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“Really?” I say, my voice giddy, but I don’t care. “How did she respond?”
He smirks. “She didn’t look pleased.”
“I guess that explains why she suddenly turned so cold.”
“I bet you’re right.”
“Is it sadistic that makes me a little happy?”
“Don’t lie,” he grins. “It’s more than alittle, isn’t it?”
I sit up, tossing my hair.
“Yes, it is. I’m not ashamed of it. I’ve never felt like I belong, but with you, I feel like I have a place.”
“That’s because you do.”
He reaches across the table, gently brushes my hair from my face, and then cups his hand, cradling my cheek. The warmth of his hand is a feeling I’ll never tire of. I lay my hand atop his, applying more pressure so his warmth presses against me.
“Do you think we can eat one-handed?” I say. “I want to stay like this.”
He chuckles. “We can try.”
I almost lose it when he begins cutting into his steak just with the knife, no fork to hold it, the juices swilling across the plate.
“Okay, okay,” I say, laughing. “I think we need to eat first.”
“Yeah, eat first and then head back to the city for dessert.”
I lower my gaze. Cruel nerves cut through me, threatening to shatter the moment.
“I’m sorry, Zoey. I don’t want to push. It’s just so hard not to get carried away with you.”
I’m so tired of being this weak thing. This scared woman. Always wondering if I’m good enough. I look him squarely in the eye, putting on my brave face. “I want it,” I tell him. “I can’t think of a better dessert.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but if youdowant this, I’ll break every damn speeding limit in the state to get you home, or we can find a hotel nearby. An expensive, lavish one… one befitting a queen.”
“A queen? Isthatwhat I am?”
“To me, you’re more than that. There isn’t a title that does you justice.”
My heartbeat tries to ruin this. Tries to throttle my words, resolve, lust, and everything else, but I’m not the scared girl Lola made me in high school.
I’m not the silly kid with the crush. I’m a woman now, and I want this.
“Well, in that case, thisqueenwould very much like to—”
The blaring of my cell phone cuts off my words. I reach into my pocket to set it to silent, but fresh guilt spreads through me when I see Mom’s name.
“It’s Mom. Do you mind if I answer?”
He shakes his head.
“Hello?” I say, swiping the green icon.
“Z-Zoey,” Mom says, slurring my name.
My belly drops. She’s been drinking.
