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Her neck and cheeks pinken as her eyes widen. She yanks out the chair across from me and takes a seat. Forearms on the table, she leans in.
“Really?” Her eyes dart around the room then lock with mine. “Yes, I named everything with an ounce of dirty humor.” Her palms lift off the table then slap the surface. “It’s meant to be funny. Not taken seriously.”
I grab a fresh napkin and wipe my hands clean. Then, without thinking, I reach across the table and lay my hands over hers. The contact sends a ripple of energy over the surface of my skin. Heat spreads from the tips of my fingers, travels up my arms, and weaves its way to the center of my chest.
My eyes roll shut as I absorb the sensation. As I allow myself to feel the burn that only her touch generates. And then I draw my hands back and lay them in my lap.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
I may have wrapped my arms around her in public last night, but I’d had a couple beers and seen one too many men get close to her. I wanted to be the man she clung to, not some random guy.
But isn’t that what I am? Some random guy.
We don’t know each other. At all. So who am I to be jealous? Who am I to think that she belongs to me?
I am no one.
She taps the table and I blink out of my momentary realization. “Hey,” she says, trying to garner my attention.
But I keep my eyes on the table, on her hands. Again, she taps the table, then leans forward and lower so her line of sight aligns with mine.
“Hey,” she repeats. “Don’t worry about it.” Her eyes survey the room, pausing at the counter. She inhales deeply, leans back in the chair, and crosses her arms over her chest. “Just saw your text. Weekends are busier.”
I mirror her position and nod. “Figured as much.” Although I knew she’d be busy, I still wanted to see her name pop up on my screen. Still wanted the small connection. And I hated myself for desiring such an indulgence. “Seeing as we’re having dinner tonight, didn’t see the harm in stopping by for breakfast.”
A groove forms between her brows and I clench my hands under the table. I take a deep breath to stop myself from leaning forward and touching the spot with my thumb. The gesture is too comfortable, too intimate. Something we don’t share.
“You could’ve stopped in throughout the week.” The corner of her mouth kicks up in a smirk. “I don’t bite.” At this, I cock my brow and her face pinks again. She clears her throat. “In public,” she says, a breath above a whisper.
Silence stretches between us for one, two, three breaths before we both laugh. And just like that, the tension surrounding us thins. It never fades completely, but at least now I breathe easier.
Straightening in my seat, I scoop up my breakfast sandwich. “Thoughts on dinner?” I shove the messy sandwich between my lips and take a bite.
For a beat, I stare at her as her eyes stay fixed on my lips. I swallow and she blinks, eyes lifting to mine.
She shrugs. “I’ve been to all three. Would prefer Japanese or Thai since I ate at Black Silk last night.”
“One or two?” I blurt out.
She lifts a hand and rubs her jaw near her ear. “W-what?”
I lean in. “One or two?”
Her hand slides back and squeezes the nape of her neck. “Um… one, I guess.”
Leaning closer, I lower my voice. “Wasn’t thinking something gross or dirty.” I laugh. “Just a way to randomly choose dinner.”
At this, her entire frame relaxes. I bite my cheek to refrain from laughing harder.Where was your mind at?
“Thai food it is. How’s six thirty?”
Chair legs scrape wood as she scoots her chair back and rises. Her eyes grow hazy as they drift around the room. She nods.
“Six thirty is good. I’ll let you know if it changes.”
“Cool. Meet you there?”
She nods again and takes a step away from the table. “Yeah. Meet you there.”
