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I opt to take the stairs up to her apartment, hoping to rid myself of some of this nervous energy, but it’s no use. Knowing that she’s going to be on my arm tonight has me feeling like the luckiest motherfucker on earth.

When I reach her door, I take a deep, calming breath and knock. I’m expecting her to answer, so it throws me when her friend Stacia is who greets me instead. “Come on in. AJ’ll be down in a sec.”

“Tell her no rush, she can take all the secs…” I snap my mouth shut and shake my head at myself. “Fuck. Never mind.”

Stacia laughs and quirks a brow at me. “Got sex on the brain, Mr. Larson?” When I don’t reply, she keeps going. “Are you thinking about fucking Ms. Adams? About sticking your sausage into her love muffin?” Now we’re both laughing. “Planning to play a rousing game of hide the salami? Or do you just want to eat her taco?”

It’s that very minute Abby Jane steps into the room, and we immediately stifle our laughter. “Did someone say tacos?”

At that, Stacia and I lose it all over again. Stacia regains her composure first. “Well. Y’all have a lovely evening. Be safe—use condiments…I mean condoms.”

Abby Jane gives us both a confused look. “What in the hell are you going on about?”

Stacia ushers us toward the door. “Nothing. Not a thing. Ignore me. Have fun! I’ll lock up.”

Abby shakes her head. “Whatever. You ready?”

It’s then that I take in what she’s wearing and my eyes about fall out of my head. I’m used to pearls, not leather, but as I rakemy eyes over her smoking hot body, I swear to God never in my life have I been more thankful that Abby Jane marches to the beat of her own drum, because this outfit…fuuuuuck.

“Why are you staring at me?” she whispers.

“Because you look fucking incredible,” I whisper back, my voice hoarse with need.

A throat clears, reminding me of two things. One, that we’re not alone, and two, that we’re loitering in Abby Jane’s doorway.

I clasp Abs’ hand in mine and tug her out into the hallway. “So, are we getting tacos?” Her voice is so hopeful, and I can’t help but wonder what she’d think if she knew what we were really talking about.

“Uh. No. Not tonight. Maybe next time?”

“Already planning our next date, Jockstrap? Aren’t you confident!”

“You think I’m letting you go after finally getting you? Hell no.”

I easemy truck to a stop in the little back lot behind Vinny’s and watch as Abby Jane’s eyes light up. As kids, our parents always ordered takeout from here, and it’s a Cottonwood staple through and through. “Really?” she asks, not bothering to hide her excitement.

“Yes, ma’am. Figured there’s no better place for our first date.”

“I bet you take all the girls here.” She says the words as a joke, but I still feel the need to set her straight.

“Nope. Never brought a girl here. In groups, sure. On a date? Never.”

“R-really? Why?”

I shrug, trying to downplay my reason, because really, it’s sort of dumb. “I don’t know. This was always kind ofourthing, Abs.”

My answer must please her, because she presses her pretty pink lips to mine before turning and hopping down from my truck—which is no easy feat with how high it’s lifted.

We meet at the back bumper and I loop my pinky finger around hers, guiding us around the building and toward the entrance. I pull the worn, red-and-glass paneled door open, allowing Abby Jane to enter first. The hostess stand has a sign posted asking patrons to seat themselves, so with my hand pressed to the small of her back, we search out a table.

We settle on a rectangular two-seater near the door. After making sure Abby Jane’s seated, I lower myself into the seat across from her. “You know, I’ve always loved the lighting in here,” she says, referencing the cheese grater and wine bottle chandeliers. “As a kid, I was determined to have one like it in my kitchen.”

“Hmm. I don’t seem to recall any funky lighting in your apartment.”

She laughs, and it warms me from the inside out. “Yeah, I grew out of it. But I still love to see it in here.”

Right then, our server steps up to the table. “Hey, y’all! Welcome to Vinny’s. Our special pies are on the chalkboard. Y’all need a minute?”

I glance to Abby Jane and decide to take a chance. “Nope, we’re ready to order. We’ll both take draft root beers in frosted mugs, and we’ll split a fourteen-inch pie, extra cheese, with pepperoni on all of it and black olives and green peppers on half.”