Chapter 9 Star
CHAPTER NINE
STAR
The number of times I change outfits in the hour before a first date should qualify as an Olympic sport. I’m on outfit number four, and my bedroom looks like the aftermath of a tornado.
Bruno, my Chihuahua, has wedged himself into the foot of the laundry pile and watches the proceedings with a mixture of judgment and disbelief.
Every time I strip off another option, he gives a long-suffering sigh and face-plants deeper into the fabric.
I don’t blame him. I’ve tried on a skirt, three pairs of jeans, a sundress that I thought screamed “effortless charm” but actually screamed “stolen from grandma’s closet,” and a shirt that looked great until I remembered it has a rip under the armpit.
I’ve settled, finally, on black pants and a loose emerald blouse that makes my eyes pop. Or so I’ve been told. At least it’s clean, and the cut is just flattering enough for my curvy figure.
I check the clock and see Tanner should be here any minute.
I pace from my bedroom to the kitchen, pausing to shove a pile of dog toys out of sight.
Bruno follows at my heels, ears perked, acting like he’s on guard duty.
I crouch down and try to pet him, but he instantly flips onto his back, demanding belly rubs as payment.
I oblige, because we both know who’s actually in charge around here.
“You have to be nice tonight,” I whisper, scratching under his chin. “No biting my date’s ankles.”
Bruno snorts and gives me a look that says, “There are no guarantees in this world, peasant.”
I stand and do another scan of my house. My cottage is tiny—living room, galley kitchen, one bedroom, plus a bonus nook that’s currently moonlighting as my yoga business’s HQ—but it’s neat and bright, filled with secondhand furniture and an unreasonable number of throw pillows.
I’m in the middle of a final once-over in the bathroom mirror when there’s a knock at the door.
Bruno races to the door, hackles up, barking like he’s about to take down a burglar. I hustle after him, shush the dog, and open up.
Tanner Carrington is standing on my doorstep, looking freaking yummy as hell.
Dark jeans, a fitted navy polo that hugs every inch of his chest, and hair that’s perfectly imperfect, like he just ran a hand through it walking up the path.
His grin is the same one that’s haunted my dreams the last two nights.
“Wow,” he says, and it’s not a throwaway line. He actually stands there and lets his eyes sweep from my feet all the way up, then settles on my face with a heat that makes my brain short-circuit. “You look beautiful, Star.”
For a second, I can’t think of anything to say, then my mouth takes off without consulting my brain. “You look hot, yourself.”
His grin widens. “Glad you approve.” He leans in and kisses me. His lips move over mine just long enough to light every one of my nerve endings on fire.
When he pulls back, I blink and clear my throat. “Uh, come in?”
He steps inside and immediately makes a beeline for Bruno, who’s doing his best to look like a dog three times his actual size. Instead of ignoring the Chihuahua’s death glare, Tanner crouches down and produces a tiny squeaky toy from his pocket.
“You must be Bruno,” he says, voice high and goofy. “I brought you a peace offering so we can be friends.”
Bruno eyes the toy with suspicion, then snatches it and sprints away to the living room rug to murder it in peace.
I stare at Tanner. “You brought a gift for my dog?”
He shrugs, straightening up, and the motion draws my attention to his arms all over again. “Maggie told me he runs the show. I figured I needed to get on his good side right away.”
There’s a beat where I actually feel my heart skip, which is annoying and unfair, but also kind of incredible.
I put my hands on my hips to hide the fact that they’re shaking. “I hope you know he’s going to destroy that thing in under a minute.”
“I respect his hustle.”
I laugh, then catch myself staring at his mouth again. “So, where are we headed?”
His eyes light up. “Broadway Steakhouse. Best filets in Silver Spoon Falls. They also have mac and cheese that’ll ruin you for any other food, forever.”
My stomach, which was previously occupied with nerves, growls hungrily. “That sounds amazing.”
He offers his arm, and it’s only half a joke when he says, “Shall we?”
I loop my hand through the crook of his elbow, and he leads me out the door, glancing over his shoulder at Bruno. “Guard the house, buddy.”
Bruno, in the middle of shaking the toy to death, doesn’t even look up, but I get the sense he approves.
Outside, the evening air is balmy, the sky already ink-blue and speckled with stars. Tanner’s matte black SUV is parked at the curb. He opens my door, old-school, and waits for me to climb in before circling to the driver’s seat.
