Page 65 of The Right Garza

I don’t have a comeback, because the conviction in that promise is palpable. If I believe nothing else he’s ever said, I believe this.

Our drinks arrive.

Then our appetizers.

Later, our main course.

There are live solo performances from soft, soothing piano melodies to chill saxophone solos.

After our dishes from the main course are cleared, the comedian takes the stage. Since I’ve never heard of him before, I settle in with low expectations.

But I shouldn’t have underestimated him. He has me in stitches within the first five minutes, and we aren’t even aloud to laugh above low snickers. He, unbelievably quietly, leads the audience through forty-five minutes of stifled hilarity.

Trent’s lips twitched once or twice, but that’s about it. By the end of the show, I’ve somehow ended up pressed tightly to his side in the booth, his arm around me in a manner of claim and possession. And the reality of it all almost leaves me pulseless. I’m on adatewith Trenton Garza.

A date.

It all feels so insane. Unreal.

As the audience softly applauds the comedian, I ask, “Who thought it was a good idea to have stand-up at a speakeasy with rules?”

He smiles down at me. “Yet you’ve clearly enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t laugh as hard as I wanted to,” I say. “Laughter should never, ever be stifled.”

“Hmm.” He sweeps his thumb across the tip of my nose. “You want dessert?”

With a shake of my head, I press my hand to my stomach. “I’ve already eaten too much.”And sex on a full stomach is never fun.

He signals for the check.

“Thank you for bringing me here tonight.” I rest a hand on his thigh and begin drifting it upward. “It’s…different.”

He grabs my hand just before it reaches his crotch. “Unless you wanna get fucked in a bathroom stall,stop,” he growls low. “I don’t have the kinda control you think I do.”

“Liar,” I hiss back. “You wanted to fuck me last week. I felt it. You held back.”

“I—”

“Here you go, sir.” The waiter interrupts us with the check and Trent slides in his credit card and picks up the complimentary mints, handing me one.

With a narrowed glare, I take it from him, unwrap it and pop it in my mouth. I swear to God if he doesn’t give me what I want tonight I’m going to remind him why he nicknamed me Hellcat.

“Stop pouting,” he chides. So smug. So amused. “It only makes me want you more.”

In that case, I pout harder, and he breaks into a chuckle.

And oh, what a magnificent sight it is when he laughs.

We stay for one last performance before we leave. It’s the nicest, most elegant date I’ve ever been on—not that I’ve been on many—and I can’t believe how much I enjoy being with Trent inthisway. Usually when I was around him, I’d watch with one eye to see what kind of asshole shit he was going to do to me.

But this…being with him not as “the boy I grew up with,” but as amanwho I’m wholly attracted to in every sense of the word…it’s so different. So new.More preferable.

“So, back to Pasadena…” he drawls as we’re driving off the property.

I flip the visor down and check my make-up in the mirror. “Do you like your balls, Trent?”

“Very much, Hellcat,” he replies, amusement in his voice.