I nod and take another sip of my water, not sure of how to respond to that. Silence falls between us, but it isn’t uncomfortable.
It’sheated.
Our gaze stays connected as I take another drink of my water, then set the glass down. As I lick a droplet from my lips, Gareth’s line of vision falls, watching me before lifting his own glass, scanning the patio as he gulps it down.
If dinner doesn’t come soon, I fear one of us will crack. There are fantasies running through my mind of Gareth putting me in all sorts of positions, finally knocking down all of the walls between us. But I know exactly how to throw cold water over the heat between us.
“Can you believe Dylan’s jet-setting off to another adventure tomorrow? Hopefully the food poisoning doesn’t delay him.”
“Nothing delays him.” Gareth’s voice betrays him, coming out rough and strained.
“True.” I force a laugh, my thoughts still straying to the dirty thoughts of Gareth I can’t ignore. “Thailand’s been his dream since we were kids.”
“Speaking of Dylan, he told me something interesting a few days ago.” The muscle in Gareth’s jaw tics, making my heart quicken.
What the hell could Dylan have said?
“Oh?” I ask tentatively.
The waiter arrives again and sets our plates down in front of us, offering Gareth pepper for his salmon, but he declines.
“He said you went to a Bears game with some friends.”
Shit, shit, shit.
Picking up his fork, he breaks a piece of his fish apart, then takes a bite, chewing it slowly.
My heart races—that feeling of being caught pulsing through me. Attending a baseball game isn’t a crime though—not unless you have a baseball player in your life who’s been asking you to come to one for years, in which case I haven’t just committed a crime, I’ve earned myself a felony charge.
“It was a last minute thing.”Not entirely a lie.“Good game though.”
Good game though? Jesus, I’m a dick.
Cutting into my filet mignon, I savor the bite I take and hope Gareth drops the subject, but I already know he won’t.
“Good game though,” he repeats, voice flat.
I peek up at him, and with a deep sigh, I drop my fork a little too loudly, causing a few of the others on the patio to look in our direction.
“Gareth—”
“How many times have I told you, if you wanted tickets to a game, all you have to do is ask? I could have gotten you and all of your friends seats in the VIP box and—where were you even sitting?”
I snort, remembering Elle’s obstructed view. “In the last row.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Indy! The nosebleeds?”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I argue.
“Jesus,” he hisses, shaking his head. “Promise me next time you’ll tell me when you and your friends want to go to a game. If you won’t sit in the VIP box, then fine, but at least let me get youbetterseats.
I swallow my pride—and my heart—and nod. “Okay. I promise.”
“Good.” He relaxes and takes another big bite of his food.
We slide into safe topics again, and he tells me a story about his friend Austin that makes me fall into a fit of laughter. The conversation flows easily, never falling back into dangerous territory, well past the point of our plates being cleared.
After paying the check, Gareth walks me to my car. I parked a couple of blocks away after struggling to find anything closer. We walk with little distance between us, our arms brushing every couple of steps.