I sink into the plush leather and inhale. His scent lingers, something dark and woodsy, and I wonder how the hell I’m supposed to make it through dinner without launching myself across the table at him.
Once he’s behind the wheel, Tanner glances over and grins, drumming the dash with easy, restless energy. His fingers are long and strong, nails neatly trimmed, but there’s a cut on his knuckle that’s healing over.
The drive through Silver Spoon Falls at night is, I’ll admit, a little bit magical. The cobblestone streets are strung with fairy lights, and every porch lamp glows amber, so the whole town looks dipped in honey.
We pull up in front of the Broadway Steakhouse, and the building glows under a thousand white lights. Tanner’s SUV purrs as he slows to the curb. The valet dude rushes up, and Tanner’s out of the car in one smooth move.
He doesn’t wait for the valet to even open my door. He’s there first, hand already reaching for mine, warm and big and so steady. His palm closes around mine, making my breath catch in my lungs.
My heart pounds away in my chest as his hand grips my waist, guiding me up the front steps, like he can’t stand the idea of even an inch of space between us. He pushes open the door for me, and every cell in my body just melts.
The Broadway Steakhouse is the kind of restaurant that’s fancy without being fussy—exposed beams, barn wood walls, and tables set with actual linen, but no one cares if you show up in boots.
The entryway smells like charred steak and rosemary and toasted yeast, and my stomach immediately wants to have ten of whatever they’re cooking.
The hostess lights up the second she sees Tanner.
“Good evening, Mr. Carrington,” she purrs, then does a double-take when she sees me on his arm. Her eyes linger on my emerald blouse for a second, then she smiles genuinely. “We have your table ready.”
She leads us through the main room, past a wall-mounted bison skull and a fireplace so big you could roast a whole cow in it. We take a hard left down a dim hallway lined with black-and-white photos of rodeo legends, and I realize she’s walking us toward the most private booth in the place.
The booth is a velvet half-moon. Feels like stepping into a private court, velvet walls hemming us in, the candle throwing shadows against the dark. Tanner slides in next to me, close enough that the heat from his thigh burns through my pants. My heart pounds as sweat breaks out on my forehead.
Then the waitress appears, all cheerful energy and brunette ponytail bouncing, denim apron slung low. “Would you like wine to get started?” she asks.
“Yes, please,” Tanner says. His voice is all easy charm, but his hand is still splayed over my knee. The warmth of his touch sends electricity flowing straight down my spine.
My brain is fuzzy from the nearness of him.
He glances at me. “Red or white?”
My mushy mind makes responding hard. “Red. Definitely.”
“We’ll take a bottle of your house Cabernet,” Tanner tells the waitress, flashing her a grin that would convince a nun to commit a felony.
She beams at him. “I’ll be right back to get your orders.” The second she’s gone, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Holy cow. We haven’t even gotten to the salad course, and I’m two seconds from melting into a puddle of goo sitting here next to Tanner.
His thumb circles my knee, slow and lazy, heating me up from the inside. He leans in. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you,” he murmurs, and his warm breath brushes against my sensitive ear.
I actually make a noise. Actually, it’s more like a whimper. It slips out before I can stop it. Just a desperate, needy little sound.
His thumb circles my knee, slow and hypnotic, and his lips are right at my ear.
“God, you’re adorable.” I turn my head. He’s less than an inch away.
Those hazel eyes are molten, pupils blown wide, and they’re on me like a tractor beam.
“I’m not sure I’m going to make it through dinner without doing it. ”
I swallow, which is impressive, because my entire throat feels like it’s closed over.
He doesn’t give me even a second to recover.
That big, warm hand slides a fraction higher on my thigh.
If this man goes any further north, I’m going to combust right here in this fancy steakhouse.
“Wow,” is all I manage to mutter since my mind is basically a puddle of goo.
His mouth is at my ear, breath hot and shivery. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Oh, God. Oh, God. That voice is pure sex and promises that aren’t appropriate for public.
I try to say something cool. Anything. My brain comes up with, “Same,” except it comes out as a squeak. Yeah. Flawless.
His mouth curves, slow and wicked, and I nearly combust right there in the booth. His hand is still squeezing my thigh. I have no brain cells left.
The waitress is suddenly there, like she’s materialized out of vapor, not even blinking at the way Tanner’s practically caging me in. She sets the bottle of wine on the table and pours a glass for each of us. “Are y’all ready to order?”