“Truly. My boss won’t allow it. Not after what happened. That man has been banned from ever coming into this restaurant again. Order what you like too. What happened to the other guy? Do I need to bring a third glass for the wine?”
Olivia beams, her smile so kind and warm that the small amount of nervousness in the middle of my chest melts away. “No, it’s just us,” she says. Her eyes drift from the waiter to me. “Is sweet red wine okay? I don’t like dry wines. I don’t have a sophisticated palette, I guess.” A slight blush of embarrassment ghosts over her cheeks, barely visible under the low light hanging above us.
I can see it, though. I’m paying attention to every detail.
“That’s fine with me. Whatever you want. I don’t mind at all,” I answer, wanting nothing more than for her to have whatever she wants tonight.
And every night, if I’m being honest with myself.
I forgot what it felt like to want someone so much that my soul might burst from my chest and beg them to want me back. It’s similar to being obsessed with someone when you’re a teenager, that wild, all-consuming, heart-pounding, intense emotion that can barely be contained.
If I don’t calm down and remember my age, I’m going to scare her away before I have a chance to ask for her number.
“Coming right up.” The waiter spins on his heel and walks away, leaving us alone.
I open the menu while clearing my throat, wanting to pierce the slight tension happening between us. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I’m careful as I ask, keeping my tone gentle, forcing myself to read the menu even if all I want to do is look at her.
She reaches across the table with the same hand her date grabbed. The red has deepened; the mark will definitely bruise. I hold in a growl, wishing we’d gotten to her just a minute earlier. Then, she wouldn’t have a reminder of how bad tonight has gone for her.
Olivia squeezes my forearm, the touch sending a lightning strike through me. “I’m okay. I promise. If I wasn’t, I’d tell you and Winston. You’re doctors. It’s not like I can keep anything from you.” She snickers, giving my arm another squeeze before taking her hand back.
Immediately, her touch is missed. A warmth spreads across the spot she held, her phantom touch etching itself into my flesh.
Jesus. I need to get myself under control.
“I think I’ll get what I ordered earlier since I didn’t really get to eat it. Can you believe he ate off my plate? And no, I didn’t offerhim any. I don’t typically share food. Not because of sharing germs or whatever but because I’m hungry. I want my own food.”
I grin, enraptured by her possessiveness. “Is that so?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m an animal. I’ll bite if you take my food. Or throw wine in your face.” She picks up her water, grinning over the rim of the glass.
“Noted. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that wine.” Not the bite, though. I’ll be dreaming of her tonight while I wrap my hand around my cock, imagining her biting into my shoulder with every drive between her thighs.
I have to look away from her. My body is reacting in ways that it hasn’t in years. I can’t remember the last time my entire being felt this hot. I can’t focus on this damn menu. The words are blurring together. I’ve reread the appetizer selections three times.
The waiter returns with the wine, untwisting the cork. A soft pop escapes and Olivia jumps slightly at the unexpected noise. She presses her hand against her chest and giggles.
Two glasses of wine are placed in front of us and the waiter pushes the half-empty wine bottle toward the middle of the table for us to finish.
“Do you know what you’d like to order?” he asks Olivia first, as he should.
“I’d like the same as before. Steak, medium rare with a loaded baked potato, please.”
That sounds delicious. “I’ll have the same as the lady.” I hand him the menu. “Sounds perfect.”
“No problem at all. I’ll get your orders in immediately. I’ll check on you in a bit.” His eyes slide from her to me, a knowing glint in his eyes, and I nod, wanting him to know that yes, he’s correct, I am absolutely interested in this magnificent woman.
“Thank you,” she says when we’re alone.
“For what?”
“Saving me back there.” She sighs, folding her arms on the table. There’s a freckle on the inside of her unbruised wrist that I want to trace with my tongue and kiss. “I should have left the date before it got to the point it did. I’m so stubborn. I didn’t want him to think he got to me that much, but he did.” She rolls her eyes, clearly disappointed in herself. “I never like it when someone gets the best of me.”
She smiles at me. “And then, bam! You tackled him. It was very impressive. I think everyone in the restaurant gasped in unison.”
I lift a shoulder. “He clearly wasn’t going to let you go. It’s been since college since I tackled anyone. It felt good. He deserved it too.”
“Oh, did you play football?” she asks, leaning back as if she’s getting comfortable so she can get to know me, her wine in hand.
