Page 67 of Oathbreaker

For sitting with Colt late into the night, for talking about TV shows and old memories and then…falling asleep pressed against him.

It felt so right, reclined on the loveseat, the world quiet and dark around us.

Not fighting. Just talking. Just us being Colt and Briar again.

If I’m being completely truthful, it was like coming home.

Finally feeling like myself again after all these years.

Meanwhile, I’d just come from a date with the man sitting across from me, the man who’s been patient and kind and sweet and not at all an asshole about my baby daddy returned from the dead who’s living in my house.

God, West really deserves so much better.

“Thank you for cooking,” I say softly.

He studies me with eyes that see far too much. “It’s not a problem, sweetheart.”

See? He’s so damned nice.

“Right,” I whisper, focusing back on the plate of homemade pasta.

Yup.

Homemade pasta.

And garlic bread.

That’s not homemade—the bread at least. The garlic deliciousness he spread on top of it before putting it in the broiler to get all golden-brown and crispy and yummy is, though.

And he made his own Caesar dressing too.

Something that’s also delicious.

He’s clearly putting in the effort.

Showing me this time with me means something to him.

The worst part is that it means something to me too.

Which is why this is so freaking hard.

I scoop up a forkful of pasta, but I don’t lift it to my mouth—or I can’t because I feel like I might throw up.

Clink.

My eyes fly up and I see West has dropped his fork to his plate.

Before I can ask him what’s wrong, he pushes his chair back, rounds the table, and takes my hand, drawing me up from my seat.

“Wh—?”

But he doesn’t speak, just drops his head and kisses me.

It’s a great kiss—his lips are firm, his tongue is sure as it darts into my mouth, his arms are strong, his body flush against mine…

And yet, it’s so totally wrong.

He pulls back the moment those words drift through my head.