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Her eyes search mine for a moment, then a light laugh bubbles up from her chest. “Marcus, Carter is like my brother. Don’t get me wrong, I was fucking furious with him the next day for getting so wasted, but no, we’ve never been together. Not even close.”
I nod, relief spreading through me as I watch her twirl her wine glass by the stem, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “He doesn’t often lose control like that. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was crushing on Harrison, and that was the night that Harrison and Becky got together, so he was a bit of a mess. He didn’t tell me about that until later, after him and Harrison had got together.”
I laugh, looking back now on it, realising how different it had looked back then to what the reality was.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I wanted to ask, but it never seemed appropriate.”
“So instead you just… kept your distance?” There’s something in her voice – hurt, or perhaps simple curiosity – that makes me reach across the table and take her hand, my fingers curling firmly around hers.
“Kept my distance,” I laugh. “Is that what you call buying your coffee every Friday and finding every excuse I could to drop by your desk?”
A pink flush creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks as her eyes drop to our intertwined hands.
I’ve wasted two years wanting her, telling myself I couldn’t have her for every damn reason in the book. Tonight, I’m done wasting any more time.
The waitress comes over and picks up our nearly empty plates. “Would you like to see the dessert menu?” she asks.
Our eyes meet, a fire in her expression that matches my thoughts exactly.
There’s only one dessert I want, and I’m looking right at it.
“No, I’m okay, thank you,” she says, holding my gaze.
Thank fucking God.
“No, thank you. Just the bill, please.”
***
A few minutes later, we’re back in my car, waiting for the engine to warm. I rub my hands together, breathing visible puffs of steam that make Lila laugh. That sound – light and carefree – cuts straight through the chill and lands square in my chest.
I glance over. She’s looking at me like she knows exactly what she’s doing, her legs angled toward me in the seat, the hem of her dress pulled back just high enough to make it hard to focus. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
I want to kiss her, to devour her right here in the car – but I force myself to breathe.
“Where to now?” she asks, her voice playful and daring.
I wet my bottom lip, watching the way her eyes catch mine.
“How about a drink?” My voice shakes ever so slightly. God knows I’ve never struggled with this sort of thing. Except when it comes to her.
She nods and I start the engine, my S5 purring to life as I pull out of the car park.
“There’s a little jazz bar not far from me,” I say casually, not mentioning I’ve already booked a table.
“Sounds perfect,” she replies.
We drive in a charged silence, every glance from her sending a shiver down my spine. I try to focus on the road, but my mind is consumed by her lips, her tongue, her legs…
Ten minutes later, I pull into my driveway.
“This is me,” I say as I step out and walk around the car to open the passenger door for her, holding out my hand. She takes it without hesitation.
“It’s nice,” she says, eyeing the house with a smile.
“It does the job. Quiet street, close to work. Ideal for me really.”
She gives a tiny nod, looking up at me expectantly.