I gave her a squeeze. She wasn’t wrong. It was, by far, the best night I’d had in as long as I could remember. Amazing. Yes. Surreal. Incredibly. I could easily go so far as to say great.
Conversation flowed easily. She made me laugh, and I made her scowl—then laugh. We didn’t talk about the heavy. I didn’t ask her why she was on that bridge every night, and she didn’t ask me, either. We just bullshitted like old friends.
It was great.
She was great.
I had an overwhelming need to keep her great.
“What’s your last name?” she asked, dropping her napkin on the table.
“Rivers.”
“Shut up. I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I dragged a rePURPOSEd card from my wallet and slid it across the table. “Just think how fun your name would be if we got married.” I winked.
She glared.
“What? Too soon?”
“By, like, ten years.”
“Ten years? The sangria is not that bad.” I feigned injury.
She barked a laugh. “So, tell me about rePURPOSEd?”
“I take junk, repurpose it, then sell it as new. Too easy. Rich people love it.” I paused. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Guitar bookshelves?”
“Yep.”
She flipped my hand over and traced a finger around the cut on my palm. Tingles radiated out from her touch. I was done keeping my hands to myself. I desperately wanted the connection the table had been denying me all night.
Pushing my chair away, I gave her hand a squeeze. “C’mere.”
Her cheeks pinked as she stood and slowly closed the distance between us. With a quick tug, I pulled her off-balance and into my lap.
Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, I brushed my thumb over her bottom lip. I leaned in for a welcomed taste, and the sweet fruit from the sangria covered the mango I’d come to expect. “I want to see you again.”
A shy-schoolgirl blush tinted her cheeks even darker. “We do kinda have a standing date for tomorrow night on the bridge.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I glided a hand up her back, and as if she had been waiting for a sign, hers seductively slid under the edge of my shirt. Her smooth fingers teasing my skin stole my breath. I gasped and caught her wrist. “I want to see you again, but not on the bridge.”
“Okay,” she whispered, brushing her lips against mine.
She was squirming on my lap. I couldn’t be responsible for the stir of my cock—or the way she seemed to approve by shifting her weight to press against it. I scanned the room, suddenly aware that I was about to maul her in public, and caught sight of Devon escorting our waitress and the owner into the kitchen.
Maybe he is good for something.
With our audience gone, I took her mouth indecently. She responded by straddling my lap, her dress inching up as she planted her core directly over my zipper. I groaned and thrust a hand into her hair, pulling her head back and moving my assault to her neck.
“You drunk?” I asked between nips.
“A little,” she moaned, grinding a circle in my lap.
Fuck. Me.
“I see my wooing worked.”
She turned her head to the side, encouraging me to continue.
God, did I want to continue. Just not in the middle of a restaurant with a room full of people corralled in the kitchen. But how could I get her anywhere else without looking like a jackass who was just trying to sleep with the celebrity? I knew the girl on the bridge, and everyone knew Levee Williams. But I needed her to get to know Sam Rivers…fast.
Palming each side of her face, I dropped my forehead to hers. “I’m about to make things awkward. It’s kinda what I do. Just bear with me.”
She licked her lips, and I was forced to kiss her again. When I finally came back up for air, I continued.