Page 32 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

Gage

K ori snorts and chokes on a bite of food as she tries to contain the abrupt fit of laughter. Nothing I said was anywhere near funny enough to get that sort of response, but her joy makes my gut twist and bubble in an unfamiliar way that isn’t actually uncomfortable.

I like that I make her laugh. I love how she does it with her whole heart, snorting and choking included.

She is joy personified.

I’ve never been so enamored with anyone in my whole life.

It’s got me tongue-tied and acting like an awkward idiot; thank whatever god is listening that she seems to find it all amusing.

After the rocky start to our evening, I thought for sure she was going to end things and ask me to take her home, but she surprised me by being blunt about what she wanted.

I would be a liar if I said it didn’t make me like her even more. I’m too damn old for games.

Everything seemed to fall into place after the awkward small-talk bit. She’s kept the conversation flowing with insane questions between bites of food. Things like “if you were a potato product, what would you be” and “if you had to choose, would you go to pirate school or knight school.”

I cleared my plate a while ago, but she’s been too caught up in her questions to remember to eat.

I’m not about to complain. The longer she takes, the more time I get to have her by my side.

It’s not like the restaurant is busy or they need this table.

I’ll stay here until this place closes if it’s what she wants.

Having her next to me, touching her, feeling her lean closer into me as she laughs—well, that’s been the highlight of my week. Hell, maybe my year.

“I think I’m done,” she says and places her utensils on her half-filled plate.

“You sure? Do you want a box to take that home with you?”

“I’m good. I don’t actually have a way to reheat it.”

The amount of food left on her plate makes my skin itch with the sense of wrong , but I tune out the voice in my head screaming at me about the waste.

I drape my arm back over her shoulders with a grunt of acknowledgment.

Our waiter doesn’t take more than a few moments to notice the change and make their way to our table.

“How was everything?”

“Really good,” Kori answers before I can, so I nod along in agreement.

“Are you ready for your check?”

“Yes,” I tell them.

“Perfect. I’ll be right back with that.”

“You don’t have to pay for me,” Kori says with a huff.

“I know. I want to. I asked you out, I’m paying. Simple as that.” Pulling her into my side, I plant a kiss on her temple. “Plus, I’ve got to take care of my girl.”

At those words, she melts into me with a dopey smile on her face. It takes all my restraint not to bend down and taste that smile for myself.

The waiter comes back, and I give him my credit card without looking at the bill.

I know it won’t be crazy expensive, but I don’t want to ruin this moment by thinking about money.

I was prepared to spend triple this to spoil her like she deserves.

And it’s not like I hadn’t already done the math in my head while we ordered.

Two entrées, two soft drinks, and an appetizer.

I’ve spent enough time serving that I added tip and tax on too.

I can afford it—I can afford more—but dread flares in my gut as I take the folio from the waiter anyway.

With a small grimace, I sign the receipt and climb out of the booth.

Kori crawls out behind me in the most awkward, uncoordinated way she could have managed.

I don’t know why she thought that was easier than sliding, but she never moves in the ways I expect.

Training for as long as I have has given me a good idea of how a body should move, and that isn’t it.

Once she finds her footing, I offer her my hand and don’t let go, pulling her close so I can wrap my arm around her waist instead.

“I don’t want tonight to be over,” she says with a sigh as we walk out into the humid night.

“We can go back to my place,” I suggest and instantly regret it as she tenses in my arm.

“I don’t mean for sex,” I blurt out, which only causes her to stumble over her feet. “I just meant I didn’t want this to be over either. We can go walk around campus instead.”

“No, your place sounds nice,” she says as her eyes drop to the cracked asphalt.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

On the drive back, my hand rests on that spot on her thigh—right below the hem of her bright-yellow skirt—and I rub the skin there while she continues to ramble on with whatever random thoughts pop into her head.

She doesn’t ask a lot of questions, which is a relief because I don’t think I could focus on the road while giving her the full attention she deserves.

Having her next to me is distracting enough.

There’s no game plan for when we arrive.

