Page 7

"You’re going to keep me on my fucking toes." I pull up and hand my keys to the valet.

I help Mia out of the car and lead her into the darkened restaurant. The place is exactly what I wanted for our first date. Low lighting, starched tablecloths, the smell of garlic and old money.

The hostess leads Mia and me to a booth at the back. I slide in across from her while the host babbles about house specialties. I don’t hear a damn word. I’m too busy staring concentrating on the way my girl is looking back at me.

The waitress appears out of nowhere and asks what we want to drink.

Mia gives her a lazy smile. “House Cabernet. The biggest glass you’ve got.” Then she glances over at me and winks.

Christ, that goes straight to my dick. So fucking sassy. “Whiskey, neat,” I say. “Two pours.”

“Yes, sir.” The waitress sweeps away and it’s just us again.

Mia’s lips twist like she’s fighting a smile.

“You going hard on the whiskey tonight?” she asks, tilting her head. Those blue eyes rake over me like she’s not even pretending to behave.

“Liquid courage,” I tell her. I don’t blink. Don’t even try to dial it down. “Figured I’d need something to help calm my nerves.”

She snorts, shaking her head, and the curls framing her face bounce. All I want to do is fuck up that pretty hair by fisting my hands in it while I have her screaming my name.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of little ole’ me, McLinden.”

“Terrified.” Fuck if that isn’t the truth. This girl holds the key to my future happiness in the palm of her hand.

The waitress returns with our drinks. She sets the glass down in front of Mia, and holy hell. The glass is enormous. There’s no way she’ll finish that.

Mia picks it up and takes a slow, confident sip, eyes locked on me across the flickering candle. I'm dying to lick that Cabernet off her lips.

The waitress rattles off the specials in a blur, but I don’t catch a damn word because Mia’s tongue swirls behind that glass and my cock is throwing a house party under the table.

I grip the edge of the table, focusing on my breathing like I’m killing a penalty and the game’s on my shoulders. Jesus Christ. She just sits there, sipping wine, fucking with my focus.

We order and I have no clue what I tell the waitress. All that matters is Mia. Once our food comes, she digs in and I watch the way she tilts her head when something’s good, the small noises she tries to hide. I take it in, every fucking detail, burning it into my memory. Goddamn. She’s already got me wrapped around her little finger.

Whenever she smiles, I feel it in places I didn’t know could ache. I slow it down. Don’t crowd her.

She quirks her lips and lets the silence stretch, her finger tracing the rim of her wineglass like she’s buying time. I wait. My chest is tight with wanting, but I don’t rush her. If she wants to talk, I’ll listen all goddamn night.

I take a drink of my whiskey, “Tell me about your family.”

She hesitates, and it’s like she’s weighing a thousand possible answers all at once. “No siblings,” she says, with a shrug. “Only child. My parents were older when they had me. They’re both retired now, living the dream out in Walla Walla.”

I lean in, elbows on the table. “You close with them?”

“They’re fine,” she says. “Kind of formal, to be honest. The house was always neat, quiet. My dad’s a former engineer, my mom was a nurse. I was the weird, loud kid who always wanted more noise.”

Shit. I know that feeling. The hunger for chaos, for warmth.

“You ever wish you’d had siblings?” I ask, my voice low. She tilts her head, eyes catching on mine, and there’s a flicker. The one that says she’s about to say something that matters, even if she’d rather eat glass.

“All the time,” she says, finally. Her fingers do a lazy loop around the stem of her wineglass. “I’d watch my friends bicker with their sisters or get in fistfights with their brothers, and I’d get weirdly jealous. Like, wow, imagine having someone who’s contractually obligated to annoy you for life.”

She shrugs, but her shoulders roll higher than necessary. “My parents loved me, don’t get me wrong. But they’re very structured. I was sort of the chaos agent. I think they’re still recovering from the time I microwaved a tin can just to see what would happen.”

I just grin. “So you’re saying you were born to cause trouble.”

“Obviously.” She tips her glass in a fake toast. “But, you know, solo chaos gets old. Eventually you want someone on your side. Someone to, I don’t know, pull you out of the inevitable fires you start.”