“Thanks, Abuela.” I blow her a kiss, grateful for the backup.
“I just want to know who she's spending time with,” Dad argues, turning to his mother. “Is that so unreasonable?”
“Yes,” we both answer in unison.
I take advantage of his momentary distraction to edge closer to the door, grabbing my purse from the hook and slipping out.
I barely make it back to my apartment with enough time to get ready. I've laid out three different outfits on my bed because I'm not sure which one to wear. Date. The word keeps echoing in my head as I frantically apply my makeup.
A date with Beckham Kingston. The man who's been living rent-free in my head for years. The man who fucked me senseless in a hotel room and then tried to pretend itnever happened. The man who kissed me in his apartment like he was drowning and I was air.
I finally decide on a tight burgundy dress that hugs every curve and shows just enough cleavage to be interesting without looking desperate. The hem hits mid-thigh, and when I pair it with my highest heels, my legs look a mile long. It’s perfect and was my first choice and I don’t know why I second-guessed myself.
I'm just finishing my lip gloss when a sharp knock echoes through my apartment. My heart jumps into my throat as I glance at the clock—7:58. Right on time, of course. Mr. Punctuality.
I take a deep breath, checking my reflection one last time before heading to the door. My hand hesitates on the knob for just a second before I pull it open.
Beckham stands there looking like sex on legs in dark jeans and a fitted black button-down that stretches across his broad shoulders. His hair is slightly damp, like he just showered, and the scent of his cologne hits me immediately—citrus and spice that makes my mouth water.
“There's no security in this building,” he says by way of greeting, scowling as he steps inside without waiting for an invitation. “I walked right in. Anyone could just walk in here.”
“Hello to you too,” I reply, closing the door behind him. “And yes, please come right in.”
He turns, probably ready to lecture me more about building security, but the words die on his lips as he takes me in. His eyes darken, traveling slowly from my face down to my heels and back up again.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the word almost reverent.
I smile, doing a slow turn. “You like?”
“I really fucking want to kiss you right now,” he says, his voice dropping to that gravelly register that makes my thighs clench. “You're making it fucking hard to remember we're supposed to be talking tonight.”
“Who says we can't do both?” I step closer, tilting my head up to look at him. “Kiss me now, talk later.”
His jaw tightens in the way I love. “If I kiss you now, we're not going to make our reservation.”
“I'm not that hungry anyway,” I tease, reaching up to straighten his collar even though it's already perfect. “At least not for food.”
He catches my wrist, his grip firm but gentle. “Nice try, trouble. But we're doing this right.”
“Since when are you such a gentleman?” I tease, pulling my wrist from his grip and stepping back. “Fine. Let's go eat. But just so you know, this dress is easier to take off than it looks.”
His eyes darken further, his restraint working overtime. “You're trying to kill me.”
“Maybe a little,” I admit with a grin, grabbing my purse. “Where are we going anyway?”
“A place downtown called Ember.” He opens the door for me, his hand finding the small of my back as we step into the hallway. “Not too showy, but the food's good.”
The restaurant is a cozy Italian place about fifteen minutes from my apartment. Not too fancy with white tablecloths and pretentious waiters, but definitely nicer than somewhere you'd grab a quick bite. The lighting is dim, casting everything in a warm glow that makes Beckham look even more devastatingly handsome.
“You clean up nice,” I say as we slide into a booth tuckedaway in the corner. “I almost didn't recognize you without a scowl.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I don't always scowl.”
“Please. Your resting face is 'I might murder someone today.'”
The corner of his mouth almost pulls into a smirk. “Only when I'm dealing with incompetent people.”
“So…always?”
