Am I screwed?
I hope not.
ChapterTwelve
Devon
Candles? Check.
Momma’s Sunday roast? Check.
Suit and tie? Check.
Okay, so maybe it’s a bit much, but convincing Harley to date me properly will be a challenge and I need to prove to her that I’m capable of more than she thinks. I can be the guy she needs. Strangely enough, I enjoy preparing for it. You’d think spending a couple of hours in the kitchen and stuffing myself into a suit would be hell, but I’m having fun. It feels right to do something special for her, and I can’t wait to see how she reacts. She isn’t like anyone I’ve ever known, and I have no idea how my dinner is going to go down with her.
Perhaps my excitement is for that very reason. I’m an adrenaline junkie. I’m not ashamed to admit it, and taking this chance has the familiar hot buzz of adrenaline shooting through my veins. It’s been an hour since I invited her over, and she should be getting here any minute. I light the candles in the center of the dining table, which I’ve covered with a white cloth, and pour two glasses of sparkling water, which she can always swap for flat if she prefers.
A knock at the door grabs my attention and I set down the bottle and take my time walking over, not wanting to give away how eager I am. While I want to show her I’m serious, I don’t want to come on too strong and scare her off.
“Hello.” I pull the door open and greet her with a smile. “Come in, beautiful.”
“Hi.” Her eyes skate down my chest, all the way to my shoes, and back up. Her brow furrows. “What’s the occasion?”
I answer a question with a question. “Who says there has to be one?”
She purses her lips and I can see her wondering what I’m up to, but then she squares her shoulders and enters. One hurdle down. She trusts me enough to come through the door.
She stops short when she sees the table. “What’s going on?”
“Dinner,” I reply, closing the door behind her. “I made roast. One of my specialties.”
She hesitates, then glances down at herself. I do the same. She’s wearing jeans and a tank top. Low key. Casual. But she blows my mind.
“Is this a date?” she asks. “Because I’m not dressed for it.”
“It’s just dinner. There’s no one else here, so who cares how you’re dressed? I wore a suit ’cause I thought you might like it on me.” I shrug. “Some women dig suits, and I need whatever advantage I can get.”
She cocks her head. “Why is that?”
“Because the power dynamic in our relationship is unbalanced and I’m trying to even it out.”
“Wait.” She blinks rapidly. “You think I have more power than you?”
“Uh, yeah.” Seems obvious enough to me. I’ve fought for every inch of progress we’ve made. “I want to date you, but you’re not sure what you want. That means the decision is in your hands, and you have the power.”
“Huh.” She tugs on a loose strand of hair, which is damp and curling against the side of her neck. Even from here, I can smell her shampoo, fresh and fruity. “I guess it all depends on your perspective.”
I gesture at the table. “Why don’t you sit and tell me yours.”
She eases into the seat, watching me warily, then picks up her glass and sniffs.
“No alcohol, no sugar,” I assure her.
She drinks, then pulls a face. “Ugh, what is this?”
Covering my mouth, I try not to laugh. Her expression is totally disgusted. She sticks her tongue out. My shoulders start to shake as I lose the battle.
“Seriously?” she demands, with a hint of a grin. “What did you do to that poor water?”
