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“Love to hear it, but I have to ask. Why are your hands in your pockets?”
“Because I’m trying to prevent myself from running my fingers through your hair. I know that’s a no-no.”
My lips wiggled into a smile. “Well… if this seasonal menu is hitting right, then I might let you pull on it later.”
Hart pulled a hand from his pocket and scrubbed his face. “Sugar, you talking like that and I might have to pack your food to-go. Later will come sooner than you think.”
I laughed and egged him on. “You might be onto something. I might let you take me in the back of the Bronco.”
He shook his head. “Nah. We need a bed so I can take my time with you.”
I cleared my throat and looked away, knowing Hart was about to have my silk press looking like who-dun-it-and-why in the morning. I’d be texting Ms. Nicki again for her earliest appointment.
“You thirsty?” he asked.
I frowned. The man had the nerve to sound smug as hell.
“I might be,” I replied indignantly.
“I have a wine pairing prepared, or would you prefer something else?”
“I’ll take a Gray Social.”
He leaned down to kiss me. It was sweet and warm with just enough pressure to make me tempted to challenge his stance on the Bronco.
He pulled away, licking my lip gloss from his lips. “Coming right up.”
Hart disappeared, and my stomach sank. I was telling him tonight—about my family. Not all of it, but enough to send him into a minor panic.
I had just finished drying my slick hands on a linen napkin when Hart returned with my beer.
“We need to talk,” I said suddenly.
He paused with the beer halfway lowered to the tablecloth. “Verydian,” he said coolly.
“Hm?”
“Please don’t tell me you’re about to break up with me after spending my money.”
“That would be so trifling.”
“Agreed,” he replied, finally setting the bottle down.
“No. I am not breaking up with you. Please sit.”
“Are you pregnant?” he asked, drawing the beer away from me.
“Ew, no.”
He scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I refuse to be a baby mama to an athlete,” I protested.
“You wouldn’t be a baby mama to an athlete. I’d do the right thing and make an honest woman out of you.”
“A shotgun wedding to an athlete sounds so much better,” I replied sarcastically.
“I’m glad you agree. What’s up, Vera?”
