“No matter how much they tortured Zane, he never gave up trying to fight for me,” I tell them, tears leaking down my face.
“Fuck,” Ryder whispers when I’m done, tears on his cheeks.
“I need to move on from this,” I say, wiping my tears away before grabbing Ryder’s hand again. “He didn’t fucking break me. He doesn’t fucking own me. He will regret the day he ever fucked withme.”
“We’ll be right outside,Pretty girl,” Gage says, kissing my cheek and leaving me at Zane’s door.
After my declaration, Gage thought it was a good idea for me to go on a date with Zane. So, Dex and Gage are sitting outside Zane’s apartment on the lookout while I do. Nothing says crazy quite like that.
I rub my hands down my jeans nervously. It’s the first time I’ve had jeans on. I paired it with a smaller t-shirt that isn’t one of the guys, but I opted for flats rather than my usual heels. I’m not ready for that yet.
“Get your shit together,” I whisper to myself. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’ve seen this man naked, but butterflies are attacking my stomach. I knock, and he opens it almost immediately.
His sandalwood scent hits me first, and I swallow more nerves.
What the hell?I’m acting like a simpering virgin getting ready to get her cherry popped.Damn it. That is not the right image to see right when my eyes lock onto his; neither is remembering how good he looks naked.
He sweeps his arm out, welcoming me inside. He shuts the door behind me, giving me a nervous laugh. “I don’t know why this is so awkward,” he says.
Some of the nerves leave since he’s feeling it too. “Could be because two of my boyfriends are guarding us right now.”
He barks out a laugh. “Could be.” He slides his hand into mine. “Dinner’s almost ready.” He pulls me toward the kitchen before seating me at the island. He kisses the top of my head before walking to the stove and stirring something that smells divine.
“You cooked for me?” I ask in awe. I figured he would order something. I forgot Zane could cook, unlike the rest of us.
“I hope I remembered it right. I madeRagu Alla Bolognesesauce.”
Oh. My. God. He made my grandma’s signature sauce, which my mom also made. Those stubborn tears spring into my eyes. “You didn’t have to.” He glances at me, and I can see the panic when he sees the tears. I wave my hand with a laugh. “Don’t worry.”
He eyes me doubtfully, flipping the stove off for the sauce and pasta. The flavors fill the air as he mixes the sauceover a bed of fettuccini pasta. I’m zapped back to my childhood of my mom making the same thing, and it makes me smile because he knows how much my dad loved this dish too.
“What can I do?” I ask, so I stop staring at how sexy he looks, moving around the kitchen. His t-shirt is stretched across his muscular back; every time he moves, I can see the muscles shift, and his faded jeans are molded to his ass.
“You can set the table,” he says, turning around with a smile. I pull my boots off and slide by him in the kitchen to the cabinet he’s pointing to. The kitchen is small, and it puts us elbow to elbow. Maybe I should have stayed my ass on the stool. I suck it up and reach on tiptoe for the plates, and he chuckles.
“Shut up,” I grouch, finally pulling them down. “Not all of us can be giants, okay?”
He tucks his lips in to keep from laughing. My dad was six-four, and my mom was five-ten. How the hell I ended up being five-four, I’ll never know. Stupid genetics. “Silverware is in there. Wine glasses are in there. And the wine is in the refrigerator,” he says, pointing everything out.
I get everything on the table when he walks over with our food. Walking back to the kitchen, he brings out the best-smelling garlic bread. It might even rival Micah’s, not that I would tell him.
He pulls my chair out for me before plating up our food. “I can do that,” I say to him with a smile.
He shrugs. “I know. I want to.” When done, he pops the cork on a chilled Chianti Classico, the perfect pairing for the main dish.
We eat in silence after he sits down, sneaking glances at each other the whole time. Time hasn’t done anything to Zane except make him sexier. The laugh lines add to his sex appeal. There isn’t a gray hair in sight, and I know Zane wouldn’t dye his hair.
“That wasperfetto,” I say after I’ve eaten all I can. I take another sip of my wine and let the taste explode on my tongue.
“I hope I did it justice,” Zane says, sipping his own. “I knew this was your favorite growing up.”
“It was delicious, Zane. Thank you,” I tell him honestly, then smile. “Pulling out all stops, huh?” I joke.
“Anything for you, Beautiful,” he chuckles. “I do have competition.”
I snort, very unladylike. “They can’t cook, so you have them there.”
Together we clean up from dinner, set the pots to soak, grab our wine, and he leads me to his couch. I sit down against his side with my feet tucked under me. “Did you have all this here to make?”
