Doing my makeup is nearly impossible, thanks to how badly my hands are shaking. Maybe I should just call this off. I mean, he can’tforceme to go out with him.
I actually take out my phone and type out a text:
I can’t do this.
My thumb hovers over the send button.
But what am I supposed to do if he follows through on his promise to just sit outside my apartment, waiting for me?
No. I set the phone aside. I have to go. I want to. I just don’t know how I’m going to survive.
At precisely seven o’clock, there’s a heavy knock on the door. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to throw up.
This is it. Get yourself together.
Slowly, I walk to the door and open it, revealing Dawson standing there like a statue. He fills the entire frame with his hulking body, a physique that any man would kill for.
He’s wearing a pair of khaki pants and a worn Henley that is nearly bursting at the neck from the bulging enormity of his chest muscles.
I force my eyes to lock on his, keeping them from exploring every inch of him like my instincts are telling me. But it’s not possible. My gaze drifts down his biceps, tracing the lines of his veins as they move down to his thick forearms, and then finally to his hands…
God, those hands…
I want them on me. Threaded through my hair, bending my neck back as he kisses me all over. I want him to spank me. Grab my hips and show me who’s boss.
But right now, I just have to keep it together. And as he looks at me like I’m the only girl in the world, I feel myself starting to melt.
“Good girl,” he says simply, the hint of a smile on his lips.
My knees almost give out. I pretend like I have to grab my phone charger just so I can lean against the counter until my head stops spinning.
Yes. Talk to me like that. More…
My vision is a blur as he leads me out of my apartment to his truck. I barely even know what’s happening. All I can focus on is the feeling of his hand on my skin as he guides me—the rough calluses of a working man.
He’s strong but is a total gentleman as he helps me into my seat and drives us to the restaurant, which happens to be Vincenzo’s, the nicest place in town.
When we walk in, he casually gives the doorman a hundred, and we’re seated immediately. Instead of taking the chair opposite me, he slides onto the booth beside me, getting so close I can feel his warmth. Smell his scent. I even feel his muscular thigh press against mine.
Here, sitting next to him in the dimly lit booth, I already feel like I belong to him. The rest of the world simply does not exist. It’s just the two of us.
He orders for both of us: a steak for him and some kind of chicken pasta dish that I can’t even pronounce but is absolutely delicious for me. My mouth is watering as I take my first bite.
But then again, it’s been watering since he first showed up at my apartment…
“How’s your dinner?” he asks. It’s strange how polite he can be. I guess I thought he’d be…rougher.
“Wonderful,” I reply, hiding my mouth with my hand as I chew. “Thank you.”
“What do you do for a living, Evie?”
“I’m a graphic design artist,” I reply. “Basically any kind of digital art someone might need—logos, app design, text, photos. All kinds of stuff.”
He nods, the intensity of his eyes bearing down on me. He actually seems interested, but with him this close, I can barely concentrate.
“So you’re talented.” He nods. My cheeks flush, and I’m just about to reply when I feel his hand on my knee. No, not his hand. Just his thumb, moving in soft, slow circles in a way that causes my entire body to vibrate.
Poetic.
