“I like hearing that.”
“Are first dates supposed to feel like your heart is in your hands?”
He chuckles. “Whenever I’m with you, mine does backflips.”
Mine, too.
“Maybe we should lay out some ground rules. Figure out some boundaries,” he says.
“Boundaries?” I repeat.
“Yeah, Bookworm, boundaries. For instance, is it okay if I hold your hand?”
“Yes.”
He reaches for my hand, and I offer it without hesitating. His calloused skin presses against mine, and it takes everything to remind myself to breathe. His fingers weave with mine, his grip tight and deliberate.
“And what about this?”
He takes our interlocked hands and brings them to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on the inside of my wrist. Goosebumps erupt up my arm, fire licking at my flesh.
“Is that okay too, Erin?”
“Mhmm,” I hum, avoiding his eyes.
“And how about this?”
He unlinks our hands, sliding his to my thigh as he rubs slow circles, his thumb brushing higher, testing and testing. Desire shoots through me, the throb in my core maddening and consuming. It’s a delicious high I want more of.
I’m aching for him.
“You okay, Bookworm?” His voice is gravelly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“I think you should keep both hands on the wheel,” I squeak, and he pulls his hand back.
“That’s my girl.”
Confusion pulls my brows into a pinch.
“Boundaries, Erin. I want to know your boundaries. If something’s not okay, I want you to tell me. Ineedyou to tell me. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“And if somethingisokay, I’d like to know that, too.”
“I-I liked it when you held my hand.” He doesn’t reach out to grab it. He waits for me to make a choice. His encouraging words echo in my head.
Come on, sweetheart. You can do it.
I reach out for him, and he holds his hand up, letting me lace our fingers together. His thumb moves over my skin as our hands rest in my lap, and it’s like he’s smoothing out my anxious nerves. I take another breath and allow myself to enjoy the way his hand molds with mine.
The lossof her hand leaves a hollow space when I pull away to park at Tuck’s Taco Truck. However, when we climb back into the truck with the tacos and head for my place, she reaches for it again, and pride shoots through me.
I take the drive home slow, so I can hold her hand in mine a little longer—until my driveway comes into view and I have no excuse left.
Once we stop, I open the door for her, silently praying the night moves just as slowly as the drive as she steps out and walks ahead of me.
She pauses in the doorway, breath catching the second her foot crosses the threshold into my place. There’s a tiny shift in the air. This is the first time she’s here as my date. It creates this whole new vibe that I’m not sure I expected.
