Well, he’s certainly pulling out all the stops. It’s a little frightening. At least, I’m alarmed by it. As much as I shouldn’t give in and have a drink, I need something to steady my nerves.
“Go ahead and sit down.” He points to the table, which is already set with plates and silverware. “Everything is ready.”
On wooden legs, I force myself to the table and awkwardly take a seat on the chair. My fingers fidget restlessly in my lap. Colton returns with two glasses of red wine before offering one to me.
Once mine is in hand, he raises his glass and offers a toast. “To new beginnings.”
Another burst of nerves explode inside me. With stiff lips, I echo the sentiment and raise the glass to my mouth before gulping down at least half the contents. If this behavior continues, I will never make it through the evening.
If he’s aware of my anxiety, he refrains from commenting. Instead, he returns to the kitchen and brings out a colorful-looking salad filled with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and croutons before doling out our servings. There’s a bottle of Italian dressing already on the table. I pour just enough to give the greens taste. What I’ve discovered over the years is that there is no way to hide a few extra pounds in a skintight leotard.
As much as I hate to admit it, if the dinner Colton made tastes half as good as it smells, I’ll be going back for seconds. I haven’t had this dish since I left for London. As delicious as the food was across the pond—hello, fish and chips with malted vinegar—I missed a few favorites.
This was definitely one of them.
Colton keeps the conversation flowing, peppering me with questions about my study abroad program. As I finish off the salad, I lift my glass to take a sip and realize it’s empty. He quickly refills it without asking.
While I silently debate a second glass, Colton brings out the main course along with a plate filled with buttery-looking garlic bread. This guy is really trying to kill me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that carbs and dancing don’t mix. Well, they do in that they give you energy which is needed to dance. But processed carbs are a big no-no. That being said, it doesn’t stop me from grabbing a slice oozing with butter and herbs and placing it on my plate along with the chicken dish he serves.
I haven’t even taken a taste yet, and already my mouth is salivating.
“Be honest, did you really cook all this?” I’m finding this scenario a little difficult to wrap my head around. The Colton I remember never went out of his way for a girl. The truth is that he didn’t need to impress the female sex, they chased after him regardless. All he had to do was sit back and soak up the adoration. And yeah, I was right there, in the thick of it, vying for his attention. Even when we dated sophomore year, girls continued to hang on him, propositioning him when my back was turned. And nothing has changed in that regard. So why is he bothering with this?
Why is he bothering with me?
“I did.” His gaze stays locked on mine from across the table as he takes a sip of his wine.
Unable to hold the intensity of his gaze, mine drops to his lips as arousal explodes in my core where it settles uncomfortably. I shift on my chair, but it does nothing to alleviate the growing tension that simmers between us.
“Lys.”
I blink out of the daze and glance at him. What I find smoldering in his blue depths only adds to the growing tension brewing inside me. I’ve had too much wine and not enough food. That has to be the problem.
As I reach for my fork, he extends his hand across the table, laying it over mine. Awareness crackles in the air between us. “I’m trying to be good here, but when you stare at me like that, it makes me think you want me as much as I want you. I’m trying to take this slow and prove that I’m not the same guy I was before.” He pauses. “But you’re making that difficult.”
All of the saliva in my mouth dries. I tell myself to look away but can’t do it. Colton Montgomery is like the sun. And I find myself getting sucked into his gravitational force even though I’ve done everything in my power to avoid it.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asks. “Maybe a water?”
“Yes, please.” My voice comes out sounding more like a croak.
As soon as he disappears into the kitchen, I drag a hand over my face and order myself to pull it together. Barely do I get a chance to huff out a breath before he’s returning and handing over a bottle. With trembling fingers, I twist off the cap and guzzle down half of the cold liquid. It does nothing to alleviate the fire burning inside. Any moment, I’ll go up in flames, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.