Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Drake
“You told me to dress like this, and you’re taking me here?” Gianna plants both feet on the asphalt and gazes up at Table in the same way I did when I saw it for the first time. “I can’t go in there.”
I blow out a breath, amused by her reaction. “No one in there cares how you’re dressed.”
“But I do.”
“And I respect that. So if you got to do it all over again, what would you have chosen to wear?”
She huffs and faces me. “I don’t know. I would’ve researched it and figured out what was appropriate. But whatever the answer, it wouldn’t have been jeans, sneakers, and a plain white T-shirt. I thought we were going on a picnic or something.”
“I thought you said you didn’t like picnics because of bugs.”
A grin tickles her lips. “I did say that.”
“Okay, then trust me.” I stop in front of her, brushing a lock of dark hair off her shoulder. “When we walk in there, everyone will be looking at you. Be ready.”
“That’s my point. Why did you do this to me?”
“I didn’t do it. I assume your mom did.”
She lifts a brow, as if she’s not sure whether to fight me, laugh, or blush.
“You, Gianna Bardot, are going to have every head in the place turning because you’re so damn beautiful. Not because you’re in jeans.”
She sighs, fighting a grin. “It’s such a shame that a guy who looks like you and talks like you has such a low libido.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my libido.”
“You know what they say.”
“What’s that?”
“Everyone’s an expert from the sidelines.”
I roll my eyes, unable to hide my entertainment with this infuriating woman. “Come on.”
“But—”
“Come on,” I say, reaching for her hand without thinking. Her palm slips into mine, and we take a step in the most fluid, most we-do-this-all-the-time way. As soon as she notices it, she starts to pull back. But this is the moment that I’ve been waiting for—dying for.
The natural progression of things.
Instead of letting her break the contact, I lace our fingers together.
I don’t look back at her as we take the limestone steps to the restaurant slowly but intently.
My grip is loose enough that she can pull away if she wants to, but tight enough that she understands my intent: I want to touch her.
I want to hold her hand. I need her to know that I’m proud as fuck to walk into this establishment with her at my side, and for everyone inside said building to know she’s mine.
A surge of pride and protectiveness sweeps through me so hard that it nearly knocks me off my feet. My dream girl is on my arm. And I haven’t even kissed her yet.
Every cell in my body is acutely aware of this inconvenient fact.
At first, my hands-off approach was to stand out.
She’s a woman who gets what she wants. What if she didn’t?
But now, it’s because I want to establish a connection to her that isn’t based on sex—a relationship that she can’t easily toss away.
I want to create a tie that’s deeper than the curve of her hips and more powerful than the orgasms I’m dying to deliver.
I’m afraid to contemplate what that might mean … for us. Because I know what it means for me. I’m about to get crushed by this beautiful woman and I don’t have enough self-respect to care.
“Oh, wow,” she breathes, stepping inside Table. “What is this place?”
“It’s pretty great, huh?”
“You think?” She takes in the lodge-style architecture with large, rustic beams overhead and a wall of windows delivering the perfect view of the golden hour.
Oversized chandeliers hang from the tall ceiling in an unexpected contradiction to the log construction.
It’s a play on casual and sophistication that I thought she’d find interesting. “This is beautiful.”
“I was hoping that it would appeal to your artistic nature in a different way than Hess,” I say.
She beams up at me, and I might as well have hit the damn lottery.
I give my name to the hostess, and she asks us to follow her.
We stroll through the dining area and pass the bar where golf stories are swapped, and multi-million-dollar business deals are made.
I say hello to a few people I know as we walk by.
Gianna sticks to my side, and I can feel her excitement and awe.
But her gasp as we enter the outside patio with breathtaking views of the Cumberland River snaking below is everything.
“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess says, as I pull out Gianna’s chair.
“Was that Kelvin McCoy back there at the bar?” Gianna whispers as I get seated across from her. “The country music star?”
“Yeah.”
“And you know him?”
I shrug. “He probably doesn’t remember my name, but we hung out one night after a concert. A guy I used to play ball with went to high school with him.”
“And I’m in jeans.”
“And he probably checked out your ass as we walked by. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Obviously.”
Her cheeks heat, but her playful smirk overrides it. “I’m glad someone checks out my ass. My boyfriend doesn’t seem to want anything to do with it.”
