Page 59

“Well, I’d have Topo Chico. In the glass bottles, too.” A laugh slipped out when Dalton wrinkled his nose.

“Spicy water. Got it. What else?”

“Sugar-free Red Bull,” I said, my voice barely a whisper as his fingers crept higher, the edge of his thumb grazing just under the hem of my shorts, sending shock waves to my core. It was majorly distracting, and my lids fluttered closed, trying to regain some control.

“What size?”

“Um. I like the eight-ounce ones.” Why did I sound so breathy?

“Anything else?” His voice was soft but a bit husky. The chill from the marble almost burned against my palms as I braced myself there, willing my hands not to touch him.

My lids opened again, only to find his green eyes glued to my chest. I was acutely aware that my nipples were now pebbled beneath my white tank top.

“Why are you asking?” My question sounded straight pornographic since it was more of a moan.

He dragged his eyes back to mine, a lazy smile on his lips as he dipped a finger under the frayed fabric. Somehow, I was both relaxed and completely worked up at the same time.

“I want to know everything about you.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “The big, the small. I want to know all of it.”

I froze, caught off guard by the sincerity of his words. It had been a long time since anyone had cared to know me. To ask me about my life and what I wanted. With that one sentence, he’d sent another battering ram to my carefully constructed fortress, and I scrambled to take cover.

Scrambled to get away.

“What would you stock the fridge with?” I asked, needing a distraction to give myself a second to process how he was looking at me—like I was the most important thing in the room.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We’re talking about you,” he said, grunting when I hit his shoulder.

That was something else I’d noticed about him.

Yes, he was caring and considerate, but at times, I got the impression that it was at his expense. That he would downplay his own wants and needs for the benefit of someone else. And sure, there were times when that might be considered romantic or kind, but only if the people you extended that courtesy to reciprocate it.

Did Dalton have anyone putting his desires first?

Did he get a say in how things went in his life?

The thought left a hollow feeling in my chest and, maybe, a tinge of guilt. Dalton had been sweet, caring, and thoughtful since the start. Hell, I don’t know that he’d ever acted like whatever this was between us was fake.

Maybe I didn’t have to have all the answers as to what this meant for my future just yet. Maybe instead of worrying about the lines and boundaries, I could take a note out of Gracie’s book and live in the moment.

“If you get to know about me, then I get to know about you,” I said, my voice softer. “Your girlfriend should know the things you like.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening for a second, but he couldn’t hide the slight flash of surprise—or maybe relief. My heart clenched, wondering how long he’d been holding back his own wants.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked, hoping to keep the mood from turning sour.

His eyes snapped back to me, his tone confident—assured. “Yellow.”

“Really?” I raised a brow in surprise. “Most guys say blue or green. Or black.” I played with the collar of his shirt. “Yellow isn’t common.”

“It’s a recent thing.”

I laughed. “A new favorite color? At what? Twenty-five? Who picks a new color as an adult?”

His expression softened, and he leaned a little closer, the warmth of his breath tickling my skin. “Yellow reminds me of sunshine. That’s why it’s my favorite color now.”

Sunshine.

Time seemed to halt. He’d said the nickname casually before, yet I’d never considered that it might have some meaning.