Page 129 of My Favorite Hero

“The lipstick won,” he murmured. “I’ll have to keep trying.”

I had no objections to his plan.

“Your eyes are incredible,” he told me. “You are sensational, Casey. You take my breath away.”

“Thank you.”

“If we didn’t have tickets and a dinner reservation, I’d take you upstairs…” He blew out a breath. “Never mind. We do have tickets and a reservation after.”

“Rain check,” I offered.

He leaned down and kissed me. “Dessert.”

I was good with that.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

CASEY

The show was incredible, and after, we went to a great Italian place walking distance from the theater. Jesse looked a little tired, but when I suggested we grab something and head home, he refused. “I planned this, Pix. We’re having dinner, then going home, and I’m having you.”

They sat us in a curved booth, and we slid in, Jesse beside me, his firm thigh pressed against mine. The booth was secluded and romantic.

“Maybe you should let me do the work tonight,” I said with a wink as I rubbed his leg, sliding my hand up to give his cock a squeeze. I wasn’t surprised to feel it half hard. He often was when we were together. I took it as a compliment.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. “You’re killing me.”

I grinned, and we looked over the menu, deciding to split a house salad and one of the delicious-looking pastas that went past us, the plates piled high. Jesse ordered a neat scotch, and I chose water.

After the waiter left, Jesse studied me. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course,” I replied, dipping the fragrant bread in the olive oil and balsamic vinegar they’d mixed with some spicy seasoning. I shut my eyes as I chewed and swallowed. I leaned forward, offering him the bread. “You have to try this.”

He took it and chewed, nodding in appreciation.

“You rarely ever order a drink. I’ve seen you have some wine, but not often. I know a couple of spritzers do you in, so you never drink much. Is that because of your father?”

I shrugged. “Partly. My mom never touched the stuff. We moved around so much, I didn’t hang with friends or do the usual teenage stuff like sneaking liquor from my parents’ cabinet. I never developed a taste for it. If I have a drink, I prefer to make it myself, or I order extra mix to dilute it. And I tend to choose sweet things. I enjoy those canned mixed drinks because they’re so sugary. And I love a margarita. A virgin one. If I order one in a restaurant, I ask for half the tequila.”

“Does it bother you if I have a drink?”

“Not at all. It wasn’t the liquor’s fault my dad was an alcoholic. I don’t have flashbacks from the scent of it. I just don’t drink a lot.”

“Got it.”

The salad came, and we shared it, along with more bread. We chatted about the show and the incredible true story behind it.

“They helped so many people,” Jesse mused. “And asked for nothing. They were shocked when people wanted to give back to them.”

“You do the same thing.”

He scoffed. “On a very minute scale.”

“I think you’re a hero. Every day.”

“Yeah?” he grinned.

“My favorite hero.”