"What about your car?"
"Dean moved it into our parents' driveway. I'll get it tonight."
"He has your keys?"
"Parents have a spare."
"What do they think of Penny?"
"They don't know why it ended. Think I was an idiot to leave her." He shrugs. "They'll get over it."
Have you? Are you all the way there yet? I bite my lip. I can't bring myself to ask. I don't want to hear the answer. I don't want to think about her.
Right now, everything is perfect.
I want to float on that for a while. "Dean's been trying to help me. I think."
"Help you do what?"
"Get in your pants."
"Dean helping someone get laid isn't weird."
"But it's more—"
"I know."
"He warned me not to hurt you."
He raises a brow. "That's ridiculous. You wouldn't—"
"I know. But I did."
He nods. "Yeah. But it wasn't you. It's me."
No. It was my lie of omission. But why retread ugly things?
He grabs his slacks-currently hanging over a chair—and steps into them.
"Do we have to get dressed?"
"Fuck no."
"We could—" My stomach interrupts me with a low growl.
Ryan laughs. "We will. After."
"But work-"
"After that."
I pout.
His chuckle fills the room. "Get ready. We'll eat. I'll make you come later."
"You promise?"
"You're gonna have to beg me to stop."
"Two." Ryan smiles at the hostess. Yeah, I wore this last night. What's it to you?
She giggles as she hugs two menus to her chest. "Right this way, sir."
He's still wearing his suit. I'm in a casual dress and wedge sandals and he's in a suit.
God, he wears that suit.
How can he look so good in everything? And nothing?
He presses his palm into my lower back to lead me to our table.
The hostess arranges our menus then motions to our seats. "Your server will be with you shortly." She shoots Ryan another nervous smile then gives me one of those is she really competition once-overs.
He catches her staring. Wraps his arms around my waist. Pulls me into a long, deep kiss.
The possessiveness of the gesture sets me on fire.
Does he want that as badly as I do?
He must.
I sigh as he pulls back. My knees knock together. I press my palm into the table to steady myself, but it's not enough.
Ryan brings his hands to my hips. He helps me onto the bench seat then slides in next to me.
My heartbeat picks up.
I'm all thumbs again. I can barely open my menu.
Ryan runs his fingers over the hem of my dress. "You all right?"
I nod.
"You really get your first three clients last week?"
"Yeah."
"That's amazing, Leigh."
"Thanks."
"You start work on them?"
I nod.
"Can I see?"
"Of course." I pull up my cloud storage app and find the designs. The first—a historical romance with a woman in a glorious dress—is done. The second two, both smutty covers with shirtless models showing off their six-packs, are works in progress.
I hand the phone to Ryan.
He studies each image like it's something going on his body.
The waitress stops by. We order. He continues staring.
She drops off our coffees.
He continues staring.
I down my entire mug in three long sips.
He continues staring.
Finally, he hands my cell back. His knee brushes mine as he turns toward me.
He stares into my eyes. "Fucking amazing."
My blush spreads to my chest. There's so much earnestness in his voice, his eyes, his smile. Praise from Ryan is rare. And it's always earned. "Thank you."
"I mean it."
"I know." I want to believe it, that I'm good enough to do this on my own. That I'm skilled enough to deserve Ryan's praise. "You're my biggest fan."
"I am." He runs his fingertips over my chin. "We didn't celebrate your class finishing."
"We weren't talking."
"You weren't talking to me."
"You apologized for kissing me."
"I thought you were in love with Dean."
"I know." I lean into his touch as he runs his fingertips down my neck.
"If I'd known it was me—" He traces the neckline of my dress. "Fuck. I don't know what I would have done. I can barely comprehend it now."
"Really?"
"Yeah." He leans in to press his lips to mine.
It's a soft, slow kiss.
It isn't enough.
But then nothing is enough.
He pulls back with a needy sigh. "Hold on." He leans in for another kiss. This time, his teeth scrape against my bottom lip. His tongue dances with mine. His groans vibrate down my throat.
The kiss is a promise.
I want you. I need you. I'm going to make you come until you pass out.
He pushes himself from his seat and disappears around the corner.
I take a minute to check my makeup with my cell phone camera. Winged eyeliner, under eye concealer, bronzer, brows, berry lipstick. I look awake and badass and over the fucking moon.
But I don't need the camera to tell me that.
Ryan slides back into the booth. His leg nudges mine. His fingers brush my thigh.
They go higher, higher, higher.
Then they slide under my dress.
I press my forehead to his chin. "Fuck, Ryan."
"Yeah?" He drags his fingers higher.
Higher.
Higher.
His fingertips skim my panties. The soft fabric brushes against my sex. It's too much friction. And it's not enough.
I need his hands on me. "Please."
"Here?"
"Yeah."
"We'll get arrested." He rubs me over my panties.
"I don't care." My breath hitches in my throat.
"At the shop."
"At the shop?"
"Yeah." His index finger finds my clit. He rubs harder, pressing cotton into my tender flesh. "I'm gonna wait until everyone's gone, then I'm gonna set you on the counter, tear off these panties, and lick you until you're screaming my name."
"Ryan—"
"Yeah, baby?"
The term of endearment sets me on fire. It isn't the first time he's used that pet name, but it's the first time it's been for me. "Say it again."
"Say what again, baby?"
"Mmm."
He rubs me harder.
"Please."
"You can beg all you want. You're still gonna wait."
My eyelids press together. My fingers dig into my knees. Then into his. It's too much. I'm too close. I need to come. I need him. I need—
"I hear we're celebrating something." The waitress's voice snaps me out of my lust.
I press my knees together and slide into the booth, breaking his touch.