Maybe he could be exciting. Maybe not like my stalker, but still—he’s not exactly nice.
I turn to look up at him.
“Or I can bring you some to-go containers. Might be better than stuffing crab cakes in your purse.” He trails his fingers on the back of my neck.
I jump at the sensation.
There’s almost something familiar about how those fingers tighten on the nape of my neck. It’s brief, then I’m forgetting the sensation in the haze of wine and expensive food and the smell of his cologne.
I turn, practically in his arms.
Fitz looks down at me, gray eyes warm. “Did this meet your standards for our second date?” he murmurs.
“What?” I squawk. “It’s not a date.”
“This skybox isn’t cheap, Winnie.”
“We didn’t even have a first date.”
“The elaborate dinner at your lovely home? Though that was a little forward, having me meet the parents on the first date. Though I do appreciate the one hundred percent commitment to us as a long-term couple.”
“No, no, it’s not a date—you’re doing me a favor as a friend.”
“So you friendzoned me,” he says with mock indignation.
“No, you friendzonedme.”
“Prove it. Touch my junk.”
“I’m not touching your junk.” I smack his chest. My hand lingers.
He takes it in his larger one.
His other arm still cupping the back of my neck, he leans in to kiss me.
His mouth is soft but unyielding.
Drunkenly, I try to kiss back.
His tongue tangles with mine, the hand on my neck pulling my head back so he can kiss me deeper until I feel like I’m drowning in him.
I’m panting when he breaks the kiss.
This should be what I want. What every girl wants.
The billionaire to love her.
So why can I not stop thinking of the degenerate who fucked me in the alley?
28
FITZ
“You did not have to take us back, honestly,” April says again.
“You’re such a sweetheart.” Knox’s mother gives a braying laugh, practically half in my lap.
“Well, Knox is supposed to go to a team meeting, so it’s sort of my fault he can’t escort you himself.” I’ve got my bland-but-friendly billionaire persona on.
