“Good,” he murmured, but I’d forgotten what we were talking about. “You should be careful meeting up with assholes like that. I can’t be at every bad date to rescue you.”
I had to slightly shake my head to get back in the conversation game. “It’s not a bad idea though,” I told him, hardly recognizing the sultry tone to my voice. “Usually, I have to fake texts from my mom.”
His smile returned. “What do you say?”
“That she was rushed to the emergency room,” I admitted. “I’m a terrible person.”
That sexy as hell smile reappeared. “At least you don’t have to stick it out because you’re the one paying for the meal.”
“Damn, that sounds almost like reverse-sexism.”
His gaze dropped to my lips again. “This is serious, Dillon. You can fake a bad text at any point during the date. It’s my chivalrous duty to stick it out till the end of the night and pick up the tab. No matter how bad the night is going, I can’t exactly run off in the middle of dinner and leave her with the check.”
He had a point. “I’ve never thought about it like that before. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to abandon coffee just because my date insults me and basically tells me I’m a horrible person.”
This time his smile was accompanied by a deep laugh. My body came alive at the sound, tingles rushing through me, heat flooding my core. I wanted more and more and more of that sound and that amused look on his face.
And the best part? He agreed with me. “On second thought, he deserved to get stuck with the check.”
I slapped my hand to my forehead and groaned. “Actually, I paid for my coffee that morning. He was running late and I was impatient for caffeine.”
“That guy was the worst.”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t have made me pay for my coffee?”
“Or made you wait,” he added.
Just when I’d decided to kiss him—because honestly, could he be any more adorable?—our friends decided to ruin my entire life by returning to the table. Their laughter and the scraping of chairs had us jumping apart like we’d been caught in something too tawdry for public.
Glancing at Vera nervously, I was thankful to see she was draped over Killian, engaged in a private conversation. Ezra hadn’t seemed to notice either. Or if he had, he didn’t realize what he’d noticed. My poor, oblivious big brother.
I had just started to breathe easier when I caught Kaya’s shrewd eye. She raised her eyebrows when our gazes clashed, tipping her head toward Vann.
I waved her away and grabbed for my limoncello glass.
She wasn’t deterred. “What did we miss?” she asked loudly.
“Oh nothing,” I laughed loudly—too loudly. “Vann and I were just swapping bad date stories.”
Vera laughed and leaned forward, “He has plenty!”
“So does Dillon,” Ezra added.
Kaya’s eyes narrowed with a wicked challenge. “Why don’t you share your most recent one.”
She meant the one Vann and I were just talking about. She was being a brat. And nosey. And pushy! I kicked her under the table and said, “How about a toast instead?” I raised my glass to Killian and Vera. “To the happy couple. May every day be a reminder of why you fell in love.”
“Aww!” Vera swooned, leaning her head on Killian’s shoulder. He handed over his glass so she could have a sip of his limoncello, kissing her on the head in the sweetest way and basically making all my insides go gooey for them and love and things I was just realizing I might want after all.
I struggled to swallow my own drink, finding it difficult with the giant lump that had taken up residence there. God, why was it so hard to watch happy, lovesick people? They messed with my head in the worst way. I didn’t even want a relationship. Or a permanent significant other. Or anything but to figure out how to run Bianca and not totally drown in all the responsibilities in my life I was wholly unqualified for.
Warm fingers touched my hand that was wrapped around the liqueur glass. Vann gently, slowly nudged my grip away from the liqueur. “May I?” he asked softly so the rest of the table didn’t hear him. “That seemed like a toast I should participate in.”
I let the glass go, turning my head so I could watch him take a drink. Just as the glass touched his lips, I leaned forward and murmured in his ear, “I know you love it, but remember… small sips.”
It was more than half gone when he returned it to me. He leaned closer, his lips brushing my temple, his breath moving my hair around. “I have a feeling you’re going to sell me on persnickety before this is over.”
I shivered at the sound of his deep voice, at the feel of his lips against my skin, at this surprising feeling that something was happening between us. But what was that something?
