covered in a small round case from his lap. “I’m gonna be a ball player, just like him when I get bigger.”
Taking the offered item, I spy a name scrolled between the stitching on the ball. “Who is Sawyer?” I find myself asking as I hand the prized item back to Max.
“He’s married to my cousin, AJ. Sawyer Randall used to play for the Rangers,” Jensen confirms as Max takes a big bite of his pizza.
“Wow, that’s pretty neat,” I reply, mostly to Max. Then I glance at Jensen and add, “I don’t remember cousins.”
Those piercing blue eyes find mine, stealing a bit of my breath and a lot of my sanity. “Actually, we discovered a whole new side of the family we didn’t know about,” Jensen says, and tells me all about how his mom had a much older brother who she rarely saw or spoke to. To find out Jensen has six female cousins, all with families of their own, is a little surprising, but he seems completely happy about the expansion of his family.
“That’s pretty amazing. I’m glad you were able to connect with them,” I tell him, finishing off my second piece of pizza while he talks, completely ignoring the salad that I definitely should have started with. I can still hear my mother’s voice, whispering in my ear, that I should always eat salad. A lady never indulges in carbs, like pizza and pasta. She taught me at such a young age how to move food around on your plate to give the appearance of eaten food, and I hated it. I always craved a big bowl of macaroni and cheese or even a large slice of pizza, even if my hips didn’t agree with it.
“Thank you for inviting me to join you,” I say as I drop my napkin beside my plate and place the remaining two slices back in the pizza box. With those two pieces plus the salad, I can take it back to the house for a meal this weekend.
“You didn’t each much,” Jensen says, glancing down at his demolished half of their pizza.
