He lifted his beer for a toast. “To our last first date.”
I touched my glass to his. “Our last first date?”
“We only get one first date with someone. After this one, neither one of us is going to need another first date.” He drew a long pull from his beer and set the glass on the table.
After sipping from my drink, I set mine aside too. “That’s a pretty big assumption.”
Reaching across our little table for two, he covered my hand with his big calloused one and gave mine a gentle squeeze. “I don’t need to major in chemistry to know ours is off the charts. Only a dumbass would walk away from the most incredible woman in the world.”
To keep from sounding like a jealous girlfriend or something, I injected as much humor as I could into the question that had been bugging me for days. “Yeah? So why the radio silence after New Year’s?”
“We were busy filming commercials for Stromboli’s as part of our NIL contract.” His eyes dropped to our joined hands. “And I was trying not to scare you off by blowing up your phone with texts.”
Our appetizer arrived along with the promised breadsticks. When he’d mentioned them specifically, I’d thought he was being goofy. Turns out, I could have made a meal of them alone. Long, thin, and crispy, the breadsticks contained a hint of fennel and when dipped into our shared pot of creamy butter were to die for. Wyatt laughed at the way I hoarded the last two and asked the server for more when she dropped off our salad. I loved them so much I didn’t even care that he’d eaten the lion’s share of the escargot, even though it was the best I’d ever tasted.
During dinner he told me about his break, which sounded infinitely more fun than mine, which I pretty much glossed over when he asked about it. Instead I told him about my internship and how much fun I’d surprisingly had learning how to run a hardware store in the middle-of-nowhere Montana. When we speculated about our upcoming semester classes, I learned how passionate he was about art, as if I hadn’t had a clue about that from the prints and paintings decorating his bedroom. Before I knew it, nothing but crumbs of crust remained of our shared dinner.
As promised, our meal was divine. By the time our server arrived with the dessert menu, I couldn’t stuff in another bite and told Wyatt as much.
He ignored me.
“We’ll have the flourless chocolate torte with the raspberry ganache. Bring two spoons, please.”
“I’m serious, Wyatt. You’re going to have to roll me out of here as it is.”
“Trust me, babe. One taste of dessert, and you’re going to try to hoard it like you did the breadsticks.” Over the rim of his water glass, he winked.
He wasn’t wrong. Usually, I’d rather have another martini for dessert, but one bite of chocolate deliciousness and suddenly, I’d wished I had the entire dessert to myself.
Chuckling as he watched me steal half of the last bite from his spoon, he said, “Called it.”
I wrinkled my nose at him and slowly licked my spoon clean, savoring every last taste of chocolate-raspberry goodness.
His eyes heated and he cleared his throat. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”
“What?” I asked innocently, then I ran my tongue over my spoon for any last traces of divine dessert.
With a groan he said, “Torturing me.”
“You’re the one who said I was going to love dessert.” My grin was probably only a little bit evil.
He signaled the server for the check and wasted no time in ushering me from the restaurant.
When we arrived back at my apartment, he cut the engine, unclipped his seat belt, and scooted over on the bench seat, sliding his arm across the top of it behind me. His eyes lingered on where he twirled a lock of my hair around his fingers.
“This has been the best first date in the history of first dates.” His eyes were on fire. “I don’t want it to end.”
“My place isn’t as big as yours,” I hedged. I hadn’t decided if I was ready for what he wanted.
He glanced toward the back seat and back to me. “We don’t need much room.” Tugging lightly on my hair, he said, “And your place is private. I walked out of a full house tonight.”
My heart raced at what his request implied. Once I’d given him my number, it seemed we’d moved light-years beyond hooking up. At dinner he’d said pretty much exactly that. Yet now he was asking. Lord help me, I couldn’t say no.
“When you put it like that, would you like to come in?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wyatt