I wasn’t lying when I told her I haven’t been on a date in a while, and I certainly haven’t brought a woman back to my place—it’s been years since I’ve had any desire to be with a woman at all.

Yellow is an anomaly in every sense of the word, and I couldn’t begin to explain why.

As we pull up, I expect her to stiffen or at least show some hesitancy, but she smiles at me as I put the car in park.

Before I can get her door for her, she is out of the car and climbing the stairs, giving me a perfect view of her thick thighs and the round cheeks of her ass peeking out from under her skirt.

A growl builds in my chest as I scramble out of the car after her.

No one else is around, which is good, because that view belongs to me now.

I bound up the stairs behind her, crowding her, but leaving space between that ass and my growing erection.

I don’t want to scare her; I meant it when I told her this wasn’t about sex, and I have no plans to go back on that.

That doesn’t change how every single one of my nerve endings is in tune with her every movement.

She was made at a frequency my body can’t ignore.

I can only imagine what it will be like when she is finally ready to touch me.

There’s no doubt in my mind it won’t be as perfect as the rest of her.

I’ll probably make a fool out of myself—I’m out of practice, and my stamina isn’t what it used to be—but I’ll make sure it’s good for her.

Her sweet, fruity scent floods my senses as I reach around her to unlock the door.

It takes every ounce of willpower not to spin her and kiss her senseless against the peeling wood.

My apartment is dark, like always, but for the first time in a long time, I don’t dread stepping inside.

How could I when I brought my own bit of sunshine home with me?

She waits near the doorway while I move through the darkness to turn on the overhead light.

The sudden bright flash is jarring, and we both flinch.

Most nights, I don’t even bother with it; the bulb under the microwave is enough for me to move around without knocking into things.

I wish I would have turned that on instead.

Under the orange-tinted glow from the ceiling fan, my apartment feels dingy and small.

It is dingy and small, but the lighting doesn’t help.

“Do you want a water or coffee?” I ask as uncertainty floods me.

“I’m good,” she says, wandering over to the shelves of pictures near the TV.

My fingers twitch with the urge to stop her.

I don’t like people inspecting my stuff and invading my privacy.

Every moment that has ever felt important is memorialized in those cheap particle board bookcases: my family, my friends, remnants of a dream that never got to be.

I’m a sentimental fool. The only reason I let her explore is Morgan said I needed to do the whole emotional vulnerability thing, and this is a good start.

It might be easier for me to tell her about myself and my past if she has specific questions.

Maybe this will be more successful than the whole fancy date advice I got from Nathan, because that was a load of shit.

I give her a few minutes to take it all in and head to the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water. I’m not thirsty, but it’s something to do besides stare at her like a creep. When I come back to the living room, she’s still poring over the shelves.

“Find anything interesting?” I ask as I step up behind her to look over her shoulder.

“Is this your mom?” She points at a photo of Ma, my brother, and me in front of a Christmas tree in her apartment.

“Yeah, and my brother Layne.”

“Does she live close?”

“Nah. They’re both back in Boston, but I make a point to visit a few times a year to see them.”

Ma would wring my neck otherwise. She hated when I left, even if she understood why I needed to do it. The least I can do is make sure I stop by for the major holidays.

“That’s really sweet,” she says.

“Layne and I are all she has. My dad passed away when I was in high school.”

Kori gasps and reaches behind her to grab my forearm.

“I had no idea. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to dig up old wounds.”

“It was years ago, and I’d rather talk about him than pretend he never existed.

He had cancer, but it all happened so quickly.

One day he was complaining about a pain in his chest, and a few months later, he was gone.

Ma took it hard, understandably. They were high school sweethearts, and he was her whole world.

She didn’t even have time to grieve properly—not with two kids to support and a job that would’ve fired her at the drop of a hat for missing her shifts.

I think she should have let them fire her.

It’s not like it was enough anyway. Money got tight, so I dropped out and got a job washing dishes that paid under the table and didn’t mind breaking a few labor laws. ”

“Gage…” she starts, but I don’t want her sympathy.