Page 71

Too much. Too far.

“Why do you care?” I scold, not meaning it at all, but this is way too close for comfort now.

“Don’t push me away. Don’t shut me out. You know I care.” He squeezes our hands tighter.

I say nothing but drop my head, my long hair coming to my rescue again.

“When, Kate?” he repeats softly.

“I don’t know, okay? I can’t remember.”

Desperate to get away and hide emotions I’m still not ready to share, I push back my chair and pull my hand away, grabbing my purse from the table. “I need to use the bathroom. Order me whatever you’re having. Just not?—”

“Meat, vegetable stir fry, or another elderflower spritz,” he finishes for me. I can tell he’s disappointed I won’t open up further, but I also see the understanding look in his eyes. He knows he’s taken me as far as I can go for now.

“Yeah,” I smile. “Just not those.”

“I had an amazing night. Thank you,”I say, walking back to the valet to collect Jensen’s car. I truly did. When I returned to thetable, having fixed my blush and taken a few deep breaths, it was like he knew we needed to switch gears. So, instead of talking about my parents, he told me all about his route to the NHL. Turns out, while I was studying hard for Yale, he was spending every waking hour on the ice which, for once, doesn’t leave me surprised but does turn me on. This man’s commitment and loyalty to what he loves is…yeah, wow.

Making our way outside, he grabs my hand and pulls me into him, his familiar cologne overtaking my senses. In my heels, I’m closer to his height, but he tips my chin up so I look straight into his eyes. “I’ve heard that on their birthdays, Princesses should be kissed.”

I roll my eyes; butterflies areabsolutelynot present right now. “Insufferable. But okay, if it’s on the cheek.”

He nods lightly and smiles. “That’s open to interpretation.”

And now I’m thinking about him touching my ass.“You know what I mean.”

He brings his hand to my stomach and smooths his palm over the red fabric. “I’ll never stop asking, you know that, right?” Leaning down, he kisses me lightly on the cheek, memories of the night at Riley’s and then in Oxford flashing through my mind like a slideshow.

Another flash, but this time not in my mind.

Flash again.

“Hey!” Jensen shouts, striding over to the guy who just took our picture. “What are you doing?”

“Jensen Jones, right?” The man holds out his hand for Jensen to shake, but he doesn’t.

“Why are you taking a picture of me and my…my friend.”

“Dude, she isnotyour friend,” the man taking photos counters.

“Why are you taking a picture?” Jensen grits out once more.

He shrugs an entitled shrug. “You know how it is. You see someone famous; you take a picture and post it.”

“No. I don’t, actually. It’s an invasion of our privacy. Delete it, please.” Jensen tags on the please, trying to remain professional, but I can tell he’s seething.

“You’re mauling your girl in the middle of a restaurant parking lot. I’d say that’s not private.”

“Please just delete it.”

“Jesus, fine. Chill out.” The guy takes his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a couple of times, showing the evidence. “Done.”

Jensen nods. “Got a pen?”

“Huh?” the man responds.

I reach into my bag and fetch one out. I go nowhere without a pen. “Here you go.”