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“What are you thinking?”
“That I want to be that fork.”
I bring another bite to my lips. He’s openly watching me eat, his mouth slightly parted as storm clouds fill his eyes. His foot nudges mine under the table.
We should stop this. We’re several levels past flirting. We’ve fallen headfirst into eye fucking each other across the candlelit table. And now we’re playing footsie like fucking teenagers.
“Just dinner, you said.”
“That was my intention.”
“Was?”
“My intentions go out the window when it comes to you.”
“I think that’s something we have in common.”
Which makes our behavior irresponsible.
“I’m sorry, Jules.” He pulls his foot away. “Seems I’m saying that a lot to you lately.”
“You’re not the only one at fault here. I said yes to dinner.” A heavy beat passes as I weigh my words. “And I answered your text last night.”
He lets out a long exhale. “I shouldn’t have sent it.”
“We have a lot of ‘shouldn’ts’ between us, Cash. All we can do is move forward.”
As if coming to a silent agreement, we drop the subject and finish our meals. The end of our time together approaches, and instead of prolonging temptation by ordering dessert, he asks for the check.
And he pays the whole damn thing, despite my protests. If I’ve learned anything about Cash these past few weeks, it’s that he has a stubborn streak as strong as our attraction to each other.
“I can walk you home,” he says as he ushers me out of the restaurant.
Jesus, if that’s not asking for trouble, I don’t know what is. He can’t quite meet my eyes, which tells me he’s thinking along the same lines as I am.
Privacy.
Bed.
No clothing.
No coming back from that.
I shake my head. “I can get home on my own.”
“I have no doubt that you can, Jules.” He closes the few feet between us and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “Thanks for tonight.”
“Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”
“How about we call it even?”
“Deal.”
The sun is setting, washing the sky in swirling pinks and oranges. People move around us on the sidewalk, but time might as well stand still as I meet his eyes. Sexy and vulnerable is a dangerous combination on a man.
With a hard swallow, he pulls back. “Goodnight, Jules.”
He’s already walking away, and I try to tell him goodnight, but the words stick in my throat.