I sit back and shake my head. If she only knew.
“Actually, do you know what? That’s not fair of me,” she says.
I narrow my eyes, curiosity piqued.
“You’ve been such a gentleman. I was talking to my friend Pearl about this and how we haven’t even kissed, and she helped me change my perception. I mean, I’m still sexually frustrated, but I appreciate your restraint. It’s very sweet of you, and I will endeavor to meet your energy.”
“You will, will you?”
“I’ll make this easier on you. I apologize.”
Why does that sound like a challenge?
“Apology accepted,” I say, playing along. I don’t know where this is going, but it’ll undoubtedly be entertaining.
Our server, Raffi, arrives and takes our drink order. Gianna then excuses herself to go to the ladies’ room.
I sit back and breathe in the cool evening air. Discreetly placed heaters blow warmth across the space. Each table has a fireplace at the center, and many diners have chosen to light theirs. The flames create a cozy, romantic ambiance that I hope my girl loves.
It’s been a long time since I truly dated a woman.
I’ve seen a few here and there, and I’ve asked out a handful of women since my retirement, but none of the dates felt like this.
Those felt like a plau—a curated set of moves that are, at the end of the day, the means to a satisfying end.
This experience with Gianna feels more real, more meaningful than all the others. And that irony is not lost on me.
My gaze pulls across the patio to the doorway just as Gianna comes through it.
The sight of her makes my breath stutter in my chest. Her body is fire with soft, sensual curves in all the right places.
She carries herself with the confidence that men are praised for. It’s unapologetic. Poised. Fierce.
But it’s the smirk for me—the wickedness extending from the curl of her lips to the glint in her eye—that has my attention.
I stand, grabbing the back of her chair and pulling it out for her. Curiosity prickles my skin as her hair dusts against my arm. What is she up to? I step to the side to take my seat when she grabs my wrist.
My gaze falls to hers, and I’m unable to look away. She holds it tight as she pries my fingers open one by one. Then a piece of fabric is pressed into my palm.
“What’s this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
Slowly, with a grin hot enough to scald the sun, she reverses order, closing my fist into a ball around the fabric.
“I wanted to give you a token of appreciation.” She licks her lips. “Since you can’t take these off me, I did it for you.”
You little fucking minx.
I bite back a growl rumbling at the base of my throat, and fight the urge to bring her panties to my nose and breathe them in. My cock throbs so hard that I’m not sure I can sit. But I play it off as best as I can, shoving the damp lace into my pocket and lowering myself into my chair.
In no way did I suggest that I wanted a sexless relationship, and she knows it. This isn’t a token of appreciation. It’s defiance wrapped in consent. But if that’s how she wants to play this, so be it.
Raffi reappears with our iced teas. “Here you are. Have you had a moment to look at the menu?”
Gianna smiles up at Raffi. “I don’t need to look. What do you suggest?”
“Oh, I love it when customers ask me this,” she says, laughing.
“Well, we have steaks, roast chicken, and sustainably caught fish. But my favorite is the burger. The Fernie, to be specific. Thick patty with lettuce, tomato, onion, and a little mayo. It’s a little basic, I know, but sometimes you can’t beat a classic. ”
“I’ll have that,” Gianna says. “Does it come with fries?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Great.”
“What about you, sir?” Raffi asks.
I slide the menus to the edge of the table. “Let’s keep it easy and make it two.”
“Awesome. I’ll get that in. In the meantime, you’re welcome to start your fireplace if you’d like. Just flip this button,” she says, pointing at a red switch. “Open the valve right there gently and then press the igniter.”
“Thanks, Raffi,” I say.
She nods. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Have I ever told you that I love fire?” Gianna asks, turning on the fireplace.
“In high school, I collected lighters. My mother found them eventually and told my dad who was convinced I was doing heroine or something, and all hell broke loose.” She opens the valve …
a little too wide. “It was a bad couple of weeks for me after that.”
“Hey, that valve is a little—shit!” A whoosh roars from the center of the table as soon as Gianna pushes the igniter. Flames shoot to the sky in all their blue and orange glory, sending waves of heat in all directions. “Turn the valve down.”
Her giggle is all I can make out on the other side of the blaze.
I lean to the side, the heat frying my face, and lower the intensity. “Is this your way of telling me you’re a pyromaniac?”