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“Come on, Red. Let’s pick out what we want for dinner.” He shifted his gaze to Keenan then back to me. “Whatever you want, remember?”

Once we sent the waitress away with our order, I took a sip of wine and pushed away from the table. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.” I managed to slither away from the cocoon of Greyson’s warmth and walked to the back of the restaurant with a purpose. My phone was out before I reached the corridor, my finger tapping the white flame icon to open the app I needed. With my head buried in my screen, I walked at a snail’s pace, unmatching him before opening my contact list to block him.

When I looked up, I was at the end of the hall, past the women’s restroom with my face inches away from a framed abstract painting.

I allowed myself a minute to get lost in the paint strokes before spinning on my heel.

“Careful, Red,” a smooth voice warned when I collided with a solid wall of muscle.

Greyson.

Thanks to the extra inches my heels provided, we stood eye to eye tonight. Greyson was taller than both me and Noah, and I usually felt every one of those inches when I was in his presence. He was overpowering enough without that advantage.

“Go back to the table,” I snapped, trying to walk around him.

But he blocked my exit easily and grasped my chin, prompting me to look at him.

“Greyson,” I pleaded. “Go back to our table.”

“Not without you,” he answered, so softly the only reason I could hear it was because the music piping through the rest of the restaurant wasn’t playing in this part of the hall.

Seconds passed of our eyes being locked and the same hypnotizing sensation from the bar hit me again. I was rooted in place, unable to speak or move. My only option was blinking and every time I did that, Greyson came into focus with more spellbinding clarity.

“You’re always beautiful, True. But in this dress?” he asked, shaking his head. “I’ll take you on a million dates and buy you a million dresses. Just promise me you won’t entertain another clown like this.”

I couldn’t even object. The longer I looked at my date’s suit, the more he reminded me of Beetlejuice. And the more he reminded me of Beetlejuice, the more wine I felt like guzzling.

“You’re being possessive,” I told him.

“You like it,” he volleyed back. Calmly.Correctly.

Licking my lips, I prolonged our staring contest instead of admitting he could take me on however many dates he wanted at whatever time he pleased.

Then I fucked up and looked at his lips.

Lickable.

Suckable.

Kissable.

A funny feeling took root in the pit of my stomach and I swayed on my feet. Greyson’s free hand caught me easily, holding me against him.

His heartbeat vibrated through my body, powering my bad decisions. Because one second I was looking at him and the next second my eyes were closed and my lips were pressed firmly against his.

I was kissing Greyson.

In a dark hallway.

While my date waited at the table for us.

And I couldn’t stop myself. Because the second I initiated the kiss, Greyson took over, deepening my curious peck and claiming my mouth like it was his to own.

I moaned against his exploration, a million heady sensations overwhelming me at once.

He tasted like whiskey. And mint. And I couldn’t get enough of it. Couldn’t get enough of him.

He tightened his possessive grip around my waist, holding me even tighter against him.