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“Second, I almost pissed my pants in the bison enclosure.”
This makes me laugh harder, only because I know where he is coming from.
“I mean, shouldn’t they tell guests to use the bathroom before entering? And no one should go in that place alone.” His hands fly to either side of his face. “One person should be focused on the road while the other tosses out bread.” Eyes wide, he shakes his head. “Damn llamas tried to corral me off a cliff.”
At this, I snort-laugh and clutch my stomach. I don’t remember the llamas as much as the bison, but I easily picture the man across from me, terrified in his car as llamas swarm and veer him toward the edge of the road.
“It’s not funny.”
I laugh harder. My vision blurs as tears spill down my cheeks. My hand clamps down over my mouth as I try to think of something, anything, to make me stop laughing. But every time I look across the table, it kicks into the next gear.
He huffs. “Okay, fine.” His eyes shoot toward the ceiling. “It’s a little funny.” He joins my laughter for a moment, then points a finger in my direction. “Go there alone. You’ll see.”
Angelica steps up to the table and deposits our appetizers. The scent of fried spring rolls and chicken satay hits my nose and my stomach grumbles. She tells us to enjoy then walks off.
The table goes quiet as we dig in. An unsuitable-for-public moan leaves my lips as the flavors hit my tongue. Across the table, Braydon freezes. His satay skewer midway between the mini grill and his open mouth.
I cover my mouth with my hand and mumble, “Sawee,” then swallow the bite. Dropping my hand, I take a sip of my wine. “Thai food’s my favorite.” I shrug and take another bite, not knowing what else to say.
Braydon bites a piece of chicken from the skewer and hums.
Why can’t I be that restrained?Instead, I am over here moaning like spring rolls are better than sex. Well, sadly, they are better than some of the sex I’ve had. But not better than sex with Braydon.
Mentally, I shake my head.Shut. Up.
The rest of dinner goes by with good conversation, more drinks, and less moaning. I never realized how vocal I am over food until tonight. Mags and Lena should have shut that shit down a long time ago.
Braydon tells me about all the places he has visited in his first week here. I chime in with what I know about each store, restaurant or adventure and the people who own them. He asks about Java and Teas Me. How long it has been open. When I came up with the idea. What inspired me to want to run a restaurant.
The more we talked, the more comfortable I felt with him. Though we know next to nothing about each other, Braydon feels familiar. Safe. Easy. Without effort, I picture us beyond this. Beyond a one-night stand. Beyond two acquaintances getting together to chat over a meal.
This may be aworkdinner, we may be discussing the places he has visited for work while he’s here, but this is so much more than job-related.
When Angelica sets the bill holder on the table, Braydon snaps it up before I can. A half smile tugs up one corner of his mouth.
“I got this.” He slips his card in and hands it back to Angelica. “After all, I did invite you.”
Much as I want to argue—because this isnota date—I keep my lips sealed.
With the bill settled, we exit the restaurant and he follows me to my car. A beep echoes around us as I press the button on my fob. I step off the curb and move toward the driver’s side door, opening it and tossing my purse inside.
Sweat dampens my skin as I shut the door and take a step closer to him. Nervous energy forms a ball in my throat and I swallow. My fingers pick at the hem of my shirt as I take another step, leaving inches between us.
This is not a date.
I meet his gaze and, in my periphery, he swallows.
“Tonight was nice. Thank you,” I say softly.
I lick my lips, unsure what to do or say next, and his eyes drop to follow the action. He swallows again, shuffles a little closer, and nods imperceptibly.
“Was nice.” His amber irises come back to mine, fire simmering just beneath the surface. “Should do it again.”
Immediately, my mind drifts to something other than food. When he suggests wedo it again, flashes of him hovering above me, hands pinning mine above my head, our moans filling the room come crashing in.
My feet move of their own volition, inching me closer. And with this singular move, we are but a breath apart. We have yet to touch each other, but Ifeelhim. Feel his heat, his need, his desire. They mirror my own.
And damn, I want to kiss him. I want to feel the softness of his lips and subtle scrape of his stubble. The rise and fall of his chest as our lips start to move together. As we taste each other for the first time in six months. As we give in to the obvious attraction between us.
